But, the "education" canters are the most curious fellows of all. They have seen"graduation" as they call it, and crimes, go on increasing together, till the goal, though of six times their former dimensions, will hardly suffice; and yet, the canting creatures still cry, that crimes arise from want of what they call "education!" they see the FELON better fed and better clad than the HONEST LABOURER. They see this; and yet they continually cry, that the crimes arise from a want of"education!" What can be the cause of this perverseness? It is not perverseness: it is roguery corruption, and tyranny. The tyrant, the unfeeling tyrant, squeezes the labourers for gain' s sake; and the corrupt politician and literary or tub rogue, find an excuse for him by pretending, that it is not want of food and clothing, but want of education, that makes the poor, starving wretches thieves and robbers. If the press, if only the press, were to do its duty, or but a tenth part of its duty, this hellish system could not go on. But, it favours the system by ascribing the misery to wrong causes. The causes are these: the tax gatherer presses the landlord; And the farmer the labourer. Here it falls at last; and this class is make so miserable, that a felon' s life is better than that of a labourer. Does there want any other cause to produce crimes? But, on these causes, so clear to the eye of reason so plain from experience, the press scarcely ever says a single word; while it keeps bothering our brains about education and morality; and about ignorance and immorality leading to felonies. To be sure, immorality leads to felonies. Who does not know that? But, who is to expect morality in a half-starved man, who is whipped if he do not work, though he has not, for his whole day' s food, so much as if and my little boy snapped up in six or seven minutes upon Stoke-Charity down? Aye! But, if the press were to ascribe the increase of crimes to the true causes, it must go further back. It must go to the cause of the taxes. It must go to the debt, the dead-weight, the thundering standing army, the enormous sinecures pensions, and grants; and this would suit but a very small part of a press, which lives and thrives principally by one or the other of these.
REFLECTIONS IN AN ENGLISH INN
East Everley (Wiltshire)
Sunday Evening, 27 Aug. 1826
Everley is but about three miles from Udgarshall, so that we got here in the afternoon of Friday; and, in the evening a very heavy storm came and drove away all flies, and made the air delightful. This is a real Down-country. Here you see miles and miles square without a tree, or hedge, or brush. It is country of greensward. This is the most famous place in all England for coursing. I was here, at this very inn, with a party eighteen years ago; and, the landlord, who is still the same, recognize me as soon as he saw me. There were forty brace of grey-hounds taken out into the field on one of the days, and every brace had one curse, and some of them two. The ground is the finest in the world; from two to three miles for the hare to run to cover, and not a stone nor a bush nor a hillock. It was here proved to me, that the hare is, by far, the swiftest of all English animals; for I saw three hares, in one day run away from the dogs. To give dog and hare a fair trial, there should be but one dog. Then, if that dog got so close as to compel the hare to turn, that would be a proof that the dog ran fastest. When the dog, or dogs, never get near enough to the hare to induce her to turn, she is said, and very justly, to"run away" from them; and, as I saw three hares do this in one day, I conclude, that the hare is the swiftest animal of the two.
This inn is one of the nicest, and, in summer, one of the pleasantest, in England; for, I think, that my experience in this way will justify me in speaking thus positively. The house is large, the yard and the stables good, the landlord a farmer also, and, therefore, no cribbing your horses in hay or straw and yourself in eggs and cream. The garden, which adjoins the south side of the house, is large, of good shape, has a terrace on one side lies on the slope, consists of well-disposed clumps of shrubs and flowers, and of short-grass very neatly kept. In the lower part of the garden there are high trees, and, amongst these, the tulip-tree and the live-oak. Beyond the garden is a large clump of lofty sycamores, and, in these a most populous rookery, in which, of all things in the world, I delight. The village, which contains 301 souls, lies to the north of the inn, but adjoining its premises. All the rest, in every direction, is bare down or open arable. I am now sitting at one of the southern windows of this inn, looking across the garden towards the rookery. It is nearly sun-setting; the rooks are skimming and curving over the tops of the trees; while, under the branches, I see a flock of several hundred sheep, coming nibbling their way in from the Down, and going to their fold.