You know, of course, how the pendulum of public opinion
swings backwards and forwards. The truth lies
somewhere about the middle of the arc it describes,
in most cases. You know how the popularity of
political men oscillates, from A, the point of greatest
popularity, to B, the point of no popularity at all.
Think of Lord Brougham. Once the pendulum swung
far to the right: he was the most popular man
in Britain. Then, for many years, the pendulum
swung far to the left, into the cold regions of unpopularity,
loss of influence, and opposition benches. And
now, in his last days, the pendulum has come over
to the right again. So with lesser men. When
the new clergyman comes to a country parish, how high
his estimation! Never was there preacher so impressive,
pastor so diligent, man so frank and agreeable.
By and bye his sermons are middling, his diligence
middling; his manners rather stiff or rather too easy.
In a year or two the pendulum rests at its proper point:
and from that time onward the parson gets, in most
cases, very nearly the credit he deserves. The
like oscillation of public opinion and feeling exists
in the case of unfavourable as of favourable judgments.
A man commits a great crime. His guilt is thought
awful. There is a general outcry for his condign
punishment. He is sentenced to be hanged.
In a few days the tide begins to turn. His crime
was not so great. He had met great provocation.
His education had been neglected. He deserves
pity rather than reprobation. Petitions are got
up that he should be let off; and largely signed by
the self-same folk who were loudest in the outcry
against him. And instead of this fact, that those
folk were the keenest against the criminal, being
received (as it ought) as proof that their opinion
is worth nothing at all, many will receive it as proof
that their opinion is entitled to special consideration.
The principle of the pendulum in the matter of criminals
is well understood by the Old Bailey practitioners
of New York and their worthy clients. When a
New Yorker is sentenced to be hanged, he remains as
a cool as cucumber; for the New York law is, that
a year must pass between the sentence and the execution.
And long before the year passes, the public sympathy
has turned in the criminal’s favour. Endless
petitions go up for his pardon. Of course he gets
off. And indeed it is not improbable that he
may receive a public testimonial. It cannot be
denied that the natural transition in the popular feeling
is from applauding a man to hanging him, and from hanging
a man to applauding him.
Even so does the pendulum swing, and the world run
away!
