through. The glories of Smith O’Brien were eclipsed for ever in the cabbage-garden of Balingarry; his colleague, O’Meagher of the Sword, having previously retired from the scene at Limerick under the influence of a nervous attack. The days have fled for ever when the Irish Brass Band in the House of Commons could command their price for silence as regularly as a troop of German musicians are accustomed to levy black-mail on a peaceful neighbourhood as the consideration for “moving on.” Perhaps the death of John Sadleir, a man who had a real head for political combinations, was the event which extinguished the last hope of the impudent political adventurers who trafficked in their country’s name for their own personal advantage. John Sadleir might have organised an Irish Party which would have enabled him to deal with the Government face to face—but that hope perished one misty morning on Hampstead Heath, when the lifeless body of that keen-witted schemer was found by a passing labourer near where the donkeys usually stand.
There is little danger now to the country from the union of a Rump of Irish members in the Lower House, ready to sell their votes to the highest bidder. A political chief who had bargained for the support of such a band, would incur so much indignation from the country that his own lease of power would be brought to a speedy conclusion. The British Empire can no longer be governed by a combination between the representatives of a dozen, or even of a score, obscure Irish constituencies. Of Irish agitation there is an end, because it no longer represents a truth. If Irishmen, in the absence of any true grievances, should still remain of opinion that they do not enjoy that share in the government of the country to which they are entitled, they would do well to hold a conference with the First Minister of the British Crown—a countryman of their own—upon the point. Perhaps the abolition of the useless and vulgar pageantry in Dublin would be the best answer to this new cry. Lord Palmerston and his colleagues may justly congratulate themselves that they have held the balance with so even a hand in the administration of Irish affairs, that they have equally incurred the displeasure of the extreme Papist, and of the extreme Orange faction. A good word from either would have exposed them to the suspicion of the empire.
The story of Mr. Edmund Beckett Denison, and of his pertinacious fight for a legacy of 45,000l., was certainly a curious episode in the intelligence of Last Week. Here we find a gentleman of acknowledged ability and position, to say the least of it, so dead to all delicacy and propriety of feeling, that he absolutely prepared, with his own hand the draught of a will for the late Mr. Frederick Dent—the well-known watchmaker—added his own name as executor with full powers, leaving a blank for the insertion of the name of the residuary legatee. The name of Edmund Beckett Denison was subsequently inserted as such residuary legatee, and under the bequest—had it taken effect—he would have become entitled to the sum of 45,000l. The disposal of so large a sum in Mr. Denison’s favour would have been to the injury of Mr. Dent’s own mother, and of others—his close relations. On the 1st of April Mr. Dent revoked the will, by causing it to be torn in his presence; and on the 25th of the same month he died. It was admitted that, on the 10th of March, Mr. Dent was of competent understanding to make a will. The question for the jury was, whether, on the 1st of April, he was equally of competent understanding to give directions for its destruction? The jury, after a very few minutes’ consultation, found a verdict in favour of the plaintiff, Mrs. Dent, the mother of the deceased, and thus the family have not been despoiled of the property for the benefit of a stranger.
The third subject named is one which at the present season of the year is very properly attracting a large share of attention. As many of us as are blessed with the comforts of a cheerful fire-side, of warm clothing, and of abundant food, must not forget that in this huge town of London there are thousands and thousands of miserable creatures who are not so utterly and absolutely destitute that they will consent to apply for admission to the public workhouses, and who yet are suffering all but the extremities of human misery. Political Economy bids us leave such unfortunate persons to their fate—Humanity refuses to comply with the stern direction. Some persons are opposed to the granting of any relief save such as is doled out from the public funds; others, of softer feelings, are for giving almost indiscriminate relief. If we were absolutely compelled to make our election between the economists and the philanthropists, the more merciful course to the poor would probably be to cast in our lot even with the sternest devotees of the Poor Law. Should any such project as the one which has been talked about for the last few weeks ever take effect, it would do more to demoralise the poor of London, and to foster hot-beds of crime, than any which human ingenuity—misdirected—could devise. Let the vagabondism and idleness of the country once clearly understand that, here in London, food and shelter and warmth are to be found without labour, and the metropolis will soon be inundated with applicants for relief upon such easy terms. By all means let each of us give, and give freely, from our own abundance to the necessities of the poor whom we know to be deserving of such sympathy and assistance.
As soon as any one departs from this plain and obvious course of giving charitable aid only in cases which he knows to be deserving of relief, the chances are that he is doing not good, but harm, to the individual, and inflicting incalculable harm upon the community. It is not of course necessary that all of us, engaged as we are in occupations which exhaust all our energies, and absorb our whole attention, should convert ourselves into district visitors. That is clearly impossible; but at least, before giving alms, we can satisfy ourselves that each case brought before us has been investigated by persons on whose intelligence and firmness we can place reliance. For this purpose small associations, if associations there must be, are better than large ones. Where the area of inquiry is limited, the conclusions arrived at are more satisfactory.