 CHAPTER 18 PICKING LOCKS AND DECIFERING These two subjects are, in truth, much more nearly allied than might appear upon a superficial view of them. They are in fact closely connected with each other as small branches of the same vast subject of combinations. Several years ago, the celebrated thief-taker, Vidok, paid a short visit to London. I had an interview of some duration of this celebrity who obligingly conveyed to me much information, which, though highly interesting, was not of a nature to become personally useful to me. He possessed a very remarkable power, which he was so good as to exhibit to me. It consisted in altering his height to about an inch and a half less than his ordinary height. He threw over his shoulders a cloak in which he walked around the room. It did not touch the floor in any part and was, I should say, about an inch and a half above it. He then altered his height and took the same walk. The cloak then touched the floor and lay upon it in some part or other during the whole walk. He then stood still and altered his height alternately, several times to about the same amount. I inquired whether the altered height, if sustained for several hours, produced fatigue. He replied that it did not, and that he had often used it during a whole day without any additional fatigue. He remarked that he had found the gift very useful as a disguise. I asked whether any medical man had examined the question, but it did not appear that any satisfactory explanation had been arrived at. I now enter upon a favorite subject of my own, the art of picking locks, but to my great disappointment, I found him not at all strong upon that question. I had myself bestowed some attention upon it, and had written a paper on the art of opening all locks at the conclusion of which I had proposed a plan of partially defeating my own method. My paper on that subject is not yet published. Several years after V-Doc's appearance in London, the exhibition of 1851 occurred. On one of my earliest visits, I observed a very curious lock of large dimensions with its internal mechanism fully exposed to view. I found, on inquiry, that it belonged to the American Department. Having discovered the exhibitor, I asked for an explanation of the lock. I listened with great interest to a very profound disquisition upon locks, and the means of picking them conveyed to me with the most unaffected simplicity. I felt that the maker of that lock surpassed me in knowledge of the subject almost as much as I had thought I excelled V-Doc. Having mentioned it to the Lake Duke of Wellington, he proposed that we should pay a visit to the lock the next time I accompanied him to the exhibition. We did so a few days after. When the Duke was equally pleased with the lock and its inventor, Mr. Hobbes, the gentleman of whom I am speaking, and whose locks have now become so celebrated, was good enough to explain to me from time to time many difficult questions in the science of constructing and picking locks. He informed me that he had devised a system for defeating all these methods of picking locks, for which he proposed taking out a patent. I was, however, much gratified when I found out that it was precisely the plan I had previously described in my own unpublished pamphlet. Deciphering. Deciphering is, in my opinion, one of the most fascinating arts, and I fear I have wasted upon it more time than it deserves. I practiced it in its simplest form when I was at school. The bigger boys made cyphers, but if I got hold of a few words I usually found out the key. The consequence of this ingenuity was occasionally painful. The owners of the detected cyphers sometimes thrashed me, though the fault really lay in their own stupidity. There is a kind of maxim among the craft of decipherers, similar to one amongst the locksmiths, that every cypher can be deciphered. Belief in an inscrutable cypher. I am myself inclined to think that deciphering is an affair of time, ingenuity, and patience, and that very few cyphers are worth the trouble of unraveling them. One of the most singular characteristics of the art of deciphering is the strong conviction possessed by every person, even moderately acquainted with it, that he is able to construct a cypher which nobody else can decipher. I have also observed that the cleverer the person, the more intimate is his conviction. In my earliest study of the subject, I shared this belief and maintained it for many years. The President of the Royal Society's Cypher Deciphered. In a conversation on that subject, which I had with the late Mr. Davies Gilbert, President of the Royal Society, each maintained that he possessed a cypher that was absolutely inscrutable. On comparison, it appeared that we had both imagined the same law, and we were thus confirmed in our conviction of the security of our cypher. Many years later, the late Dr. Fitton, having asked my opinion on the possibility of making an inscrutable cypher, I mentioned the conversation I had with Davies Gilbert, and explained the law of the cypher, which we both thought would baffle the greatest adept in that science. Dr. Fitton fully agreed in my view of the subject, but even whilst I was explaining the law, an indistinct glimpse of defeating it presented itself vaguely to my imagination. Having mentioned my newly conceived doubt, it was entirely rejected by my friend. I then proposed that Dr. Fitton should write a few sentences in a cypher constructed according to this law, and that I should make some attempts to unravel it. I offered to give a few hours to the subject, and if I could see my way to a solution to continue my researches, but if not on the road to success to tell him I had given up the task. Late in the evening of that day, I commenced a preparatory inquiry into the means of unraveling this new cypher, and I soon arrived at a tolerable certainty that I should succeed. The next night, on my return from a party, I found Dr. Fitton's cypher on my table. I immediately commenced my attempt. After some time I found that it would not yield to my means of treating it, and on further examination I succeeded in proving that it was not written according to the law agreed upon. At first my friend was very positive that I was mistaken, and having taken it to a sister by whose aid it was composed, he returned and told me that it was constructed upon the very law that I had proposed. I then assured him that they must have made some mistake, and that my evidence was so irresistible that if my life depended upon the result I should have no hesitation in making my election. Dr. Fitton again retired to consult a sister, and after the lapse of a considerable interval of time again he returned and informed me that I was right, that his sister had inadvertently mistaken the annunciation of the law. I now remarked that I possessed an absolute demonstration of the fact that I had communicated to him, and added that, having conjectured the origin of the mistake, I would decipher the cypher with the erroneous law before he could send me the new cypher to be made according to the law originally proposed. Before the evening of the next day, both cyphers had been translated. This cypher was arranged upon the following principle. Two concentric circles of cardboard were formed, each divided into 26 or more divisions. On the outer were written in regular order the letters of the alphabet, and the inner circle were written the same 26 letters but in any irregular manner. In order to use this cypher, look for the first letter of the word to be cyphered on the outside circle. Opposite to it, on the inner circle will be another letter, which is to be written as the cypher of the former. Now, turn round the inner circle until the cypher just written is opposite the letter A on the outer circle. Proceed in the same manner for the next, and so on for all the succeeding letters. Many varieties of this cypher may be made by inserting other characters to represent the divisions between words, the various stops, or even blanks. Although Davies Gilbert, I believe in myself, both arrived at it from our own efforts, I have reason to think that it is a very much older date. I am not sure that it may not be found in the steganographia of Schott, or even of Trithymias. New Dictionary of English Language One great aid in deciphering is a complete analysis of the language in which the cypher is written. For this purpose, I took a good English dictionary and had it copied out into a series of 24 other dictionaries. They comprised all words of one letter, two letters, three letters, etc., etc., 26 letters. Each dictionary was then carefully examined and all the modifications of each word, as, for instance, the plurals of substantives, the comparatives and superlatives of adjectives, and tenses and participles of verbs, etc., were carefully indicated. A second edition of these 26 dictionaries was then made, including these new derivatives. Each of these dictionaries was then examined and every word which contained any two or more letters of the same kind was carefully marked. Thus, against the word tell, the numbers three and four were placed to indicate that the third and fourth letters are identical. Similarly, the word better was followed by the numbers two, five, three, four. Each of these dictionaries was then rearranged thus. In the first or original one each word was arranged according to the alphabetical order of its initial letter. In the next, the words were arranged alphabetically according to the second letter of each word, and so in the other dictionaries on to the last letter. Again, each dictionary was divided into several others, according to the numerical characteristics placed at the end of each word. Many words appeared repeatedly in several of these subdivisions. The work is yet unfinished, although the classification already amounts, I believe, to nearly half a million words. Queer coincidences. From some of these, dictionaries were made of those words only which by transposition of their letters formed anagrams. A few of these are curious. There follows a table with three columns, the first labeled opposite, the second similarity, and the third satirical. The column for opposite contains vote veto, acre care, evil veil, ever veer, lips slip, cask sack, foul wolf, gods dogs, Tory Tyro, tar's rats. The second column similarity includes fuel flu, taps pats, tubs butts, vast vats, note tone, cold clod, evil vile, arms Mars, rove over, lips lisp, and the third column satirical contains odes dose, bard drab, poem mope, poet taupe, trio riot, star rats, live view, nabs, bands, tame mate, acts, cats. There are some verbal puzzles costing much time to solve, which may be readily detected by these dictionaries. Such, for instance, is the sentence I tore 10 Persian manuscripts. This is spelled I-T-O-R-E-T-E-N-P-E-R-S-I-A-N-M-S-S, which it is required to form into one word of 18 letters. The first process is to put opposite each letter the number of times it occurs thus, I-2, T-2, O-1, R-2, E-3, N-2, P-1, S-3, A-1, M-1, totaling 18. It contains two triplets, four pairs, four single letters, again totaling 18. Now, on examining the dictionary of all words of 18 letters, it will be observed that they amount to 27, and that they may be arranged into six classes, seven having five letters of the same kind, five having four letters of the same kind, three having three triplets, seven having two triplets, three having one triplet, two having seven pairs, totaling 27. Anagrams. Hence it appears that the word sought must be one of those seven having two triplets, and also that it must have four pairs. This reduces the question to two words, misinterpretations, misrepresentations. The latter is the one sought, because its triplets are E and S, while those in the former are I and T. The reader who has leisure may try to find out the word of 18 letters formed by the following sentence. Art is not in, but Satan. Squaring a Dean. Another amusing puzzle may be greatly assisted by these dictionaries. It is called squaring words, and it is thus practiced. Let the given word to be squared, Dean. It is to be written horizontally and also vertically, thus D-E-A-N across the top, and D-E-A-N down the left hand side, sharing the initial D, and leaving blank the remaining nine intersections. And it is required to fill up the blanks with such letters that each vertical column shall be the same as its corresponding horizontal column. Thus reading the four words as a table, we have from the top down, D-E-A-N, Dean, E-A-S-E, E's, ASK-S asks, N-E-S-T, nest, and we can observe that the vertical columns are identical to the horizontal rows. The various ranks of the church are easily squared, but it is stated, I know not on what authority, that no one has yet succeeded in squaring the word bishop. Having obtained one squared word, as in the case of Dean, it will be observed that any of the letters in the two diagonals, D-A-K-T, N-S-S-N, may be changed into any other letter which will make an English word. Thus Dean may also be changed into such words as, Deer, Pease, Weak, Beam, Fear, Seize, Lead, Seal, Death, Bear, B-E-A-R, Real, Team. In fact there are upwards of 60 substitutes, possibly some of these might render the two diagonals, D-A-K-T and N-S-S-N, also English words. End of section 20. Section 21 of passages from the life of a philosopher. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by John Jones. Passages from the life of a philosopher by Charles Babbage. 21. Chapter 19. Experience in St. Giles's. Soon after taking up my residence in London, I met with many applications from street beggars with various tales of distress. I could not imagine that all these were fictitious, and I found great difficulty in selecting the few objects on whom I could bestow my very moderate means of charity. Once severe winter, I resolved on making my own personal observations on the most promising cases which presented themselves. The first general principle at which I arrived was that, in whatever part of London I might be, if I asked for the residence of a mendicant, it was pretty sure to be in a quarter very remote from the one in which he asked relief. The next was that those mendicants who profess to want work and not charity always belong to trades in which it was scarcely possible to give them employment without trusting them with valuable property. One example will suffice. During a very severe winter, the ground being covered with snow whilst passing through Belgrave Square, a man accosted me, declaring that he could get no work and that himself and family were starving. Beggar, a watchmaker. I inquired his trade. He was a watchmaker. I asked for his address. I wrote down in my pocketbook his name, the street, and the number, and read it to him. It was in Clarkinwell. The next day, I went there, made particular inquiries of the landlord, and was informed that no person of that name lodged in the house or ever had lodged in it. I spoke to several respectable female lodgers also, who gave me the same information as far as their knowledge went. Several months after, I met the same professional mendicant in Portland Road. He did not recollect me, and again told the same story, and again gave me the same address. On this, I recalled to his memory that I had seen him before, that he had given me the same address and that, having myself been there to inquire, I had found that his story was untrue. This statement had allowed him time to invent a new tale. With well-fane surprise, he suddenly remembered that his wife about three months ago had told him that a strange gentleman had called, and had particularly inquired for him, that his wife, knowing that a writ was out against him, and that he was liable to be arrested, had denied that any person of his name resided in the house. A few days after, I went again to Clarkinwell, and received from the residents the answer they had given me three months before. I then went to one of the large shops for tools used by watchmakers near the locality, and having mentioned the subject to the master, he very readily asked amongst his shopmen whether they knew of such a person. He assured me that, even allowing the man had not usually dealt at his shop, it was impossible that he should not have been several times there for some trifling article necessary in the hurry of his business. I then went to two or three other shops of a similar kind, and found that his name was entirely unknown. I therefore concluded that he was an imposter. I will mention one other case, because it arose entirely out of an accident, and could not have been foreseen. Living at that time, much in society, I usually walked home from the hot rooms of an evening party wrapped in a stout cloak, even though it sometimes rained. On these occasions I was often placed in a most painful situation, beggars with children. A half-clad, miserable female, with an infant in her arms, and sometimes accompanied by another, just able to walk, followed me through a drizzling rain to ask charity for her starving children. I confess it was to me a most painful effort to resist such an application, yet my better reason informed me that in all probability these miserable children were hired for the purpose of exciting the feelings of the charitable. To give money to their heartless conductors could only be considered charitable in as much as it might contribute to shorten the lives of their wretched victims. I fear I gave wrongfully many a sixpence. I inquired into some cases, but without any result which could enable me to alter the opinion I have expressed. It was in one of these inquiries that the singular case I am now about to relate occurred. In one of the densest of London fogs on a November night, or rather at between one and two o'clock in the morning, I was inquiring in one of the most disreputable streets in London, George Street, St. Giles as long ago pulled down, enlarged, and rebuilt, for a female with an infant who had represented herself to me as a miserable mother and into the truth of whose story I was anxious to inquire. I had been into several of the lowest lodging houses and into the cellars of that nest of misery and guilt, and was unsuccessful in finding the object I sought. The landlady in George Street, St. Giles's. Only a few of these abodes of wretchedness remained unvisited when I inquired after the poor woman I was seeking of a somewhat decently clothed woman who rented one of them. She was a weakly tenant of one of these houses, and told me that on the preceding night a poor woman, with a child wrapped up in a miserably torn shawl, had applied for a lodging at about eleven o'clock. It was raining hard, and the poor woman possessed only tuppence, and the price of a bed in the cellar was, at this house, thruppence. The poor woman went away, remarking that she must then go and pawn the remnant of the shawl that covered her infant. She went, but returned no more. The ancient weakly tenant then thought it necessary to defend, or rather to explain, her own apparent cruel conduct. I told her that it was unnecessary, and that even in my inmost thoughts I had not cast a reproach upon her. I told her that, from my knowledge of the misery suffered by poor people, I could readily imagine circumstances which might fully explain her conduct. Her heart, however, was too full, so I sat down and listened to her tale. She was a widow advanced in years, having no relatives, or even friends, to a sister in her old age. She was the weakly tenant of a small house in that villainous street, and was entirely supported by letting out every foot of floor which could be made available for a human being to sleep upon. But the stern necessity which hung over her with its iron hand was this. Her weakly rent became due on each Monday, and, if not paid on that night, the next morning would see her inexorably turned out of her only home, and deprived of her only means of sustaining life. A starving man in her kitchen. She was pleased at my attention to her sad tale, and, with a little encouragement, mentioned some of the experience she had had in her painful vocation. At this moment, she said, there is lying on a rug in the back kitchen a young man who has tasted nothing during the last two days but water from the pump on the opposite side of the street. He appears, she said, to have been in better circumstances than other times. It was now two o'clock in the morning, in the midst of a dense fog. I inquired whether it would be possible at this hour to get some soup or meat or anything to sustain life. I went down into the close, unventilated room, and beheld stretched on some kind of thing, like a couple of sacks, a pale, emaciated man, apparently about two or three and thirty years of age. I desired him to call on me the next morning, and leaving my address with the landlady, left also a small sum of money to procure for him, if possible, present necessities. The next morning this half-starved man called at my house, in garments scarcely covering him. I inquired into his history, and he told me one, probably as fabulous as that with which he afterwards deluded me during my short acquaintance with him. I supplied him with a few clothes, shoes, and other things, just to replace the worn-out rags in which I had found him, and desired him, in a day or two, when he had got them into serviceable form, to come to me, that I might see what his capacity was, and by what means he could best earn a subsistence. An accomplished rogue. It is unnecessary to enter into the long and artful stories he invented. The short result was this, that he had been a steward of a merchant ship, had been in the West Indies, and on other voyages, that having, on his return from some voyage, been reduced by illness to spend all his little earnings, and even to sell his clothes, having no friends in London, he could not go amongst merchant captains for want of decent clothes to appear in. This difficulty was partially removed by my giving him a suit. He called one day to tell me that he had succeeded in getting the situation of a steward in a small West Indie man, and that he did not like to sell or exchange a pair of top boots which I had given him, without asking my permission, which of course I gave. He told me, that if he sold the boots, and purchased light, gaudy-colored waist-coating, he might do a little profitable business with the niggers. He showed me the card of the shop in Monmouth Street, at which he had commenced a negotiation about the sale of the boots, and another, in the same street, at which he proposed to purchase the waistcoats. He gave me the name of the ship, and of its captain, and the day of sailing. I flattered myself that he was now in a fair position to get a fresh start in life. A few evenings after the ship was supposed to have sailed, he called at my house, in the midst of heavy rain, apparently much agitated, and stated that, in raising their anchor, an accident had happened by which the captain's leg had been broken. He also said that, being sent up with the ship's boat to fetch the new captain, he could not resist calling at my house once more to express all his gratitude. I confessed I entertained some suspicion about this story, but I said nothing. The next morning I found that during his visit he had extracted something more from my female servants, upon whose sympathy he had worked, and who had previously contributed very liberally to his wants. Consultation at Bow Street. I now went to search for him, in his old haunts, and with much difficulty, ascertained that he had been living riotously at some public house in another quarter, and had been continually drunk. My next step was to go to Bow Street and consult Sir Richard Burney. Having explained the case, he consulted several of his most skillful officers, but none were acquainted with the man. Sir Richard remarked that he was a very adroit fellow, and that it was doubtful whether he had actually committed an act of swindling. I inquired what I should do in case I found him. The magistrate replied, bring him before me, but he did not indicate the slightest expectation of my accomplishing that object. Having thanked Sir Richard, I withdrew, determined if the fellow were in London, I would catch him. I now renewed my inquiries, which at first were ineffectual. One day it occurred to me that, as he had shown me two cards of shopkeepers in Monmouth Street, I might possibly, by cautious inquiry, get some clue to his whereabouts. Although it was Sunday when this idea occurred, I immediately commenced at one end of the street to knock at each door, apologize to the landlord or landlady, and, shortly stating my case, to inquire if they could throw any light upon the subject. I went up one side of the street and down part of the other, having at two places gained some traces of the fellow. Morning visit to St. Giles's. I will say, to the credit of the then residence, some of whom I intruded upon at their dinner hour, that I received in no one instance the slightest in civility nor even coldness. The most important information I obtained was that a certain pot boy, name and name of his public house, both unknown, would probably be able to give me some clue. I next took my station at the north end of Monmouth Street, and during the next three hours accosted to every pot boy who passed. At last I got a hold of the right one, and so ultimately obtained the information I wanted. The fellow was then arrested and brought before Sir R. Burney. The magistrate was much surprised that so clever a fellow should not have been known to any of his officers. After a long examination I stated to the magistrate that though I was very reluctant to appear before the public in such a case, yet that if he thought in a public duty I should not shrink from it. Sir Richard remarked that the inconvenience of my attending two or three days to prosecute would be very great, that the fellow was so accomplished an artist that it was very doubtful if he could be convicted. He then added that the best thing to be done for the man himself would be, if I could produce any new evidence, that he should be remanded for a week to hear it and then be discharged with a caution from the bench. As my servants could give additional evidence, the fellow was remanded for a week, then duly lectured and discharged. In the course of my efforts to inform myself of the real wants of those around me, I profited much by the experience of one or two friends, both excellent and kind-hearted men whose official duties rendered them far more conversant than myself with the subject. Mr. Walker and Mr. Broderick, both of them magistrates, were amongst my intimate friends. Mr. Walker, the author of The Original, maintained that no one ever was actually starved in London except through his own folly or fault. Valuable Magistrates The result of my own experience leads me to recommend all those who do not possess time and the requisite energies for personal inquiries to place the means they wish to devote to charity in the hands of some sensible and kind-hearted magistrate. I have been present, in the course of my life, at many cases brought before our London police magistrates. They possess an immense power of doing good, a power of making the law respected, not by its punishments, but by their own kindness of manner and thoughtful consideration for the feelings of those brought into close contact with them. Playing common sense, a kind heart, and above all, the feelings of a thorough gentleman are invaluable qualities in a magistrate. They give dignity to the court over which he presides, as well as an example which will be insensibly followed by all its officers. I have seen cases from which my own avocations have imperatively called me away, when I would gladly have remained to admire the kindness and the tact with which entangled questions have been gradually brought to a humane and just conclusion. CHAPTER XXII. THEATRICAL EXPERIENCES I was never particularly devoted to theatrical representations, tragedy I disliked, and comedy, which I enjoyed, frequently excited my feelings more than the dignity of a philosophic character sanctioned. In fact, I could not stand the reconciliation scenes. I did, however, occasionally in one or two rare instances, assist in a tableau. I still remember my delight when personating a dead body with my head towards the audience, I lay motionless at the feet of three angels, entranced by their beauty, and whose charms still fascinate my imagination, and still retain their wanted power over my own sex. We enacted the scene so admirably that our performance was twice encored, but though thus thrice-lain, the near proximity of beauty speedily revived the capit mortuum at its feet. On one occasion, having joined a party of friends in their box at the opera of Don Juan, I escaped by half a second a marvelous adventure. Somewhat fatigued with the opera, I went behind the scenes to look at the mechanism. One of the scene-shifters of whom I had made an inquiry found out that I, like himself, was a workman. He immediately offered to take me all over the theatre and show me every part. Adventure at the opera. We ascended to the roof to examine the ventilation by which, if stopped, the spectators, in case of accident or of a row, might be suffocated. Also, the vast water tanks by which, in case of fire, they might be drowned. After long rambling and descending endless steps, I found myself in a vast, dark, and apparently boundless area. The flat wooden roof high above my head was supported by upright timbers, some having intermediate stages like large dissecting tables. Here and there, three lamps, rivalling rush lights, made the obscurity more visible, and the carpentry more incomprehensible. Suddenly a little bell rang, the signal for my scene-shifting friend to take his post. He pointed to one of the dismal imitations of a rush light and said, You see that light? On its left is a door, go through that, and straight on until you arrive at daylight. Instantly my friend became invisible in the surrounding gloom. My first stepped when thus suddenly abandoned was to mount on a long oblong platform about six feet above the ground. Here I was philosophically contemplating the surrounding obscure vacuity in order that I might fully comprehend the situation. Suddenly a flash of lightning occurred. On looking up, high above my head I saw an opening as large as the platform on which I stood. All there was brightness. Whilst I was admiring this new light, and seeking my way to the upper and outer world, two devils with long forked tails jumped upon the platform, one at each end. Escape from the devils. What do you do here? said devil number one. Before I could invent a decent excuse, devil number two exclaimed, You must not come with us. This was consolatory and reassuring, so I replied, Heaven forbid. During this colloquy, the table, the philosopher, and the devils were all slowly moving upward to the open trap door of the stage above. Seeing a beam some feet higher at a moderate distance, I inquired whether it was fixed and would bear my weight. Yes, said devil number one, but you cannot reach it at a jump, added devil number two. Trust that to me, said I, to get out of your clutches. We had now reached the level of the desired beam, though not near enough for a jump. However, still ascending we passed it. Then stooping my head, and bending my body to avoid the floor of the stage which we were fast approaching, I sprang down on the beam of refuge. My two missionary companions continued their course to the world above in order to convey the wicked wand to the realms below. My transit through the dark, subterranean abyss to my own world above was rapid. I soon rejoined my companions, who congratulated me on what they represented as my undeserved escape, kindly hoping that I might be equally fortunate upon some future occasion. Presence of mind frequently arises from having previously considered a variety of possible events. I had never contemplated such a situation, and have often asked myself and others what should have been my conduct in case I had not escaped from my satanic companions, but no satisfactory conclusion has yet presented itself. Stall at the Opera During one season I had a stall at the German Opera. One evening, in the cloister scene by moonlight, in the convent, I observed that the white bonnet of my companion had a pink tint. So also had the paper of our books and every white object around us. This contrast of color suggested to me the direct use of colored lights. The progress of science in producing intense lights by the oxyhydrogen blowpipe and by electricity under its various forms enabled me to carry out the idea of producing colored lights for theatrical representations. I made many experiments by filling cells formed by pieces of parallel plate glass with solutions of various salts of chrome of copper and of other substances. The effects were superb. I then devised a dance in which they might be splendidly exhibited. This was called the Rainbow Dance. I proposed to abolish the footlights and instead of them to substitute four urns with flowers. These urns would each conceal from the audience an intense light of one of the following colors, blue, yellow, red, or any others which might be preferable. The rays of light would be projected from the vases toward the stage and would form four cones of red, blue, yellow, and purple light passing to its further end. Four groups, each of 15 dance uses in pure white, would now enter on the stage. Each group would assume the color of the light in which it was placed. Thus, four dances each of a different color would commence. Occasionally a damsel from a group of one color would spring into another group, thus resembling a shooting star. After a time the colored lights would expand laterally and overlap each other, thus producing all the colors of the rainbow. In the meantime, the 60 damsels in pure white forming one vast ellipse would dance round, each in turn assuming, as it passed through them, all the prismatic colors. I had mentioned these experiments and ideas to a few of my friends, one of whom spoke of it to Mr. Lumley, the lessee of the Italian opera house. He thought it promised well, and ultimately I made a series of experiments in the great concert room. Ropes were stretched across the room, on which were hung in innumerable forms large sheets of patent net. The various folds and bendings displayed the lights under endless modifications. Some brilliant greens, some fiery reds, blues of the brightest hue. Another of these was an almost perfect resemblance of the dead purple powdery coating of the finest grapes. The philosopher writes a ballet. Things being thus prepared, I had a consultation with the eminent chef de ballet as to the kind of dance and the nature of the steps to be adapted to these gorgeous colors. Thus having invented the rainbow dance, I became still more ambitious and even thought of writing a story to introduce it, and to give it a moral character. Hence arose the beautiful ballet of Alethys and Iris. Alethys and Iris. Alethys, a priest of the sun, surrounded by every luxury that earth can lay at the feet of its god, feels, like all before him, that the most glorious life is sad without a companion to sympathize with its feelings and share in his enjoyments. He makes, therefore, a magnificent sacrifice to the god of this visible creation and praise for the gratification of his solitary desire. Apart from all the inferior orders of his class, in the midst of clouds of incense, the high priest himself becomes entranced. He beholds in a vision a distant and lonely spot of bright light. Advancing towards him it assumes a circular form, having a small yellow center, surrounded by a deep blue confined within a brilliant red circle. Retaining its shape, but slowly enlarging in size, it becomes a circular rainbow, out of which emerges a form of beauty more resplendent than mortal eyes might bear. Approaching the Book of Fate, which lies closed upon a golden pedestal in this, the deepest and most sacred portion of the Temple of the Sun, she opens it and inscribes in purple symbols these mystic signs. There follows a table of four lines of dots. The first and third rows contain eight dots and a second and fourth contain seven. Then waving her graceful arm over the entranced high priest, she reenters the aerial circle. It closes and retires. Alethys, recovering from the magic spells his powerful art had wrought, rushes to the Book of Fate, opens, and reads the revelation it unfolds. Through ocean's depths, to southern ice fields Rome, through solid strata seek the earth's central fire, call from each wondrous field, each distant home, and offering meat for her thy soul's desire. This gives rise to a series of moving and most instructive dioramas in which the travels of Alethys are depicted. One, a representation of all the inhabitants of the ocean, comprising big fishes, lobsters, and various Christatia, Malusca, Corleines, etc. Two, a view of the Antarctic regions, a continent of ice with an active volcano and a river of boiling water, supplied by geysers cutting their way through cliffs of blue ice. Three, a diorama representing the animals whose various remains are contained in each successive layer of the earth's crust. In the lower portions, symptoms of increasing heat show themselves until the center is reached, which contains a liquid transparent sea, consisting of some fluid at a white heat which, however, is filled up with little infinitesimal eels, all of one sort, wriggling eternally. High moral view. This would have produced a magnificent spectacle, considered merely as a show, but the moralist might, if he please, have discovered in it a profound philosophy. The ennui and lassitude felt by the priest of the sun arose from the want of occupation for his powerful mind. The remedy proposed in the ballet was, look into all the works of creation. The central ocean of frying eels was added to assist the teaching of those ministers who prefer the doctrine of the eternity of bodily torments. Footnote. An ancestor of mine, Dr. Berthog, a great friend of John Locke, wrote, I regret to say it, a book to prove the eternity of torments, so I felt it a kind of hereditary duty to give him a lift. The arguments, such as they are, of my wealthy and therefore a revered ancestor, are contained in a work whose title is, cause a day, or an apology for God, wherein the perpetuity of infernal torments is evinced, and divine justice, that notwithstanding, defended, by Richard Berthog, M.D., London, imprinted at the Three Daggers, Fleet Street, 1675. The learned Tobias Swindon, M.A., late rector of Cuckston, in his Inquiry into the Nature and Place of Hell, Second Edition, 1727, has discovered that its locality is in the sun. The accurate map he gives of that luminary renders it highly probable that the red flames so well observed and photographed by Mr. De La Rue during a recent total eclipse have a real existence. End footnote. The night proposed for the experiment of the dance at length arrived. Two fire engines, duly prepared, were placed on the stage under the care of the fire brigade. About a dozen dense uses in their white dresses danced and attitudinized in the rays of powerful oxyhydrogen blowpipes. The various brilliant hues of colored light had an admirable effect on the lovely fireflies, especially as they flitted across from one region of colored light to another. Combustion, the enemy of genius. A few days after, I called on Mr. Lumley to inquire what conclusion he had arrived at. He expressed great admiration at the brilliancy of the colors and the effect of the rainbow dance, but much feared the danger of fire. I tried to reassure him, and to show that I apprehended no danger from fire added that I should myself be present every night. Mr. Lumley remarked that if the house were burnt, his customers would also be burnt with it. This certainly was a valid objection, for though he could have ensured the building, he could not have ensured his audience. End of Section 22. Section 23 of Passages from the Life of a Philosopher. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Thomas Trask, near Tucson, Arizona. Passages from the Life of a Philosopher by Charles Babbage. Section 23. Chapter 21. Electioneering Experience. When the late Lord Lindhurst was a candidate for the representation of the University of Cambridge, I met Mr. Blank, a Whig in politics, and a great friend of Dr. Walliston. After the usual salutation, he said, I hope you will go down to Cambridge and vote for our friend, Copley. I made no answer, but looking full in his face waited for some explanation. Oh, said Mr. Blank, I see what you mean. You think him a Tory. Copley still is what he's always been, a Republican. I replied that I was equally unable to vote for him upon that ground, and wished my friend good morning. A few evenings after, I met the beautiful lady, Copley, who also canvassed me for my vote for her husband. I had the energy to resist even this temptation, which I should not have ventured to mention did not the poll book enable me to refer to it as a witness of my unrivaled virtue. Cambridge University Election. Some years after, in 1829, a vacancy arose in the representation of the University of Cambridge. Mr. Cavendish, having recently waived the privilege of his rank, which entitled him, after residents of two years, to take the degree of master of arts, had entered into competition with the whole of the young man of his own standing, and had obtained the distinguished position of second wrangler and senior Smith's prize man. Under such circumstances, it was quite natural that all those who felt it important that the accidental aristocracy of birth should be able to maintain its position by the higher claim of superior knowledge, as well as those who took a just pride in their alma mater, should wish to send such a man as their representative to the House of Commons. A very large meeting of the electors was held in London, over which the Earl of Houston presided. It was unanimously resolved to nominate Mr. Cavendish as a proper person to represent the University of Cambridge in the House of Commons. A committee was appointed to carry on the election, of which I was nominated chairman. Similar proceedings took place at Cambridge. The family of the young but distinguished candidate were not at first very willing to enter upon the contest. As it advanced, the committee room became daily more and more frequent. Ultimately, in the midst of the London season, and during the sitting of the House of Commons, this single election excited an intense interest amongst men of all parties, whilst those who supported Mr. Cavendish upon higher grounds were not less active than the most energetic of his political supporters. Motives for being on a committee. At all elections, some few men, perhaps four or five, up to ten or twelve, do all the difficult and real work of the committee. The committee itself is, for several reasons, generally very numerous. All who are supposed to have weight are, of course, put upon it. Many who wish to appear to have weight get their names upon it. Some get put upon it thinking to establish a political claim upon the party. Others, because they like to see their names in the newspapers. Others again, who if not on his committee would vote against the candidate. There are also idlers and busybodies who go there to talk or to carry away something to talk about, which may give them importance in their own circle. Young lawyers of both departments of the profession are very numerous, posing acute perceptions of professional advantage. A jester and a good storyteller are very useful, but a jolly and enterprising professor of rumdomente is on some occasions invaluable, more especially if he is not an Irishman. Occasionally, a few simple honest men are found upon committees. These are useful as adjuncts to give a kind of high moral character that cause. But the rest of the committee generally think them boars, and when they differ upon any point from the worldly members, it is invariably whispered that they are crotchety fellows. When any particularly delicate question arises, it is sometimes important to eliminate one or more of them temporarily from the real committee of management. This is accomplished, as engraver matters, by sending him on an embassy, usually to one of the adepts, with a confidential mission on a subject represented to him as of great importance. The adept respectfully asks for his view on the subject, rather opposes it, but not too strongly, is at last convinced and ultimately entirely adopted. The adept then enters upon the honest simpleton's crotchet, trots it out in the most diligent manner, and at length sends him back. Having done the double service of withdrawing him from a consultation at which he might have impeded the good cause, and also of enabling him at any future time to declare truly if necessary that he was never present at any meeting at which even a questionable course had been proposed. Of the pairing committee. One of the most difficult as well as of the most important departments of some elections is the pairing subcommittee. When I had myself to arrange it, I generally picked out two of the cleverest and most quick-witted of the committee. I told them I had perfect confidence in their judgment and discretion, and therefore constituted them a subcommittee, with absolute power on all questions of pairing. I also entirely forbade any appeal to myself. I then advised them to have attached to them a couple of good and entertaining talkers, to hold in play the applicants while they retired to ascertain the policy of the proposed pair. Upon one occasion, when both my persuasive gentlemen were absent, I was obliged to officiate myself. I soon discovered that the adverse vote was very lukewarm in his own cause, and was also very adverse to the prospect of missing a great cricket match if he went to the poll. Whilst my pairing committee were making the necessary inquiries, I was so fortunate as to secure the promise of his vote for my own candidate at the succeeding election. In the meantime, the pairing committee had kindly taken measure to save him from missing his cricket match without, however, wasting a pair. Primitive purity. It won't do. Yet, notwithstanding all my efforts to introduce primitive virtue into electioneering, I did not always succeed. About a dozen years had elapsed after one of the elections I had managed, when the subject was mentioned at a large dinner table. A supporter of the adverse political party, referring to the contest, stated as a merit in his friends that they had succeeded in outwitting their opponents. For on one occasion they had got a man on their side who had unluckily just broken his arm, whom they succeeded in pairing off against a sound man of their adversary. Remembering my able cajoters in that contest, I had little doubt that a good explanation existed. So the next time I met one of them, I mentioned the circumstance. He had once admitted the fact and said, we knew perfectly well that that man's arm was broken, but our man, who we paired off against him, had no vote. He then added, we were afraid to tell you of our success. To which I replied, you acted with great discretion. University elections are quite a different class from all others. The nature of the influence to be brought to bear upon the voters is of a particular kind. The clerical element is large, and they are, for the greater part, expectant of something better thereafter. Materials for canvassing The first thing to be done in any election contest is to get as exact a list as possible of the names and addresses of the voters. In a university contest, the chairman should adopt certain letters or other signs to be used in his own private copy attached to the names of the clerical voters. These should indicate the books such voters may have written, the nature of his preferment, the source once derived, the nature of his expectations, the source once expected, the age of the impediment, the state of its health, the chance of its promotion. Possessed of full knowledge of all these circumstances, a paragraph in a newspaper regretting the alarming state of health of some eminent divine will frequently decide the oscillation even of a cautious voter. This dodge is more easily practiced because some eminent divines, on the approach of a university election, occasionally become ill and even taken to their bed in order to avoid the bore of being canvas, or of committing themselves until they see how the land lies. The motives which induce men to act upon election committees are various. The hope of advancement is a powerful motive. It was stated to me by some of my committee that every really working member of the committee which, a few years before and managed the election of Kauply for the University of Cambridge, had already been rewarded by place or advancement. My two most active lieutenants in the two contests for Cambridge, to which I have referred, were not neglected. One of them shortly after became Master of Chancery and the other had a place in India producing 10,000 pounds a year. The highest compliment, however, that party can pay to those who thus assist them is entirely to ignore their service and pass them over on every occasion. This may be done with impunity to the very few who have such strong convictions that no amount of neglect or ill usage can cause them to desert those principles for the soundness of which their reason is convinced. This course has also the great advantage of economizing a patronage. Always ascertain who are the personal enemies of the opposing candidate. If skillfully managed you may safely depend upon there becoming the warmest friends of your own. Their enthusiasm can be easily stimulated. Their zeal and the cause may shame some of your own lukewarm friends into greater earnestness. Men will always give themselves tenfold more trouble to crush a man obnoxious to their hatred than they will take to serve their most favored ally. When I have been chairman of an election committee I have found it advantageous to commence my duties early in the morning and to remain until late at night. There is always something to be done for the advancement of the cause. In the first Cambridge election in which I took part I invariably remained at my post until midnight and in the second I was seldom absent at that hour. Got a voter from Berlin. One evening being alone I employed myself in looking through our lists to find the names of all voters that that period unaccounted for. The first name which attracted my attention was that of a liberal with whom I was personally unacquainted. The next day I set at work one of my investigating committee. In the course of the following day I had traced out the voter who at the time was at Berlin. As there was ample time for his return a friend was employed to write to him and he returned and voted for our candidate. Neglect no chance. On another evening the name of Minchin turned up on the list. I remembered that man whom I had met very frequently at the rooms of one of my most intimate friends but I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. The next day after many inquiries I had found that he had been lost sight of for a long time and it was believed that he had gone out to India. I immediately sent a note to a friend of mine Captain Robert Locke who commanded an India man to beg him to look in upon me at the committee room. In two hours he called and informed me that Minchin was a barrister at Calcutta and was about to return to England on my expressing a wish for further particulars. He kindly went into the city to procure information and on his return told me that Minchin was on his voyage home in the Harris Ferture, an excellent ship. It was due on a certain day about a fortnight sense and wouldn't in all probability not be three days behind its time. In the evening being again alone in the committee room I resumed that Minchin question and found that he might possibly arrive on the second or third day's polling. I therefore wrote the following letter. Dear Minchin, if twenty years have not altered your political principles we have now an opportunity of getting in a liberal to represent our university. The three days of polling are blank, blank, blank. If you arrive in time pray come immediately to my committee room in Coxspur Street. Yours truly, C, Babbage. I addressed this letter to Minchin at Portsmouth and making two copies of it directed them to two other seaports. When I put these letters into the basket I smiled at my own simplicity in speculating on the triple improbability. One, that Minchin should ever get my letter. Two, that his ship, which was expected, should really arrive on the second or third of the three days of polling. Three, that a young lawyer should not have changed his political principles in twenty years. However I considered that the chance of this election lottery ticket winning for us a vote, although very small, was at least worth the three sheets of letter paper which it cost our candidate. Got a voter from India. Amidst the bustle of the election this subject was entirely forgotten. The first day of polling arrived and was concluded and as usual I was sitting at midnight alone in the large committee room when the door opened and there entered a man enveloped in a huge box coat who advanced towards me. He held out his hand and grasping mine said, I have not altered my political principles. This was Minchin, to whom the pilot, cruising about on the lookout for the Harris for Sherd, had delivered a packet of letters. The first letter mentioned open was mine. He immediately went below, told his wife that he must get into the boat which had just put the pilot on board and hastened to Cambridge while she remained with the children to pursue their voyage to London. Minchin returned in the pilot boat to Portsmouth, found a coach just ready to start, got up on the roof, borrowed a box coat, and on arriving in London drove directly to the committee room. Finding that it would be most convenient to Minchin to start immediately for Cambridge, I set off a note to the temple for the most entertaining man upon the committee. I introduced him to Minchin, and they posted down to Cambridge and voted on the second day. Footnote 39. My friend, John Elliot Drinkwater, afterwards, Bethune, end of footnote. Greatly to the credit and to the advantage of the university, Mr. Cavendish was elected on this occasion. Election after the reform bill. In May 1832, after the passing of the reform bill, there was a dissolution of parliament. At the general election, which ensued, Lord Palmerston and Mr. Cavendish, the two former members, again became candidates. Two of the most active members of Mr. Cavendish's former committee called upon me, one of whom began speaking in somewhat complimentary phrases about our young candidate. I was listening attentively to all that could be said in favour of the Cavendish family, when his companion subtly interrupting him said, no, blank, that won't do for Babbage. He then continued in terms which I have no wish to repeat, to speak of our candidate and concluded by saying that they expressed the opinion of all the working members of the former committee, and came by their desire to request me again to take the chair during the approaching contest, stating also that there was no other man under whom they would all willingly act. He then entreated me to be their chairman, not for the sake of the Cavendish's, but for the sake of the cause. This appeal was irresistible. I immediately acceded to their request, but with one reservation. In case my brother-in-law's seat was contested, that I should have three days to help him at Bridge North. Under such circumstances, the contest commenced. I can truly add that amongst the many elections in which I have taken an active working chair, none was ever carried out with greater zeal, nor were greater efforts ever made to attain success. I had good reason at this commencement to doubt the success of our candidate, not from any defect on his part, but entirely on political grounds. The same reasons induced me to suppose that Lord Palmerston's seat was equally in danger. Of course, a tone of perfect confidence was sustained, and, but for a very inopportune petition signed by a considerable number of members of the university, I believe that we might have managed, by a compromise with the other party, to have secured one seat of our own. It was, however, both the liberal candidates were defeated. Bridge North Being Safe The contingency I anticipated did occur. I was sent for and went down by the mail to assist Mr. Woolerish with more. On my arrival, I found that circumstances had entirely changed, and not only my brother-in-law, but also Mr. Foster, a large iron master, was to be returned for Bridge North without a contest. A contest for Shropshire started. As soon as I was informed of this agreement, I took immediate measures for rejoining my committee in Coxpur Street. On reaching Bridge North, it appeared that four hours would elapse before the mail to London could arrive. I fortunately found a great number of Mr. Foster's most influential supporters assembled at the hotel, comprising amongst them many of the largest iron masters and manufacturers in the country. They were naturally elated at the success of their friend, which secured to their class a certain amount of influence in the House of Commons. In the course of conversation, mention was made of the utter neglect of the manufacturing interests of the district by their county members. I remarked that it depended upon themselves to remedy this evil, and inquired whether they were seriously disposed to work. One of the party, who had greatly assisted me when I was managing another contest, and whom I had ridden over four counties in search of votes for us, appealed to my own experience of their energy. After some discussion, I suggested that they should start a rival candidate of their own for the county. I then proposed to retire into another room and draw up an address to the free holders, and also placards to be stuck up in every town and village in the county. I desired them, in the meantime, to divide the county into districts of such size that one of our party could, in the course of a day, go to every town and large village in his district, and arrange with one or more tradesmen in our interest to exhibit the address in their shop windows. I also desired them to make an estimate of the number of large and small placards necessary for each town and village, in order that we might ascertain how many of each need to be printed. I returned with the addresses to the free holders. In these characters of their late members were lightly sketched, and the public were informed that a committee in the liberal interest was sitting in every town in the county, and that at the proper time the name of a fit candidate would be announced. My friends cordially concurring in these statements unanimously adopted the addresses, undertook to publish them in the newspaper to arrange their distribution, and organize committees throughout the county. They were, of course, very anxious to know who was to be their candidate. I told them at once that it was not to be expected that they could succeed in their first attempt, but that such a course would assuredly secure for them in future much more attention to their interests from their county members. With respect to a candidate, if they could not themselves find one, these placards and advertisements would, without doubt, produce one. I may hear mention that a member of the Cambridge Committee in the Coxbur Street had taken rooms at the Crown and Anchor, and in conjunction with many other liberals, instituted the Patriotic Fund for the purpose of collecting subscriptions for the support of liberal candidates at the first election under the reform bill. A very large sum was soon subscribed. In the broad sides and placards issued in Shropshire, I had taken care to allude to this fund in large capitals. I now got into the mail for London amidst the heavy congratulations from my Shropshire friends. During the few minutes rest at Northampton, I had an opportunity of seeing a member of the Liberal Committee and of informing him of our proceedings in Shropshire, and afterwards of conveying his report of the prospects of the contest in that town to our friends in London. Two or three days after every town and almost every village in Shropshire was enlightened by my placards, and in the course of a few days more, three candidates were in the field. Patriotic Fund aids it with £500. On my return to London, I communicated with a Patriotic Fund who sent down £500 to support the party in Shropshire. After a short contest, the Liberal Party was of course beaten, but the diversion produced the intended effect. One portion of the electioneering tactic is thought to consist in the manufacturing of squibs. These should never give pain nor allude to any personal defect or inevitable evil. They ought either to produce a broad laugh or that involuntary smile which true wit usually provokes. They are productive of little effect except the amusement of the supporters engaged in carrying on the contest. My own share in the elections has generally been in more serious departments. I remember, however, a very harmless squib, which I believe usually amused both parties, and which I was subsequently informed, was concocted in Mr Cavendish's committee room. High mathematical knowledge is by no means a very great qualification in a candidate for the House of Commons, nor is the absence of it any disparagement. In the contest to which I refer, the late Mr Goldburn was opposed to Mr Cavendish. The following paragraph appeared in the morning post. Quote, The wigs late great stress on the academic distinction attained by Mr Cavendish. Mr Goldburn, it is true, was not a candidate of university honors, but his scientific attainments are by no means insignificant. He has succeeded in the exact recidification of a circular arc, and he has likewise discovered the equation of the lunar caustic, a problem likely to prove of great value to the nautical astronomy." End quote. It appears that late one evening a cab drove up in hot haste to the office of the morning post, delivered the copy as coming from Mr Goldburn's committee, and at the same time ordered 50 extra copies of the post to be sent next morning to their committee room. Contest for Finsbury. During my own contest for the borough of Finsbury, few incidents worth note occurred. One day, as I returned in an omnibus from the city, an opportunity presented itself by which I acquired a few votes. A gentleman at the extreme end of the omnibus being about to leave it asked the conductor to give him change for a sovereign. Those around expressed their opinion that he would acquire bad silver by the exchange. On hearing this remonstrance, I thought it a good opportunity to make a little political capital, which might perhaps be improved by a slight delay. So I did not volunteer my services until a neighbor of the capitalist who possessed the sovereign had offered him the loan of a sixpence. It was quite clear that the borrower would ask for the address of the lender, and tolerably certain that it would be in some distant locality. In fact, it turned out Richmond being the abode of the benevolent one. Other liberal individuals offered their services, but they only possessed half sovereigns and half crowns. A judicious loan, sixpence. In the meantime, I had taken from my well-loaded breast pocket one of my own charming addresses to my highly cultivated and independent constituents, and having also a bright sixpence in my hand, I immediately offered the latter as a loan, and the former as my address for repayment. I remarked at the same time that my committee room on Holburn Hill, at which I was about to alight, would be open continually for the next five weeks. This offer was immediately accepted, and further extensive demands were instantly made upon my pocket for other copies of my address. My immediate neighbor, having read its fascinating contents, applied to me for more copies, saying that he highly agreed with my sound and patriotic views. Would at once promise me six votes and added that he would also immediately commence a canvas in his own district. On arriving at my committee room, I had already acquired other supporters. Indeed, I am pretty sure I carried the whole of my fellow passengers with me, for I left the omnibus amidst the hearty cheers of my newly acquired friends. Repaid with compound interest About a year or two after this long forgotten loan, I received a letter from a gentleman whose name I did not recognize as being one of my two numerous correspondents. It commenced thus, Sir, I am the gentleman to whom you lent sixpence in the omnibus. He then went on to state, in terms too flattering for me to repeat, that he had watched the Finsbury election with the greatest interest, and much deplored the taste of the electors in rejecting, so and so, a candidate. My friend then informed me of an approaching vacancy in the borough of Stroud, in which town he resided. He proceeded to give me an outline of the state of opinion, and of the wants of the electors, and concluded by saying he was certain that my opinions would be very favorably received. He also assured me, if I decided on offering my services to the constituency, that he should have great pleasure in giving me every support in his power. In reply, I cordially thanked him for his gracious offer, but declined the proposed honour. In fact, I was not peculiarly desirous of wasting my time for the benefit of my country. The constituency of Finsbury had already expressed their opinion that Mr. Wakeley and Mr. Thomas Duncombe were fitter than myself to represent them in Parliament, and in that decision I most cordially concurred. During some of the earlier contests from the borough of Mary LeBone, it too frequently occurred that ladies drove around to their various tradesmen to canvass for their votes, threatening, in case of refusal, to withdraw their custom. This unfeminine conduct occasionally drew upon them unpleasant, though well-deserved rebukes. Disgraceful Canvassing In one of those contests I took a considerable interest in favour of a candidate whom I shall call Mr. A., meeting a very respectable tradesman, a plumber, and painter, whom I had employed in decorating my own house. I asked him how he intended to vote. He replied that he wished to vote for Mr. A., but that one of his customers had been in his shop and asked him to vote for Mr. Z., threatening, in case he declined, never to employ him again. I inquired whether his customer's house was larger than mine, to which he replied that mine was twice the size of the other. I then asked whether his customer was a younger man than myself. To him he replied he is a much older man. I then asked him what he would do if I adopted the same line of conduct, and insisted on his voting for my friend Mr. A. This query was unanswerable. Of course, I did not attempt to make him violate his extorted promise. Such conduct is disgraceful, and if a frequent occurrence would have a tendency to introduce the vote by ballot, a mode of voting for representatives which, in my opinion, nothing short of the strongest necessity could justify. The election of Finsbury gave occasion to follow the Gé des Spirées, which, as a specimen of the electioneering squibs of the day, I give in extenso. Chapter 22. Seen from a new after-piece called Politics and Poetry, or The Decline of Science. Dramatis personae. People of fashion. Turnstile, a retired philosopher, member of parliament for Shoreditch. Lord Flum, a Tory nobleman of ancient family. Countess of Flum, his wife, Lady Selina, their daughter, Honorable Mrs. Fubsy, sister of the Countess. Whigs. Lord A. Prime Minister. Close Wind. First Lord of the Admiralty. Shift, Secretary at War. Smooth, Secretary for the Colonies. Also, Member of Parliament for Shoreditch. Tories. Members of the Conservative Club. Lord George. Lord Charles. Marquia Flamberow. Dick Trim, a former whipper in. Shoreditch Electors. Highway. A radical. Griskin. Colonel of the Lumber Troop. Tribes, his lieutenant. Philosophers. Sir Orlando Winfall. Knight Royal Hanover Guelphic Order. An Astronomical Observer. Sir Simon Smug. Knight Royal Hanover Guelphic Order. Professor of Botanism. At All. An Episcopalizing Mathematician. Dean of Canterbury. Byways. A Calculating Officer. Other Lords. Conservative and Whig. The scene is laid in London, principally at the west end of the town. The time is near the end of May, 1835. Scenes and etc. Extracted. Act I. Scene I. Committee Room of the Conservatives. Charles Street. Lord Flum. Marquia Flamberow. Lord George. Lord Charles. Other Tory Lords. And Trim. A table covered with papers. Lord Charles smoking a cigar. Lord George half asleep in an armchair. Trim busy in looking over a list of the House of Commons. Trim. It will be a devilish close run I see. Yet I think we might manage some of them. Does anybody know Turnstile? Marquia. Never heard of him. Lord George. Reform Member for Paddle-Dark City. The author of a book on pin-making and things of that kind. An Iron Monger in Newgate Street. No, no. Member for Shoreditch with smooth the colonial secretary. Lord Charles, taking the cigar from his mouth. I think I've heard something of him at Cambridge. He was Newtonian Professor of Chemistry when I was at college. Can't we talk him over? No, no! He's too sharp for that. Will anybody speak to him? If he won't vote with us, keep him out of the way. Perhaps a hint at an appointment. No, that either. He is a fellow of some spirit and devilish proud. Lord Flum, but what are his tastes? How does he employ himself? Who are his friends? Why, he's a sort of a philosopher that wants to be a man of the world. Oh, now I begin to recollect. I must have seen him at Sir Phillips. Leave him to me. I think Lady Flum and my daughter can manage to keep him quiet on Thursday night. But for Tuesday, my lord. Two nights? Then I must try what I can do for you myself. Exit. Scene four, Groesner Square. Enter turnstile, musing. This will never do. They make use of me and laugh at me in their sleeves. Push me round and go by. That breakdown was a devil of a business. They didn't laugh out to be sure, but they coughed and looked unutterably. And where is this to end? What shall I have to show for it? Confounded loss of time to hear those fellows prosing instead of seeing the oculation last night. And that Book of Elves. So much that I had begun upon and might have finished. It never will do. But knowledge, after all, is power. That, at least, is certain power. To do what? To refuse Lord Doodle's invitation and to ask Lord Humbug for a favor, which it is ten to one he will refuse, but the royal society is defunct. That I have accomplished. Gilbert and the Duke and the secretaries, I have driven them all before me. And now, though I must not be a knight of the Guelphic order, yet a ribbon is a pretty-looking thing and a star too. I will show that I can teach them how to make knights and describe the decorations that other men are to wear. But here comes Lord Flum. And I am saved the bore of calling upon him. Scene five, enter Lord Flum. Mr. Ternstile, if I do not mistake, my dear Ternstile, how glad I am to see you again. It was kind of Sir Philip to introduce me. You know that you are near our house, and Lady Flum will be so happy. In truth, my lord, I was about to call upon you. After what you were so good to say last night, I took the first opportunity. Well, that is kind, but you did not speak last night. How came that? I don't find you in the paper, yet the subject was quite your own. Tello and bar iron, raw materials and machinery. Ah, my dear sir, when science condescends to come among us mortals, the effects to be expected are wonderful indeed. My lord, you flatter. But we have reached your door. Confound him. But I'm glad he was not in the house. It's clear he hasn't heard of the breakdown. While I have you to myself, turnstile, remember that you dine with me on Tuesday. I am to have two friends, Lord S. and Sir George Y., who wish very much to be acquainted with you. Half past seven. You are very good, my lord. I dare not refuse so kind an invitation. Exient. Scene six, Lady Flum's drawing room. Lady Flum at the writing table. Mrs. Fubsy at work on a sofa. Enter Lord Flum and turnstile. Lady Flum, this is Mr. Turnstile, whom you have so long wished to know. Mr. Turnstile, Lady Flum. The Mr. Turnstile. My dear sir, I am too happy to see you. We had just been speaking of your delightful book. Selena, enter Lady Selena. This is Mr. Turnstile. Indeed. Yes, indeed. You see, he is a mortal man after all. Bring me my love. The book you will find open on the table in the boudoir. I wish to show Mr. Turnstile the passages I have marked this morning. Lady Selena, returning with the book and running over the leaves. Lace made by caterpillars. Steam engines with fairy fingers. Robe of nature. Son of science. Faltering worshipper, author of truth. It is indeed delightful. The taste, the poetical imagination are surprising. I hope Mr. Turnstile, indeed I am sure that you love music. Not very particularly. I must acknowledge a barrel organ is the instrument most in my way. Music and machinery, Mr. Turnstile. polite literature and mathematics. You do know how to combine. Others must judge of the profounder parts of your work, but the style and the fancy are what I should most admire. You dined with Lord Flum, he tells me, on Tuesday. Now you must come to me on Thursday night. I am sorry to say that upon recollection, I ought to have apologized to Lord Flum. The pottery question stands for Tuesday and I should be there as one of the committee. And Thursday your ladyship knows is the second reading of the place and pension bill. Oh, we are Staffordshire people. That will excuse you to the pottery folks. And for Thursday, I will absolutely take no excuse. We have pasta and donzelli. Perhaps a quadril afterwards. You dance, Mr. Turnstile. And Lady Sophia C and her cousin, Lord F, have said so much about those beautiful passages at the end of your book that they will be quite disappointed if I do not keep my promise to introduce them. Touching his arm with her finger. Your ladyship knows how to conquer. I feel that I cannot refuse. Exit. Scene seven, Groverner Square before Lord Flum's house. Enter Turnstile from the house. This is all very delightful, but what will they say at Shoreditch? Twice in one week absent from the house and at two Tory parties. Enter Grisken hastily, heated. His hat in his left hand, a pocket handkerchief in his right. Mr. Turnstile, I'm glad to find you. Just called on you as I came to this quarter to look after a customer long way from the city. Sorry not to hear from you. Why really, Mr. Grisken? I am very sorry, but I am not acquainted with the commander-in-chief. And I must say that I should not know how to press for the contract, knowing that your nephew's prices are 30% at least above the market. That's being rather nice, I should say, Mr. Turnstile. My nephew is as good a lad as ever stood in shoe leather and has six good vaults in Shoreditch and as to myself, Mr. Turnstile. I must say that after all I did at your election and in such very hot weather, I did not expect you'd be so very particular about a small matter. Sir, I wish you good morning. Turnstile, bowing and looking after him. So this fellow, like the rest of them, thinks that I am to do his jobs and to neglect my own. And this is your reformed parliament. Scene nine, the street near Turnstile's house. Enter Tripes and Smooth Meeting. Smooth taking both Tripes' hands. My dear Tripes, how do you do? Pray, how is your good lady? What a jolly party at your house last night. And Mrs. Tripes, I hope, is none the worse for it. Oh, dear sir, no. Mrs. Tripes and my daughters were so pleased with your scotch singing. On your boys, how are they? Fine, promising, active fellows. You've heard from McLeach? Just received the note as I left home. All is quite right. You see, your cousin has the appointment at the Cape. I knew McLeach was just the man for the details. A ship I find is to sail in about three weeks. And I don't think your cousin need to be very scrupulous about freight and passage. You are too good, Mr. Smooth. I'm sure if anything that I can do, my sense of all your kindness, I was thinking when I saw those fond lads of yours that another assistant to my undersecretary's deputy. But between you and me, you think that one is more than enough. We must wait a while. Takes Tripes' arm, exeunt. Scene 10, turnstiles parlor, 11.5 a.m. Breakfast on the table, pamphlets and newspapers. In the corners of the room, books and philosophical instruments, dusty and thrown together. Heaps of parliamentary reports lying above them. Turnstile alone, musing and looking over some journals. This headache, impossible to sleep when one goes to bed by daylight. Experiments by a Rago, a paper by Cauchy on my own subject. But here is this cursed committee in Smithfield to be attended and it is already past 11. Rising, knock at the hall door, enter servant. Mr. Tripes, sir, show him in. He comes no doubt to say that my election is arranged. A good, fat-headed, honest fellow. Enter Tripes. Well, Mr. Tripes, I'm glad to see you pray. Take a chair. We hoped to have seen you at the meeting yesterday, sir. Capital speech from Mr. Smith. You know, of course, that Mr. Highway is a candidate and Mr. McLeach is talked of. Very sorry, indeed, you weren't there. A transit of Venus, Mr. Tripes, is a thing that does not happen every day. Besides, my friend Stilini from Palermo is here and I had promised to go with him to Greenwich. Almost a pity, sir, to call your attention from such objects. But in the city we are men of business, you know, plain everyday people. It was unlucky, but I could not help it. The committee, I hope, is by this time at work. It was just that I called about. I wish to tell you myself how very sorry I am that I cannot be your chairman. But my large family, press of business, in short, you must excuse me. And if I should be upon Mr. Smith's committee, I don't well see how I can attend to both. Smooth? But he and I go together, you know. At least I understood it so. I'm glad to hear it. I feared there might be some mistake. And if McLeach comes forward, being a fellow townsman of Mr. Smith and a good deal in the Glasgow interest, a commercial man too, Mr. Turnstile, a practical man, Mr. Turnstile. I am not quite sure. You can count upon Mr. Smith's assistance and government, you know, is strong. Assistance? Mr. Tripes from Smooth? Why, I came in on my own ground on the independent interest. Assistance from Smooth. Besides, Smooth knows very well that our second vote secured him. Very true, sir. But these independent people are hard to deal with. And Mr. Highway, I assure you, hit very hard in his speech at the meeting yesterday. He talked of amateur politicians, attention to the business of the people, dinners with the opposite party. In short, I fear they will say, like the others, that what they want is something of a practical man, Mr. Turnstile. I'm sorry that I must be going. Sir, your servant. Turnstile, rising and ringing. Enter servant. Open the door for Mr. Tripes. Exit Tripes. Damned, double-faced, selfish blockhead. Scene 11, the street as before. Enter Tripes from Turnstile's house, putting on his hat. He might have been more civil too, though he did count upon me for his chairman. But I'll show him that I am not to be insulted. And if McLeach manages the matter well for Charles, this Mr. Philosopher Turnstile, though he thinks himself so clever, may go to the devil. Exit. Act two, scene one. Downing street after a cabinet meeting. Lord A, close wind, shift, smooth, and other members of the cabinet. Lord A, that point being settled, gentlemen, the sooner you are at your posts, the better. The king comes down to dissolve on Friday. But before we part, we had better decide about this presidency of the Board of Manufacturers. The appointment requires an able man of rather peculiar attainments. Mr. Turnstile has been mentioned to me, and his claims, I am told, are strong. Long devotion to science, great expense and loss of time for public objects, high reputation and weight of opinion as a man of science. Smooth. I believe he has left science. At least he wishes it to be so considered. It is my colleague at Shoreditch, and of course I wish to support him, but when the business is to be done, and men, and things to be brought together, I own, I doubt whether a more practical man might not shift. And that, poor Turnstile, certainly is not. He must always have a reason, nothing but the quote erot demonstratum, a romancer. If you have anything to do, his first object is to do it well. I am quite sure he will not answer our purpose. Close wind. He talks too much about consistency. And on party questions, you are never sure of him. Last week, he did not divide with us on either night. Well, I am quite indifferent. I did hear of his being at Lord Flums, and after what had just passed in the lords, a personal friend of mine would, perhaps, have kept away from that quarter. Is there no other person? Davies Robert? Oh, poo, poo! Poor Gilbert, no! That will never do! Or Warbutton. Oh, worse and worse! If ever there was an impracticable, but we don't know that Turnstile is sure of his seat. Smooth. Hasn't MacLeach been talked of for sure, Ditch? He's certain of succeeding. The independent gentlemen don't quite like Turnstile. They were for highway. On the split, we'll foil them both. MacLeach, now that he has been mentioned, I must acknowledge those seem to me to be the very mon for the manufacturers. A practical, persevering mon of business. Never absent from the house. Excellent scotch connections. A cousin of the Duke of Wise. That is a good point, certainly. An appointment given there would be candid and liberal. It might conciliate a very civil, excellent fellow too. MacLeach, I should say, is the man. I quite agree with you. I confess, I think he will fill the office well. And if it is not quite necessary that Oom's motion to reduce the salary, though it is not large, oh, no, the salary had better remain. 2,000 pound is not too much. Besides, the principle of giving away is bad. Well, gentlemen, let it be so. Smooth, you will let MacLeach know that he has the office. On that the present salary agreed. Exeant. Scene four, the Anthenaeum Club, smooth and at all at a table. Smooth. I saw it this morning on the breakfast table at Lorde's. It is an honorable article. And I was told is yours. These things, you know, are always supposed to be anonymous. But I am not sorry that you liked the paper. Did his lordship speak of it? The book was open at the article upon the table. It does you honor. It's just the happy point. Hence probable intentions without giving any pledge. Enough to please the liberals. On full room for explanation, if any change becomes experienced. The true plan, believe me, for a ministry in times like these is to proceed in tontenat. Pray, Mr. Dean, how is the bishop of Hareford? I didn't know he was particularly ill. He has long been feeble. These complainers do sometimes hold out. But they cannot last forever. We meet, I hope, tomorrow at the levee. You ought to be there. I have come to town for the purpose, having secured, I think, close wins election at Cambridge. Well done, my very good friend. Man of talent should always pull together. Sorry that I must go, but we meet tomorrow. Shaking hands very cordially. Exit. Scene six, Biway's lodgings, Biway's alone writing. Enter turnstile. My dear Biway's, I want your assistance. Desserted by those shabby dogs, the radicals, and tricked I fear by the wigs, I find I have no chance of a decent show of numbers at the next election if my scientific friends do not support me with spirit. Even so, it can be only an honorable retreat. I count upon you. You understand the world, and as soon as we can muster a committee, you must be my chairman. My good friend, don't be in a hurry. Sit down and tell me all about it. I know you don't care much about your seat, and after all it is to you a waste of time. But with the independence at your back, you are secure. As to me, my dear fellow, you know that I am. But man, the independence, as you call them, have taken up highway. He blusters and goes any length. But smooth, you know, is strong in shortage. Government interest. You brought him in last time, and you and he together, I know it, but he says he is not strong enough to run any risk. If you will be my chairman with a good committee, we may at least die game. My dear turnstile, you know how glad I always am to serve you, and you know what I think. But in my situation, my dear fellow, it is quite impossible that I can oppose the ministers. McLeach too, they say, is a candidate, and his brother-in-law's uncle was very civil last year in Scotland to my wife's cousin. But I have a plan for you. There is Atal, just come to town, make him your chief, and bring the Cambridge men together. The clergy were always strong in shortage. Atal can speak to them. I am obliged to go to the war office, and you had better lose no time in seeing Atal. Sorry to bid you goodbye. Exit. Well, this is strange, yet I thought I might have counted upon byways. Exit. Scene eight, Lady Flum's drawing room. Lady Flum, Lady Selina, Honorable Mrs. Fubsy. Mrs. Fubsy. But my dear sister, how can you so be flatter that poor man? You don't know all the mischief you may do to him. Poor man! I cannot pity him. His maxim is that knowledge is power, and he thinks his knowledge is all that can be known. He has to learn that our knowledge also is power, and that we know how to use it too. Enter, Lord Flum. There, Lady Selina, so much for your philosophic friend. Poor Turnstile, what a business he has made of it. Here is the times with the report of the shortage election meeting. Turnstile has no chance, the Scotchman coalesce. Highway none of us can think of, and smooth and McLeach walk over the ground in triumph, and then the presidency of manufacturers, the very appointment for which poor Turnstile was fitted, and to do the poor devil justice he could have filled it well, is given to McLeach, a Scotch hangarorn, or distant cousin of smooths, and with the old salary, in spite of all that Hume could say against it. Bravo, reform, and the Whigs forever, we Tories could not have done the business in a better style. Enter a footman. Mr. Turnstile, my lady, sends up his card. Oh, not at home? And, Sleek, put a memorandum in the visiting book that we are out of town whenever Mr. Turnstile calls. Scene 12, Turnstile's parlor, night, Turnstile alone. Then all is up. What a fool have I been to embark upon this sea of trouble. Two years of trifling and lost time, while others have been making discoveries and adding to their reputation. Those rascal Whigs, my blood boils to think of them. I can forgive the shore-ditch people, the greasy, vulgar, money-getting beasts, but my friends, the men of principle, getting up and walking about. Is it still too late to return, looking around upon his books and instruments? There you are, my old friends, whom I have treated rather ungratefully. What a scene at that cursed meeting, highways bullying the baseness of smooth, the Sleek's lie steering of that knave MacLeish. And yet they must succeed. There's no help for it. I am fairly beaten, thrown overboard, with not a leg to stand upon. And all I have to do is to go to bed now, to sleep off this fever, and tomorrow take leave of politics and try to be myself once more. End of the Extracts. Note, the reader will doubtlessly have already discovered that byways with the other dramatist personae of this squib are living characters not unknown in fashionable and political circles. In a future edition, if it can be done without offense, I may perhaps be induced to present them to the public without their masks and buskins. End of Chapter 22. Recording by Richard Garifo.