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Title: Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 70, No. 434, December, 1851
Author: Various
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 70, No. 434, December, 1851" ***
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* * * * *
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCCXXXIV. DECEMBER, 1851. VOL. LXX.
CONTENTS.
TO THE SHOPKEEPERS OF GREAT BRITAIN, 629
THE JEW'S LEGACY. A TALE OF THE SIEGE OF GIBRALTAR, 648
LIFE AMONGST THE LOGGERS, 669
MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. PART XVI., 681
JOHNSTON'S NOTES ON NORTH AMERICA, 699
THE ANSAYRII, 719
THE CHAMPIONS OF THE RAIL, 739
INDEX, 751
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 45 GEORGE STREET;
AND 37 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
_To whom all communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCCXXXIV. DECEMBER, 1851. VOL. LXX.
TO THE SHOPKEEPERS OF GREAT BRITAIN.
GENTLEMEN,--As it is customary for most men about this season of
the year, when accounts are balanced and squared, to take a serious
survey of the posture of their affairs, and to examine into their
business prospects, perhaps you may not consider a few observations,
touching the welfare and position of that important class of the
community to which you belong, either impertinent or ill-timed. You
are aware that, for the last year or two, Her Majesty's Ministers
have been in the habit of opening Parliament with a congratulatory
assurance of the continued, and even augmented, prosperity of the
country. The reason why such statements were made, altogether
irrespective of their truth or falsehood, is obvious enough. In a
political point of view, they were necessary for the vindication
of the measures which Government either originated or adopted. To
have admitted that the country was not prospering under the new
commercial system, would have been considered by the public as
tantamount to an acknowledgment that the policy which dictated
those measures was vicious; and that the Whig ministry, if not
deficient in duty, had at least erred sorely in judgment. In private
life, we rarely meet with that degree of candour which amounts to
an unequivocal admission of error in point of judgment--in public
life, such an admission is altogether unknown. Failure may indeed
be acknowledged when the fact becomes too evident to admit of
further denial; but the causes of that failure are never attributed
to their real source. Not only the purity of the motive, but the
wisdom of the conception, is vindicated to the last. In this case,
however, failure is totally denied. So far from being put upon their
defence, the Whigs maintain that they have achieved a triumph. Their
averment is, that, with the exception of the agricultural producers,
among whom they allow that a certain degree of distress prevails,
all other classes of the community are prosperous. Even for the
agriculturists there is balm in store. The prosperity of the other
classes is to react upon them; so that, within some indefinite
period of time, we shall all find ourselves in circumstances of ease
and comfort which have hitherto been unknown in our land.
With you the benefit is represented, not as prospective, but as
present. The agriculturist may have to wait a little longer, but you
are already provided for. Your cake is baked; and we are assured
that you are eating it in thankfulness and joy. If this is really
the case, there is no more to be said on the subject. If the harvest
of Free Trade has actually yielded you such a large measure of
profit, it would be madness in anyone to decry that line of policy
in your hearing. You constitute the class which, from its peculiar
position and vocation, is better qualified than any other to judge
accurately, and from experience, of the degree of prosperity which
is actually known in the country. The verdict of twelve shopkeepers,
given after an inspection of their books for an average of years,
ought to be of more weight, in settling the merits of any disputed
commercial question, than the random assurances of a dozen cabinet
ministers whose reputation and official existence are bound up in
the vindication of their own policy. The reason of this is perfectly
obvious. Your profit is simply a commission upon your sales. You
do not produce or manufacture articles of consumption--you simply
retail them. Your profit depends upon the briskness of trade, that
is, the amount of demand. It rises or falls according to the general
circumstances of your customers. In good times you make large
profits; in bad times those profits decrease. One while your stock
sells off rapidly; at another, it remains upon your hands. Your
interest is inseparable from that of the great body of consumers by
whom you live. You have little or nothing to do with the foreign
trade; for, whatever be the nature, of the articles in which you
deal, you sell them in the home market. You have, therefore, the
best opportunity of estimating the real condition of your customers.
The state of your own books, and the comparative degree of ease or
difficulty which you experience in the collection of your accounts,
furnish you with a sure index of the purchasing power of the
community. Compared with this criterion, which is common to every
man among you, tables of exports and imports, statements of bank
bullion, and such like artificial implements as have been invented
by the political impostors and economists, are absolutely worthless.
When our sapient Chancellor of the Exchequer, or Mr Labouchere,
tell you, with an air of unbounded triumph, that the exportation
of calicoes to China or Peru has mightily increased--and therefore
argue, without condescending to inquire whether such exportation
has been attended with any profit at all to the manufacturers, that
the prosperity of the country is advancing at a railway pace--you
may indeed be gratified by the statistical information, but you
will fail to discover in what way the public are benefited thereby.
It is pleasant to know that there are fifteen millions of gold in
the vaults of the Bank of England, and that, so long as this hoard
remains undiminished, there is little chance of a commercial crisis,
or a violent contraction of credit. But we take it you would be
infinitely better pleased to know that sovereigns were circulating
freely from hand to hand amongst the people, and that your customers
had their pockets so well filled as to enable them to purchase
largely, and to pay their accounts when due. To you any depression
whatever is a serious matter--a depression which assumes a permanent
appearance cannot be much short of ruin. Therefore you ought most
especially to take care that no false representation is made
regarding your circumstances, which may be the means of perpetuating
a system that has already proved detrimental to a large body of your
customers.
Were we to take for granted the ministerial statement of
prosperity--which no doubt will be repeated next February--your Whig
minister being an incorrigible cuckoo--this paper would certainly
not have been written. But, having had occasion early to doubt the
truthfulness of this vernal note, and having taken some pains to
examine the statements which from time to time are issued by the
great houses engaged in commercial and manufacturing industry, as
also the accounts of the present condition of the poor, which have
excited so much public interest, we have really been unable to
discover any one influential class, beyond the money-lenders and
creditors, or any one large and important branch of industry, which
can, with truth, be described as prospering, or will confess to the
existence of such prosperity. Shipmasters, manufacturers, merchants,
iron-masters, and agriculturists, all tell the same tale. This is
very strange. You may possibly remember that Mr M'Gregor, once
Secretary to the Board of Trade, and now member for Glasgow, the
great commercial city of Scotland, estimated the additional amount
of wealth which was to accrue to Great Britain, in consequence of
the repeal of the Corn Laws, at two millions sterling per week! Upon
what data that profound gentleman, who thus enunciated the prophecy
and assumed the mask of Midas, proceeded in his calculation, we know
not, and perhaps it would be superfluous to inquire. It certainly
was a good round sum; for, by this time, without insisting upon
compound, or even simple interest, it should have amounted to
rather more than one-half of the national debt; but unfortunately
nobody will own to having fingered a farthing of the money. In
recalling to your memory this little circumstance, it is by no
means our intention to offer any disrespect to the intellectual
powers of M'Gregor, for whom, indeed, we entertain a high degree of
veneration, similar to that which is manifested by the Mussulman
when he finds himself in the company of a howling derveesh. We
merely wish to reproduce to you one phantom of the golden dream,
which, five or six years ago, when the fever of gain was epidemical,
possessed the slumbers of so many; and having done so, to ask you,
now that the fever is gone, whether it was not indeed a phantom? We
are wiser now--at all events, we have had more experience--and the
producing classes tell us very distinctly, and quite unanimously,
that they have derived no benefit whatever from the commercial
changes which have taken place. Capital, whether invested in ships,
factories, mines, or land, is less profitable, and therefore less
valuable, than it was before; and in some instances, where the
depression has been most heavy, it has been almost annihilated.
These are not our statements, but the statements of the several
interests, as put forward by their own representatives. They
are statements which emanate alike from the Free-Trader and the
Protectionist. Men may differ as to the cause, but they all agree
as to the grand fact of the depression. So that, when we hear
ministers congratulating themselves and the country upon its general
prosperity, and, _pari passu_ with this congratulation, find the
accredited organs of each of the great branches of productive
industry vehemently asserting that they are exceptions from the
general rule, an anxious believer in the probity of all parties has
his faith somewhat rudely shaken.
We believe that, collectively, you are the best judges as to this
disputed matter. As the real wealth of the country depends upon
the amount and value of its yearly produce--as from that annual
creation, when measured by the monetary standard, and circulated
through a thousand channels, all our incomes are derived--you,
who supply the whole population with the necessaries and luxuries
of life, (fabricated by others, but passing through your hands,)
must necessarily have the best means of knowing whether the
circumstances of that population have, on the aggregate, been
bettered or made worse. When Napoleon in the bitterness of his heart
declared that we were a nation of shopkeepers, he uttered no terms
of reproach, though he intended to convey a taunt. Your position
in the community is such that you cannot flourish independent of
its general prosperity. The exporting manufacturer, and even the
foreign merchant, may multiply their gains, and realise fortunes,
whilst other classes, whose wellbeing is far more important to the
stability of the empire, are hastening to decay. Such phenomena are
common in old states, when the process of dissolution has begun.
The parasite lives and thrives, while the tree round which it has
wound its tendrils is crumbling into rottenness. But such is not
your case. Your interests are identical with those of the productive
classes, for without them you could not exist. Ill-remunerated
labour--unproductive capital--lessened means--deteriorated
property--are things which affect you as deeply as though you were
the direct sufferers or losers. Upon the wealth of your customers
depends your own. And therefore, in such an important crisis as
the present, when the existing commercial system of the country is
vigorously assailed by one party, and as obstinately defended by
another--when facts and statements apparently of much weight are
adduced on either side, to serve as arguments for the overthrow or
the maintenance of that system--when some cite statistical tables to
prove that the country must be prosperous, and others adduce real
evidence to show that the reverse is the case--you cannot afford
to sit idly by, without throwing the weight of your testimony and
experience into one or other of the scales. You have had admirable
opportunities of noticing the working of the Free-Trade system. It
matters not what were the original prepossessions of any of you,
or what might have been your opinion with regard to the merits of
this or that scheme, while it was still in embryo and untried. A
more complex question than that of Free Trade, as affecting the
importation of corn, probably never was presented to the public
consideration. Many excellent, judicious, and thoroughly patriotic
men, relying upon the truth of statements which were regarded by
others as mere plausible theories, were willing to submit to the
experiment. And when, by the grossest act of political perfidy
that was ever perpetrated--an act which future times, if not the
present, will stigmatise with deserved opprobrium--the last and most
important change, save that which subsequently assailed our maritime
interest, was suddenly effected, it was the declared opinion of the
majority that the new system must at least have a trial, until its
real results were developed, and until it became apparent to the
nation whether or not Free Trade would operate for the advantage of
the people, as its advocates and promoters had predicted.
Here we must, for a moment or two, however unwillingly, digress. The
later measures of Free Trade have assailed interests so important
and so strong, that its former and earlier advances, stealthily and
cautiously made, have almost faded from the public view. Free Trade,
as a political system, did not alone strike at the agricultural or
the shipping interest. Since the days of Mr Huskisson, who brought
with him into active life the principles which he had imbibed in
youth from his associates in French Jacobinism, the principles of
Free Trade have been gradually but cautiously applied to various
branches of British industry. The slow and insidious nature of the
movement on the part of the statesmen, who, even then, were yielding
to the influence of the modern economical school, showed their
distrust of the system, which, if true, ought at once to have been
openly promulgated. Like the late Sir Robert Peel, Huskisson was
destitute of that manly courage which scorns concealment or deceit,
and walks steadfastly to its goal. Cunning was an ingredient of
his nature: whatever he did was accomplished by tortuous methods,
and vindicated upon false pretences. The tendency of that policy
which he commenced was to maintain by all means, at all hazards,
and at the sacrifice, if needful, of every other interest, the
manufacturing supremacy, of England in the foreign market--an object
for which we still are striving, though at the imminent risk of the
dismemberment of the British empire. It is due, however, to the
memory of Mr Huskisson, to remark, that, although the originator
of this policy, he does not seem to have contemplated the extent
to which it would be carried out by his successors. His opinions
upon the subject of protection to agriculture were clear and
decided: "There is no effectual security, either in peace or war,
against the frequent return of scarcity, but in making ourselves
independent of foreign supply. Let the bread we eat be the produce
of corn grown among ourselves; and, for one, I care not how cheap
it is--the cheaper the better. It is cheap now, and I rejoice at
it, because it is altogether owing to a sufficiency of corn of our
own growth; but, to insure a continuance of that cheapness, and
that sufficiency, we must insure to our own growers _protection
against foreign importation_, which has produced those blessings,
and by which alone they can be permanently maintained." The time,
however, was fast approaching when the reins of government were to
fall into the hands of a scion of the manufacturing body, in whose
eyes the momentary supremacy of party was of more importance than
any principle of national policy. There is no more curious page in
history than that which records the rise of British manufactures
towards the close of last century. Invention after invention,
whereby manual labour was superseded by machinery, and the power of
production almost indefinitely multiplied, paved the way for that
monopoly which our manufacturers enjoyed for at least a quarter of
a century, during which time every other country in Europe except
our own was devastated by war, and the peaceful arts forgotten or
overthrown. It was during that period that the gigantic fortunes of
the Arkwrights and the Peels were made, and that influence secured
to the manufacturing body in the British House of Commons which it
never possessed before. But with the return of peace the monopoly
disappeared. By invention in mechanical appliances, Britain had
the start of other nations in the creation of manufactures; by
war, she was enabled long to enjoy the undivided benefits. But
inventions are not the property of a single nation; they pass from
one to another with the rapidity of lightning; they are available
by the foreign, even more easily than by the domestic, rival. Hence
it very soon became apparent that other states were preparing to
compete with us in those branches of industry which had proved
so exceedingly profitable. France, Belgium, Germany, Russia,
Switzerland, and America, all entered keenly into the contest; and
then commenced that decline of prices which has continued, almost
without intermission, to the present hour. Reciprocity treaties were
tried, but were in fact of little avail; for the great bulk of the
English exports consisted of those very textile fabrics which it
was the object of each country to produce for its own consumption,
if not to export to others. During the war, both the expenses of
government and the interest of the National Debt had doubled in
amount, and the monetary changes effected in 1819 added at least
one-third to the weight of that augmented burden. In order to make
this taxation bearable, the industry of the people was protected in
their own market by a scale of customs duties, which prevented the
influx of foreign produce at rates which must have annihilated the
British workman. Protection is a clear necessity which arises out
of taxation. If the tobacco, tea, coffee, sugar, beer, soap, and
other articles of the labourer's consumption, are taxed in order
to maintain an expensive establishment, and to defray the interest
of an enormous debt, he must have a compensation of some kind. The
only kind of compensation which can be granted, and which the wit of
man can devise, is to be found in an equitable scale of duties, by
means of which all produce imported into Britain shall be taxed as
heavily as though it had been reared, grown, or made up on British
ground by British labourers. Unless this be done, there is no fair
competition. The less burdened foreigner must ultimately carry the
day against the heavily-taxed Englishman. And when we consider that
all taxes must be paid out of produce, there being no other source
whatever from which they can be drawn, the importance of maintaining
the market value of our produce at a point equal to the pressure of
our taxation will at once become apparent.
There are, however, plausible, though in reality most fallacious
grounds, upon which the Protective System may be assailed. In this,
as in every other country, the first and most important branch
of industry is that which provides food for the population. To
that all others are subordinate. It is impossible to estimate the
amount of capital which has been laid out upon the soil of Britain,
first in reclaiming it from a state of nature, and, since then,
in maturing and increasing its fruitfulness. But some idea may be
formed of its magnitude from the fact that, in 1846, the annual
agricultural produce of the United Kingdom was valued, according
to the prices then current, at £250,000,000. Whatever imperial
taxation is imposed on other classes of the community is shared
equally by the agriculturists; and they are, moreover, exposed to
heavy local rates, from which the others are comparatively free.
It is a received maxim in political economy--we ought rather to
say a rule of common sense--that all taxes and charges paid by the
producer, over and above his necessary profit, fail ultimately to
be defrayed by the consumer--that is, that such taxes and charges
form a component part of the selling price of the article. There is
no specialty whatever in the case of corn or provisions to exempt
them from the general rule. But all restrictions which tend to
enhance the price of the first necessaries of life are obnoxious
to that section of the people who, from ignorance or incapacity,
cannot understand why bread should be dear in one country and
cheap in another. They, too, are subjected to their share of
indirect taxation, and the knowledge that they are so taxed in
the consumption of articles which constitute their only luxuries,
renders them doubly impatient of a system which, on the authority
of wicked and designing demagogues, they are led to believe was
invented by the landlords solely for their own benefit. Thus heavy
taxation, however engendered, must always be fraught with great
peril to the permanency of a state. The burden of such taxation
falls most heavily upon the land, and yet the agriculturist is
expected to provide food for the people as cheaply as though he were
altogether exempt from the burden.
The reason why the exporting manufacturers, and those politicians
who entered thoroughly into their views, were so bent upon the
destruction of the Corn Laws, was twofold. In the first place, the
competition in foreign markets threatened to become so strong, owing
to the rapid development of textile industry on the Continent, that
it was necessary to lower prices. England had given machinery and
models to the Continent, and the Continent was now fighting her
with her own weapons, and at a cheaper cost, as labour abroad is
less expensive than it is here. In order to bring down the value
of labour in England, for the purpose of protracting this grand
manufacturing contest, it was necessary to lower, in some way
or other, the price of food in England, and this could only be
accomplished by free admission of foreign supplies. In short, their
object was to bring down wages. On this point we have the testimony
of Mr Muntz, M.P. for Birmingham, as early as February 1842. He
wrote as follows:--"Say what you will, the _object_ of the measure
is _to reduce wages_, and the _intention_ is to reduce them to
the Continental level. I repeat it, the Corn Laws very materially
support labour in this country.... Why, the professed object of
the repeal is to enable the English merchant to compete with the
foreigner, and how can he do that _unless by a reduction of wages_,
which reduction will be upon all trade, home and foreign?" Mr John
Bright was not less clear as to the necessity of such reduction of
wages in order to maintain our exports: "If the tariff in Russia
imposed a heavy duty on English yarn, and if English yarn went there
and had to be sold at the same rate as the yarn of the Russian
spinner, he (that is, the Russian spinner) not paying the heavy
duty, it followed that we must, _by some means or other_, make our
goods cheaper by the amount of duty which we paid, and to do that
_it was absolutely necessary that the wages of the operatives in
this country should be reduced_." And Mr Greg of Manchester, a
leading member of the Anti-Corn Law League, wrote as follows:--"In
the only remaining item of the cost of production--that is, the
wages of labour--foreign nations have a decided advantage; and
although a free trade in provisions, by lowering them here, and
raising them abroad, might regulate the difference, I doubt if it
ever could be entirely removed. Better education, more sober habits,
more frugality, and general forethought, together with cheaper food,
will no doubt enable our people to live in much greater comfort
than at present UPON CONSIDERABLY SMALLER EARNINGS." These extracts
sufficiently disclose the designs of the Free-Traders against the
wages of the workman. In the second place, it was believed by many
of them, that, by sacrificing the agriculturists, they would be
able to turn the attention of other countries, especially America,
from the prosecution of their rising manufactures. They argued,
that if we were to surrender and secure our provision market to
foreign states, they would return the compliment by allowing us
to manufacture for them--in other words, that the foreigners were
to feed England, and England was to clothe the foreigners! This
precious scheme has since been avowed, seriously and gravely, by men
who have seats in the present House of Commons; and, so far as we
can understand their language, the philosophers of the _Edinburgh
Review_ consider this a most sensible arrangement!
The agricultural interest, however, was of too great magnitude to
be attacked at once. Several outworks were to be gained before
the citadel was summoned to surrender. Accordingly Mr Huskisson
began, and Sir Robert Peel continued, that system of commercial
relaxations, (which, some five-and-twenty years ago, was exposed
and denounced in this Magazine,) annihilating some branches of
industry and depressing others--pauperising whole districts, as in
the Highlands, and merging the villages in the towns--until the time
seemed ripe, and the opportunity propitious, for the accomplishment
of the grand design. It is not now necessary to dwell upon the
circumstances which attended the change in the Corn and Navigation
Laws--these are still fresh in the memory of all of us, and will
not soon be forgotten. Our object in this digression was simply to
remind you that Free Trade, in its insidious and stealthy progress,
has warred with other interests than those which belong to the
agricultural and the maritime classes.
Neither is it necessary at present to advert to the gross
inconsistencies of the system--to the restrictions which it still
continues upon that very branch of industry which it has laid bare
to foreign competition. Let us take the system as it is, of which
you have had now nearly three years' experience, dating from the
time when the ports were opened.
Three years constitute a long period for the endurance of a
commercial experiment. During that time you have had ample
opportunity of observing how the system has worked. Are you richer
or poorer than you were before the experiment began? If the former,
Free Trade has worked well; if the latter, it is a mischievous
delusion.
This is a question which you alone can answer--or rather, every man
must answer it for himself. But this much we may be allowed to say,
that, from what information we can gather regarding the state of
general trade--from the sentiments which we have heard expressed by
many of the most respectable of your own body--the experiences of
the last year have not been such as to give you much encouragement
for the future. If it is so, then you will do well to consider
whether or not you ought to lend that great political influence
which you undoubtedly possess, in support of a system which has not
only failed to realise the anticipations of its founders, but has
actually diminished in a great degree the power of purchase of the
community.
This is no trivial matter to any of us, least of all is it trivial
to you. The next general election will be, in its results, by far
the most important of any which has taken place for centuries. If,
in the new Parliament, all idea of a return to the Protective System
is abandoned, we may prepare ourselves for that most dismal conflict
which can convulse a country--a war against taxation, and ultimately
against property. For--rely upon this--heavy taxation and cheap
produce are things which never can be reconciled. You may, if you
please, hand over the home market of Britain to the foreigner, and
allow him, without toll or custom, to supply our wants with produce
of his own rearing; but, if you do so, what is to become of our
own population, and their labour?--and how are you to levy those
taxes which labour alone can supply? That manufacturing interest,
for which such desperate sacrifices have been made, is daily losing
ground in the markets of the world. The fact will brook no denial,
and it is admitted even by its own members. America has refused
the bait offered to her by the Free-Traders, and is engaged heart
and soul in the cotton manufacture, for which she possesses within
herself the command of the raw material. _To those countries which
supply us with corn, our exports of manufactures have alarmingly
decreased._ We may continue to glut (for that is what we are doing
at present) the markets of India and China, and our export tables
may exhibit a cheering increase in the amount of yards of calico
sent out; but, unless the trade circulars are utterly mendacious,
the speculation has been, and will continue to be for a long tract
of time, unprofitable. The fact is, that the extent and value of
our foreign trade in manufactures is little understood by most
of us, and grossly exaggerated by others. It constitutes, after
all, a mere fraction of the national production. The consumption
of manufactures at home is, or was, before the late changes were
made, twice as great as the whole amount of our annual exports. The
prosperity of this country does not depend upon the amount of wares
which it sends or forces abroad, though that is the doctrine which
is constantly clamoured in our ears by the political economists--a
generation of ridiculous pretenders, of whom it is only necessary
to know one, in order to form an accurate estimate of the mental
capabilities of his tribe. It depends on our own labour, on our
own internal arrangements, and on that reciprocity between man and
man, and between class and class of our fellow-subjects, which is
the only real security for the peace and tranquillity of a kingdom.
Those exporting manufacturers, who rummage foreign markets, are
no better than so many buccaneers. Their object is to evade the
burden of taxation at home, and, wherever they can with advantage
to themselves, to bring in foreign labour, untaxed and untolled, to
supersede that of the British workman.
You cannot have failed to remark that the arguments which are now
put forward by the Free-Traders, in support of their system, are
totally different from those which they advanced while recommending
it for the adoption of the country. How often were we told, during
the struggle which preceded the repeal of the Corn Laws, that all
the apprehensions expressed of a permanent fall in the value of
produce, and of overwhelming importations from abroad, were purely
visionary! Learned statists undertook to prove by figures that the
whole quantity of grain which could be brought into this country was
absolutely insignificant, and that it could not disturb prices. Mr
James Wilson of the _Economist_, in his valuable tractate entitled
_Influences of the Corn Laws_, which was published eleven years ago,
thus favoured the public with _his_ anticipations for the future, in
the event of the repeal of the Corn Laws:--
"Our belief is," says the sage of Westbury, "that the whole of
these generally received opinions are erroneous; that if we had had
a free trade in corn since 1815, the average price of the whole
period, actually received by the British grower, would have been
higher than it has been; that little or no more foreign grain would
have been imported; and that if, for the next twenty years, the
whole protective system shall be abandoned, _the average price of
wheat will be higher than it has been for the last seven years_,
(52s. 2d.,) or than it would be in the future with a continuance of
the present system;--but with this great difference, that prices
would be nearly uniform and unaltering from year to year; that the
disastrous fluctuations would be greatly avoided, which we have
shown, in the first proposition, to be so ruinous under the present
system."
For this very notable sentiment, Mr Wilson was clapped on the back
by the Manchester men, and commended thus in the seventh circular
of the League:--"We are much indebted to Mr Ibbotson of Sheffield,
_Mr James Wilson_, and our esteemed correspondent, for labouring to
prove to the landlords that they may safely do justice to others,
without endangering their own interests. And we think very much has
been done towards justifying their opinions, _that the money price
of grain would not be lowered even by the total repeal of the Corn
Laws_!" Sir Robert Peel, in the memorable debates of 1846, attempted
to justify his experiment on the ground that previous commercial
relaxations had been found beneficial to the parties who were
directly engaged in the trade, his inference being, that the same
result would follow in the case of the agriculturists. Unfortunately
the data upon which he proceeded were altogether fallacious; for,
notwithstanding his dexterity in selecting figures, and bringing
out balances which were apparently favourable, it was clearly
demonstrated by Lord George Bentinck, that in no one instance
whatever had those relaxations proved favourable to the British
producer, and that many of them had moreover occasioned a large
loss to the public revenue. But the language held by Sir Robert
Peel, upon that occasion, cannot be construed otherwise than as
the expression of an opinion that, by the repeal of the Corn Laws,
prices would not be materially disturbed--at all events, that they
would not be lowered so as to fall below the remunerative point.
The immense influx of foreign grain which followed the opening
of the ports in 1849, and the immediate fall of price, were
calculated to alarm not only the farmers, but even that section of
the Free-Traders who believed conscientiously that the productive
powers of Europe and America were unequal to the supply of so very
considerable a surplus. It is no wonder that the farmers were
frightened, when they saw grain coming in at the rate of a million
of quarters per month! They were, however, told by the highest
Free-trading authorities in both Houses of Parliament, and the same
view was violently maintained by the Liberal press, that their
fears were altogether groundless; that such importations could not
possibly be maintained; and that the first inundation was simply
caused by an accumulation of corn at the foreign ports, stored up
in readiness for the opening of the English market--a contingency
which could not happen again. The utmost pains were taken, by those
who had consented to the repeal of the Corn Laws, to persuade the
farmers that the low prices of 1849 were attributable principally to
the superabundance of the harvest at home; and they were exhorted
to wait patiently, but hopefully, for the advent of better times.
In short, every means were taken to persuade the agriculturists
that they were labouring under a temporary but not a permanent
difficulty, and that a very short time would suffice to restore them
to their former condition. But no one attempted to maintain, in
1849, that, if wheat continued to sell at or about 40s. per quarter,
its cultivation could be profitable in Britain; and when, at a later
period, one or two rash theorists attempted to broach that doctrine,
they were instantly put to silence by the overwhelming nature of the
proof which was brought against them--not the least instructive part
of it being the admissions of the leading Free-Traders as to what
really was, on an average of years, the remunerative price of wheat
to the British grower.
It is now clearly established, that, under Free Trade, 40s. per
quarter is a price which the British farmer cannot calculate on
receiving. The averages of England are now about 36s. per quarter,
being 20s. lower than the sum which Sir Robert Peel considered as
the lowest which could remunerate the grower. Therefore, taking
the average yield of good wheat-land at four quarters per acre,
it appears that, by continuing to grow that kind of grain which
is convertible into ordinary bread, the farmer must be a positive
loser to the extent of _four pounds per acre_! In other words,
even suppose no rent at all were taken for the land, wheat cannot
continue to be grown at a profit in Great Britain, so long as
the averages remain below 40s.; and we leave a large margin to
the credit of improved husbandry and strict economy, exercised,
as it must be, at the expense of the labourer's wages. That such
is the present condition of the British farmers--a hopeless one,
unless a legislative remedy is applied--will brook no denial. Last
year we were told of farms letting at an increase of rent, and of
other symptoms of agricultural prosperity, whereof nothing now is
heard. The fact of the depression--if we may use so mild a term in
respect to a branch of industry which is now merely existing upon
capital, not by income--is beyond all possibility of doubt or cavil.
The causes of it are obvious; and it now only remains to be seen
whether we can afford to allow agriculture to be extinguished from
among us, or at best raised to that point which will afford a bare
subsistence to the grower, without the risk of involving the rest of
us in a like calamity.
You may have heard it said--for it has been often written--that it
signifies little to the people of this country from what source they
receive their bread. It is worth your while to examine into this.
That a loaf baked of American flour, grown in the valley of the
Mississippi, may taste quite as well in the mouth of the consumer as
a loaf of English material is a circumstance which we can readily
believe; but is this all that is to be considered? Does the American
bear any part of our national taxation? Does he contribute, directly
or indirectly, to the burdens which are common to the British
producer? Does he deal with any of you, and can you call him a
customer? These are the questions which you ought to ask yourselves,
in making up your minds on this matter; and if you will only examine
the subject patiently and dispassionately, your own common sense
will lead you to a just conclusion. Let us suppose that all the food
which you purchase and consume was grown on a foreign soil, and
admitted free of duty. You might then have cheap bread, but, as a
necessary consequence, you would lose more than half your customers.
Unless people have money they cannot buy; and if agricultural
production were to be abandoned in the British islands, all those
who derive their incomes--not only directly, but indirectly--from
the soil, would necessarily be stripped of their means. Are you
aware of the fact that, on a minute analysis of the census of
1841, it appeared that the relative numbers of the population of
Great Britain and Ireland, supported and maintained by the two
great sources of production, agriculture and manufactures, were as
18,734,468, dependent on the first, to 8,091,621, dependent on the
second? Do you believe that the country can remain prosperous, if
you strike a deathblow at the produce which maintains more than
two-thirds of its inhabitants?
Let us go a little farther, and suppose--what may hereafter be the
case--that other countries could undersell us in the home market in
the article of manufactures--that America, France, or Germany could
send us cotton and woollen stuffs, and other ware, cheaper than we
could make them at home. In that case, where would be the sources
of our income? All industry would be prostrated--for you know very
well that a losing trade will not and cannot be carried on long, and
that the time will soon arrive when, through the failure of capital,
it must be abandoned. In such an event, what would become of our
population, with their labour entirely destroyed? How could the
taxes be levied, and the expenses of government paid, to say nothing
of the interest of the National Debt? Great cheapness you would
have, no doubt, but nobody would be able to buy.
If cheapness is a blessing in food, it is a blessing in clothing
and in everything else. The rule admits of no exception. It is as
advantageous for any of us to save a pound on the price of his coat
as a penny on the price of his loaf. Bread is, no doubt, the most
important article of the workingman's consumption, but at the same
time it is no less a fact that the raising of food is the most
important part of the production of the labouring-classes. Without
home labour, all capital in this country would be annihilated, or
at least would depart from it. Labour depends entirely upon wages,
and wages upon the market price of the article produced. If from
the introduction of foreign labour, in the shape of products, the
price of any article is forced down below the cost of production,
then wages begin to fall, and in the end production is extinguished.
Why is it that foreign countries have imposed heavy duties upon
our exported articles of manufacture? Simply for this object--that
their own manufacturers, who give employment to large numbers of
their population, may not be undersold by ours, nor those means of
employment annihilated. In acting thus, these governments perform a
paternal duty to the people--shielding them against the competition
of an older manufacturing power, and preparing them hereafter, when
skill and capital are acquired, to enter neutral markets, with a
fair chance of ultimately overcoming the other.
It stands to reason that, with an equal degree of energy on the part
of its inhabitants, the country which is the least heavily burdened
must distance others in all branches of industry, where nature does
not oppose a barrier, or place it at a disadvantage. The mineral
wealth of England, and our priority in manufacturing invention, gave
us for a long time an advantage over all other nations. America
was not advanced enough to enter into the lists of manufacturing
competition; the distracted state of the Continent, and the
perpetual presence or apprehension of war, effectually prevented the
European states from attempting to rival Britain. But since that
time vast changes have taken place. The mineral resources of other
countries have been developed. Some idea of the manufacturing power
which America now possesses may be formed from the enormous increase
of her domestic production of iron and coal. In 1829, the amount of
iron manufactured in the United States was 90,000 tons; in 1848,
it had risen to 800,000 tons. The coal raised in 1829 was 37,000
tons; in 1849 it was 3,200,000 tons. In the article of cotton, which
is our great manufacturing staple, America has the inestimable
advantage of growing the raw material--an advantage which never
can be counterbalanced, as, even if we were to obtain our supplies
from some other quarter, the expenses of freightage must still
continue to be great. In fact, to all appearance, our supremacy in
the conversion of cotton is already doomed. That branch of industry
rests upon no substantial basis. It rose like an exhalation, and so
it will disappear. These are not merely our opinions, but those of
the most shrewd and calculating of the Free-Traders. Hear Mr Greg
of Manchester on this subject, previous to the repeal of the Corn
Laws:--
"At present we are undersold by foreigners in neutral markets in
all the staple articles of English manufacture. In the articles
of cotton, hosiery, and cutlery, which amount altogether to
three-fourths of our exports, this is notoriously the case. In
cotton fabrics the Swiss undersell us in several markets. In
cutlery Sheffeld is immensely undersold by the Alsace, and our
exports are yearly decreasing. In hosiery, the case is still
worse. Saxon hosiery, after paying a duty of 20 per cent, is
sold in London 25 to 30 per cent cheaper than the produce of
the Leicester and Nottingham looms. In Leicester the stocking
frames have diminished from 16,000 in 1815 to 14,000 in 1840;
whilst in Saxony, in the same time, they have increased from
4590 to 25,000. The English manufacturer pays 2s. 6d. for the
same work that the French manufacturer gets done for 2½d. The
American cutlery market (the most important of all) has been
wrested from us, and our exports of that article to all the
world have fallen from £1,620,000 in 1831 to £1,325,000 in 1841.
_How far with cheaper food, no taxes on the raw material, and
no duties but for the sake of revenue, we might yet recover our
lost superiority, is a matter for grave consideration._ I do not
believe we could either in woollens or hosiery; and even in the
cutlery or cotton trade I think it very doubtful. Now, under a
free commercial system, the raw material would be nearly the
same in all countries, and the advantage, where there was one,
would be generally on the side of foreigners. France and Italy
would have an advantage in silk, and America in cotton; the
current expenses would also be nearly equal. The machinery of
foreign nations even now is not very inferior to our own, and is
daily and rapidly improving; their capital is fast accumulating,
and the yearly interest of it approximating to our own rate."
Here, you see, is a confession of opinion by a leading Free-Trader,
that even the cheapening of food, by which he means the reduction of
the wages of labour, will not suffice ultimately to secure us the
supremacy of the foreign markets. He is perfectly right. In this
insane, and we believe almost entirely unprofitable competition with
the rest of the world, we must infallibly be overcome. No cheapness
of food can countervail the pressure of our heavy taxation. The
cotton-lords, if they could, would fain bring down the price of
labour to the Continental level, which doubtless would enable them,
for a long time, to prolong the contest; but this they cannot do, if
our national engagements are to be fulfilled, and our most valuable
institutions maintained. So long as the revenue duties exist,
labour cannot be forced down to that point. But, in the mean time,
agriculture may be ruined, and the home trade, by which alone you
subsist, be palsied. In fact, the present struggle lies between
the home trade and the foreign trade. One or other of these must
ultimately succumb. The effect of our present commercial system is
to paralyse the home trade, by decreasing the value of all kinds of
domestic produce; by lowering all incomes, and consequently reducing
the amount of the internal business of the country. It has enabled
our manufacturers, for the time, to make a show of larger exports
than before; but it has not, according to their own acknowledgement,
at all enhanced their profits. It may have enabled them to lower
their prices, but it has not increased their returns.
And no wonder that it should be so. Except in the most miserable and
unimportant quarters, our relaxations have been met by augmented
tariffs instead of eager reciprocity. The nations of the world have
refused to sacrifice their advantages, to renounce their prospects,
and to become Free-Traders at the call of Britain. Their statesmen
thoroughly understood the motive of the ingenuous offer: they were
not to be cozened even by the plausibility of Sir Robert Peel. It
is almost melancholy now, when we remember what has actually taken
place, to revert to the peroration of that statesman's speech
delivered on 16th February 1846. A more lamentable instance of
delusion, as to the true feeling and position of other countries,
was never perhaps exhibited. Mark his words:--
"Many countries are watching with anxiety the selection you may
make. Determine for 'Advance,' and it will be the watchword
which will animate and encourage in every state the friends
of liberal commercial policy. Sardinia has taken the lead.
Naples is relaxing her protective duties, and favouring British
produce. Prussia is shaken in her adherence to restriction.
The government of France will be strengthened; and, backed by
the intelligence of the reflecting, and by conviction of the
real welfare of the great body of the community, will perhaps
ultimately prevail over the self-interest of the commercial
and manufacturing aristocracy which now predominates in her
Chambers. Can you doubt that the United States will soon
relax her hostile tariff, and that the friends of a freer
commercial intercourse--the friends of peace between the two
countries--will hail with satisfaction the example of England?"
How strangely did this remarkable man, whose career in all time
coming will be a warning to the aspiring statesman, misunderstand
the true nature of his country's position! In order to tempt
reciprocity he opened the British ports--that is, he conceded
gratuitously the only condition by which we ever could have hoped to
insure it! At the expense of the British agriculturist he opened the
British market to the foreigner, in the expectation, as he expressly
declared, that the boon would be repaid by measures which would
prevent the rise of manufactures abroad, and restrain other nations
from employing capital profitably, from entering into rivalry with
Britain, and from using those natural advantages which were ready
to their hand; and which, if used, could not fail to add to their
wealth, and to furnish employment for millions of their increasing
population! Most egregious was the blunder, and terrible is the
penalty which we are certain to pay for it, if we do not retrace our
steps.
It is always useful to know what intelligent men of other countries
think of our system. They survey and examine it without those
prejudices which are apt to beset all of us, and are better able
than ourselves to determine with what degree of favour it will be
received, or is received, by those who are removed beyond the scope
of our immediate observation. Certainly, of all others, from their
affinity to ourselves, and their proverbially shrewd acuteness in
all matters of commercial detail, the Americans are most likely to
form an accurate estimate both of our position and our prospects
in regard to foreign trade. It is well worth our while to read and
consider the following opinion of Mr Carey, the most distinguished
Transatlantic writer on points of political economy. It occurs in
his work entitled _The Harmony of Interests_, published in America
so late as December 1849.
"Men are everywhere flying from British commerce, which
everywhere pursues them. Having exhausted the people of the
lower lands of India, it follows them as they retreat towards
the fastnesses of the Himalaya. Affghanistan is attempted, while
Scinde and the Punjaub are subjugated. Siamese provinces are
added to the empire of Free Trade, and war and desolation are
carried into China, in order that the Chinese may be compelled
to pay for the use of ships, instead of making looms. The
Irishman flies to Canada; but there the system follows him, and
he feels himself insecure until within the Union. The Englishman
and the Scotchman try Southern Africa, and thence they fly
to the more distant New Holland, Van Diemen's Land, or New
Zealand. The farther they fly, the more they use ships and other
perishable machinery, the less steadily can their efforts be
applied, the less must be the power of production, and the fewer
must be the equivalents to be exchanged; and yet in the growth
of ships caused by such circumstances, we are told to look for
evidence of prosperous commerce!
"_The British system is built upon cheap labour, by which is
meant low-priced and worthless labour._ Its effect is to cause
it to become from day to day more low-priced and worthless; and
thus _to destroy production upon which commerce must be based_.
The object of protection is to produce dear labour--that is,
high-priced and valuable labour, and its effect is to cause
it to increase in value from day to day, and to increase the
equivalents to be exchanged, to the great increase of commerce.
"The object of what is now called Free Trade, is that of
securing to the people of England the further existence of _the
monopoly of machinery_, by aid of which Ireland and India have
been ruined, and commerce prostrated. Protection seeks _to break
down this monopoly_, and to cause the loom and the anvil to take
their natural places by the side of the food and the cotton,
that production may be increased, and that commerce may revive."
In short, the harmony of interests is regarded in America as the
grand point of aim for the statesman. With us, our most important
home interests, on which depend the welfare of by far the greater
part of our population, are sacrificed to prolong a struggle in
which our exporting manufacturers cannot possibly be the victors,
and from which, even at present, they derive little or no profit.
Now, let us ask you to consider for one moment, what is the natural
effect, upon the whole of us, of a forcible diminution of prices,
and depreciation of produce. Here we shall borrow an illustration
and argument from our adversaries, referring to a point which
is in the recollection of all of you, and about which there can
be no possible mistake. You will recollect that the Liberal and
Free-trading journals, almost without exception, as well as most of
the defenders of the Peel policy in the House of Commons, attributed
much of that general depression and stagnation of trade which
followed the repeal of the Corn Laws to the losses sustained by
the failure of the potato-crop in 1845-6. Was there a general want
of confidence visible--were the shopkeepers scant of custom--was
there a less demand than usual within the country for home
manufactures--was there a decline in the price of iron--all was laid
at the door of the unfortunate potato. Since Cobbett uttered his
anathema against the root, it never was in such bad odour. To every
complaint, remonstrance, or lamentation, the reply was ready--"How
can we remedy a calamity of this kind? The potato has done it all!"
At that time it was very convenient, nay, absolutely necessary,
for the Free-Traders to discover some tangible cause for the gross
failure of their predictions. They looked about them in every
direction, and they could discover nothing except the potato which
could endure the blame. Now, although we believe that this esculent
has been unduly reviled, and made to bear a greater burden than
was its due for political misfortune, we nevertheless accept the
illustration at the hands of our opponents, and we beg you to mark
its significance. The loss of the potato-crop in Great Britain and
Ireland, during the year in question, has been variously estimated,
but if we assume it to have been £20,000,000 we are making a very
large calculation indeed. So then, _according to the Free-Traders,
the loss of twenty millions of agricultural produce_ was sufficient
to bring down profits, embarrass trade, and cause a stagnation in
home manufactures! And yet, when Mr Villiers came forward in the
beginning of 1850, and told you, in his capacity of proposer of
the Address to the Crown, that £91,000,000 were _annually_ taken
from the value of the agricultural produce of the country, you
were expected, and directed, to clap your hands with joy, and to
congratulate one another on this symptom of the national prosperity!
The sum of twenty millions lost by the failure of the potato-crop--a
single event, not one of annual occurrence--was taken from the
country's power of produce; and _therefore_, said the Free-Traders,
there was stagnation. But they, of course, could not help it. Of
course they could not; but what about the ninety-one millions
of _annual_ loss, which is equally deducted from the internal
expenditure of the country? About _that_ we do not hear a word. And
yet ask yourselves, and that most seriously--for it is time that we
should get rid of all such pitiful paltering--whether there is any
difference whatever between the two cases, except that the one was
an isolated casualty, and that the other is an annual infliction to
which we are subjected by statute? Weigh the matter as you will,
you cannot, we are satisfied, be able to detect any difference. If
the grower of grain at present prices has no remuneration for his
toil, or return for his capital, he cannot buy from you, any more
than could the farmer whose crop perished by the potato disease.
What caused the stagnation? The failure of the power to purchase,
because there was no return for produce. What causes the stagnation?
Precisely the same thing perpetrated by Act of Parliament.
Do not, we beseech you, allow yourselves to be fooled any longer
by the jesuitry of these political economists, but apply your own
reason to discover the cause of the present depression. Do not
believe them when they talk about exceptional causes, affecting
temporarily the industry of the nation, but certain immediately to
disappear. If you were to live as long as Methusaleh, no one year
would elapse without furnishing those gentlemen with a special and
exceptional cause. One year it is the potato disease; another the
French Revolution; another the Great Exhibition. Heaven only knows
what will be their excuse next year--perhaps the new Reform Bill, or
some other similar godsend. You are the particular class upon whom
the deception is to be played, and for whose especial benefit the
fraud is concocted. The producers know very well how they stand,
and what they have to expect. They can be no longer cajoled by
assurances of higher prices, by vague promises of profit after the
disappearance of "the transition state," or by impudent averments
that, by an entire change of system and the expenditure of more
capital, they will be able to maintain themselves in affluence. To
do the Free-Traders justice, they have for some time desisted from
such attempts. They now address their victims, through their organs,
in a fine tone of desperado indifference, telling them that, if they
do not like the present arrangement, the sooner they go elsewhere
the better. And the people are taking them at their word and going.
Hundreds of thousands of tax-payers are leaving the country as fast
as possible, carrying with them the fragments of their property,
and bequeathing to those who remain behind their share of the
national burdens. But in your case, the Free-Traders cannot yet
afford to pull off the mask. They are apprehensive that you should
see them in their real character; and therefore, so long as you are
likely to be amused with "specialties" and "exceptional causes,"
these will be furnished to you gratis, and in great variety. There
seems, however, to be an apprehension among their camp that you are
beginning to evince suspicion. Recent elections have not been quite
as they should be; and in the seaport and large commercial towns
there are evident symptoms of mutiny. So, by way of diverting your
attention, you are likely to have a measure of Reform next year,
possibly as satisfactory in its result as the Ecclesiastical Titles
Bill, upon which Ministers cleverly managed to concentrate the whole
public attention throughout last session, and then, having carried
it, allowed its provisions to become a dead letter, almost before
the ink, which made the measure complete, was dry! We say this, not
as opponents of an extension of the suffrage--for on that point we
reserve our opinion until the details are fully before us--but as
enemies and loathers of a miserable system of chicane and deception
which has now crept into the public counsels, and which threatens
very speedily to destroy the independence of public opinion, by
opposing state obstacles to its free and legitimate expression. We
ask any of you, fearlessly, to look back at the records of last
session, and then say whether the country was not degraded and
stultified by the act of the Prime Minister? Right or wrong, at his
invitation and call, the Protestants of Great Britain demanded a
security against what they considered an intolerable instance of
Romish insolence and aggression. They received it from Parliament;
and the moment it passed into the hands of the executive power, it
became as worthless as the paper upon which it was written! And why
was this? Simply because the object was gained--you had been amused
for a whole session. If nothing was intended to be done in the way
of repelling aggression, and if Ministers durst have told you so
a year ago, there were many points affecting your more immediate
interests which would have been forced upon their attention. But
they were very glad to escape from such discussions under cover of a
Protestantism which they did not feel, and an affected indignation
of Papal claims, which they had done everything in their power, by
diplomatic agency, to encourage; and, having escaped the perils of
one session upon that ground, they will strain every effort to turn
your attention from your own position, during the next, by bringing
forward some measure which they hope may enlist your sympathies,
or provoke controversy, so far as to render you indifferent to the
real nature of your position. The selection of the battlefield is
the oldest trick in strategy. Get up the appearance of a battle,
and people will flock from any distance to witness it, regardless
of their own interest. Lord John Russell is famous for bloodless
fields, which resolve themselves into reviews--shall we have another
such in the course of the approaching session?
That manufactures are now exceedingly depressed, and have been so
for a long time, notwithstanding the reduction in the price of food
consequent upon foreign importations, is an admitted and notorious
fact. We have from time to time kept this before the public view by
quoting from the trade circulars; and though further evidence may
be unnecessary, we shall subjoin extracts from the last accounts
received from three seats of industry, two of which are represented
in Parliament by Colonel Peyronnet Thompson and Mr Feargus O'Connor.
Gloomy as they are, they are by no means the worst which we have had
occasion to cite during the last two years.
"BRADFORD, _November 6_.--The market here does not show any
symptom of improvement in the demand for any kind of combing
wools. All seem in wonder and anxiety as to what may be next
expected, for to buy none are willing, whether with stock or
without. The staplers appeared to expect that the spirited
buying of colonial wools would give a tone of confidence, but
that appears to have no effect. The spinners pause when they
contrast the comparative high prices of English wool, especially
those of the finer class, with what they were in 1848, when
yarns were at the present prices, and will not buy with the
certainty of making so great a loss as a purchase would entail.
The supply of Noils and Brokes was never so limited as at
present, and the small quantity making brings full prices. The
business doing in yarns is certainly small, and the transactions
confined to immediate delivery. No one seems inclined to enter
into engagements for distant delivery. For to go on at the
present prices of yarns is worse than madness, the price for
low numbers of good spinning and standing having reached 8s.
per gross, and those of a secondary class sold, if reeled, for
what may be the instructions to the commission houses, who have
needy parties pressing sales. The quantity so offering is not so
great, but the sacrifices which have now for so long been made
render the position of the trade exceedingly embarrassing. _The
production continues to be daily curtailed, and from the whole
district the same cheerless tidings are received. Some large
houses, who have never reduced their operations before, have
adopted it, their loss being so immense, and the whole condition
of the trade so thoroughly disjointed._ In pieces the business
during the week has not shown any feature of increased activity,
and the stocks in the manufacturers' hands are somewhat
increasing, but not so fast as last year at this period, and
especially in Coburgs and fancy goods: the former are chiefly
made in this district, and not in Lancashire, for the ruinous
price has driven them on to other classes of goods adaptable
to their looms; and for some months several large houses have
been engaged in making Bareges for the American market. This has
prevented mousselines-de-laine being made to stock, and, perhaps
for many years, this branch of the trade has not opened with so
small a stock on hand.
"NOTTINGHAM, _November 6_.--In lace we have no improvement
to notice this week in the general sale of goods, and, with
very few exceptions, there is a great falling off in demand;
but, as many of the manufacturers are wisely lessening their
production, we do not anticipate any serious losses resulting
from the present temporary stagnation. Many are stopping their
frames to make fresh designs altogether; which, if done with
good taste, some advantage may result from present difficulties.
In hosiery our trade is not so much depressed as we had reason
to anticipate. There is still a fair business doing in wrought
hose, and a little increased demand for 'cut-ups,' as well as
gloves made of thread and spun silk. The price of yarn is low,
which is in favour both of the manufacturer and merchant.
"LEICESTER, _November 6_.--The unsettled state of the price of
workmanship for straight-down hose has caused a great depression
in that branch, and led to nearly a total cessation of work,
many hosiers declining to give out until prices are settled. In
wrought hose a better business is doing, though not so good as
usual at this season. Yarns continue dull of sale."
Now, why do we insist upon these things? For two reasons. In
the first place, we wish you to observe that the cheapness of
manufacturing products does not of itself induce consumption.
There must be buyers as well as sellers in order to constitute
a market, and the tendency of our late legislation has been to
diminish the means of the former. It by no means follows that, if
we have cheap food and cheap manufactures, the relative position
of all classes can be maintained. Never forget _that our burdens
all the while remain at a fixed money rate_, and that, as the value
of produce is lowered, the weight of those burdens is aggravated.
This consideration, which is now well understood, is beginning to
tell strongly against the doctrines of the Free-Traders, even with
some of those, who were once their ardent supporters. Mr James
Harvey of Liverpool, late a member of the Anti-Corn-Law League,
but now a strenuous opponent of their system, thus chronicles the
leading cause of his conversion. We quote from his pamphlet just
published, _Remunerative Price the Desideratum, not Cheapness_. He
says:--"My suspicions were first awakened by the blind devotion
of the Manchester school of political economy to the doctrine of
CHEAPNESS; for it struck me as a self-evident proposition, that to
buy cheap is to sell cheap, in which case there can be no possible
gain, but a positive loss, arising from the necessary aggravation of
all fixed charges." In order to place the producers of this country
in the same position as before, it would be necessary to reduce all
fixed charges, the interest of debt both public and private, the
expenses of government, and all salaries and annuities, to an amount
corresponding to the forced decline of prices. This would be called
a war against property; but, in reality, the war against property
began when the Legislature admitted foreign untaxed produce to
compete with the produce and labour of our tax-paying population at
home.
Our second reason for drawing your attention to the cheerless
prospect of manufactures, has reference to the sacrifices, not
only indirect but direct, which the other classes of the community
were called upon to make in order to prop them up. In the first
place, the Property and Income Tax, which we are still called upon
to pay, was imposed by Sir Robert Peel expressly for the object of
effecting "such an improvement in the _manufacturing interests_ as
will react on every other interest in the country." He admitted
that it was an unjust and partial impost, and therefore promised
that it should be only temporary--however, we have endured it for
ten years, and the Whigs will no doubt make an effort to continue
it still longer. Here, then, you have a sum of five millions and a
half annually confiscated for the benefit of the manufacturers, who
were relieved from taxation to that amount. So far for sacrifice the
first. Then came sacrifice the second, in the shape of Free Trade,
mulcting the productive classes of this country to the extent of at
least five-and-thirty per cent of their annual returns. Then came
sacrifice the third, which handed over the carrying trade to the
foreigner.
Now, considering that all these sacrifices have been made for the
encouragement of manufactures, or at least with that professed
object, is it not, to say the least of it, extraordinary that
they have not thriven? How are we to account for a result so
wholly contrary to the avowed anticipations of our statesmen? The
explanation is, after all, not very difficult. All these sacrifices
have been made, not for the great body of the manufacturers, but for
a mere section of them. We possess no authentic official information
as to the amount of manufactures consumed at home; but we have
records, more or less trustworthy, of the amount of our exports,
and these are used to mislead the minds of the multitude as to the
actual extent and relative importance of our trade. England has no
more title than France has to the character of the workshop of the
world. We are driven from the markets of civilised countries by the
protective duties imposed by their governments for the righteous and
prudent purpose of fostering native industry, and we are compelled
to seek our marts among people who are not yet so far advanced in
political economy as to detect the enormous discrepancy between our
principles and our practice. Listen to Mr Harvey's sketch of our
foreign trade:--
"From the theories and systems I turned my attention to passing
events and recorded facts: I saw the West Indies prostrated;
Canada thrown into a state of revolt, succeeded by a smothered
feeling of discontent; Ireland depopulated; the magnificent
resources of India undeveloped; and the British farmer
reduced to the dire necessity of paying rent out of capital.
I also perceived that the change in our commercial policy had
substituted a cosmopolitan cant in the place of patriotism and
nationality. To become the friend of every country but his own
had become the pride and the glory of statesmanship. Foreign
goods were admitted, duty free, into our ports, in the vain hope
of reciprocity being established; but our manufactures were
subjected to heavy imposts on the Continent of Europe, and in
the United States. China, unversed in the mysteries of political
economy, only levies five per cent upon our goods, whilst,
in direct contravention of our pet notions of Free Trade and
reciprocity, we impose a tax of 300 per cent upon her teas. OUR
HOPES HAVE BEEN DISAPPOINTED, OUR CALCULATIONS FALSIFIED. WE ARE
THE DUPES OF OUR OWN FANTASTIC IDEAS AND QUIXOTIC CONCESSIONS.
We are the laughing-stock of the Old and the New Worlds. The
Germanic Zollverein shuns our overtures; the American excludes
our ships from his seaboard."
Can these things be controverted? We defy the ingenuity of mankind
to do it.
So much for the foreign trade; but there still remains the home
trade, in which by far the largest portion of our manufacturing
capital is embarked, and which furnishes a much greater amount of
employment to British labour than the other. You see what is the
state of that trade, notwithstanding the savings which may have been
effected by the lowered price of food, and also notwithstanding that
partial protection which several branches of it are still allowed
to retain. One word as to that incidental point. Mr Cobden is
reported to have said, that he did not care how soon these remnants
of protection were abolished. Let him be as good as his word, and,
IF HE DARES, rise up in his place in the House of Commons, and
make a motion to that effect. We shall then have an opportunity of
testing the exact nature of his principles. To what cause can such
a depression as this, so long and continuous, be attributed, except
to a general curtailment of demand on the part of the consumers,
arising from the insufficiency of their means to make purchases as
before? You are probably aware that what is called strict economy
in families is not favourable to the interests of manufacture or
of trade. Of manufactures of all kinds there must be a certain
yearly consumption, based upon the necessities of the people.
Besides food, men require clothes to cover them, and houses in which
to dwell, and those houses must be more or less furnished. But
between the bare supply of such necessities, and that point which
is considered by persons, according to their tastes, education, or
habits, as constituting comfort, there is a wide interval. Nothing
is a more sure criterion of the wealth and income of a people than
the ordering of their homes, and the manner of their living; and the
traveller who passes from one country into another can at once form
an estimate, from such appearances, of their respective wealth or
poverty. Diminish income, and a reduction is immediately made. All
superfluities are lopped off and renounced. The broker, who deals
in second-hand articles, drives a larger business than the man who
is the vendor of new ones; and even in domestic labour there is a
large economy practised, by reducing establishments. That this must
be so, will be evident on the slightest reflection. Reduce a man's
income from £1000 to £800 or £600, and he will, if he has any wisdom
or prudence, cut down his expenses to meet the fall. It is upon
the home manufacturer in the first place, and upon the shopkeeper
secondly, that these reductions tell. The one finds that his amount
of production is much greater than the demand; the other does not
turn over his capital nearly so rapidly as before. Add to this
that the home manufacturer, in many branches, is exposed to strong
foreign competition. Sir Robert Peel, in his last alterations of
the tariff, did indeed continue Protection--more largely than is
generally understood, for the mere amount of revenue-duty drawn from
importations of foreign articles, adapted to compete with ours in
the home, is no criterion of the Protective value--to some branches
of industry; but others were exposed without shelter, and have since
suffered accordingly. It is undeniable that a very large amount of
foreign manufactures, which have paid no duty at all, or merely an
elusory one, are consumed within this country--thereby inflicting
extreme injury upon British labour, and depressing trades which,
though severally not important, give in the aggregate, or ought to
give, the means of employment to thousands. Regard the subject in
any light you will, this cheapness, of which we have heard so much,
just amounts to a diminution of the income of every class, except
the annuitants and fund-holders, while it consequently renders the
payment of the fixed burdens more grievous to every one of us.
You, gentlemen, to whom we have ventured to submit these remarks,
have a very great deal in your power. You can, by your decision,
either confirm the present policy, or cause it to be reversed; and
your own experience will suffice to show you in what manner the
system has worked. Statists may parade their figures, economists may
puff their plans, statesmen may indulge in high-coloured pictures
of the success which they expect to follow their measures--but the
true test of every measure which has a practical tendency will be
found in the effect which it produces upon the circumstances of the
people, and especially upon those of the middle classes. We, who
have, from the very first, anticipated the baneful effects of this
attack upon British industry--we, who have no more connection than
any of yourselves with territorial aristocracy, and who consider
the welfare of the people as the grand object which it is the duty
of the Government to promote--ask you to apply your own reason to
the facts which are before you and in your reach, and to decide and
act accordingly. It was, we knew from the very beginning of this
struggle, impossible that you could decide until the effects of the
Free-Trade experiment became visible and palpable among yourselves.
We foresaw that it was only through the suffering and impoverishment
of the producers that the practical lesson could reach you, and
that, until this took place, it was of little use to invoke your
aid, or even to entreat your judgment. Probably, by this time, you
will have formed an accurate estimate of the value of the doctrines
promulgated by the babblers on political economy--a sect which has
never yet been allowed to interfere with the internal affairs of
any nation, without producing the most disastrous results. To them
we are indebted for that change of the currency which has added
fully one-third to our fixed burdens, and for those complex monetary
arrangements which insure periodically the return of a commercial
crisis. But whatever you may think of them, do not allow yourselves
to be influenced by their representations, or by those of their
accredited organs. The time for theory is over. You have now to deal
with facts, regarding which every man of you is competent to form
an opinion. We do not ask you to accept our statements implicitly,
any more than those of our opponents--though, if we did so, we might
hold ourselves justified on this ground, that the greater part of
our evidence is taken from the admissions of our adversaries. We
appeal to your own experience, and upon that we leave you to decide.
And do not be afraid to give free utterance to your opinion. There
exists not in this land--there exists not in all the world, the
power which can rise up against you. The British producer on the
one hand, and the exporting manufacturer on the other, may have
conflicting interests not altogether reconcilable with the public
good, for isolated interest always begets selfishness; and where
individual or class profit is concerned, principle is apt to be
overlooked. But you are, eminently, THE CLASS to pronounce upon
conflicting opinions. Your interest is that of the nation whose
pulse is beneath your finger. You can tell, with greater accuracy
than others, whether any political prescription has stimulated
the circulation of the blood, or caused it to run torpidly in the
national veins. You can mark the changes in the circumstances of
your customers, and from these you can form an estimate whether or
not the late experiment has been successful.
If, judging by that test, you should think it has been successful,
our case is lost. We, who have advocated the Protective Principle in
legislation, cannot continue to maintain it, if those whose incomes
depend mainly upon British custom find themselves advantaged by
measures which have reduced the value of British produce. In matters
of this kind there is no abstract dogma involved, on the strength
of which any man could make himself a creditable martyr. Men have
died for their faith or for their allegiance, believing either to be
their highest duty; but no one in his senses will spend a lifetime,
or any considerable portion of it, in combating absolute facts. The
reason why Protection is still a living principle--the reason why it
finds so many supporters among the learned and the thoughtful--the
reason why it is progressing step by step towards triumph--is
because, in the minds of those who advocate it, there is a strong
and deep-rooted conviction that you already know that the opposite
system has entirely failed to realise the predictions of its
advocates, and that you feel that its permanency is contrary to your
interest, and to that of the great body of the people. If we are
right in this conviction, then we are entitled not only to solicit,
but to demand, your earnest co-operation. These are not times
for political cowardice, or weak suppression of opinion. Liberty
of thought, and liberty of the expression of sentiment, are our
unalienable prerogative; but of late years, and in the hands of a
certain party, that prerogative has been scandalously overstretched.
We now hear men--even members of the Legislature--threatening the
country, and you, with hints of insurrection, in case you exercise
your undoubted right of pronouncing a free and unbiassed judgment
upon any point of commercial policy. Let the caitiffs bluster! They
know, from the bottom of their ignoble souls--for none save an
ignoble soul would have dared to conceive that such threats would
intimidate any man of British birth or blood--that their menace is
as meaningless and vain as their miserable motives are apparent.
Let them bluster! They, the advocates of lowered wages--they, the
combatants for lengthened labour--they, the crushers of the infants,
have no large margin of operative sympathy upon which they can
afford to trade. Had John Fielden been alive, he could have told
you what these men were, and what sympathy they were likely to
command. Well do the workmen know with whom they have to deal!
Let us not be misunderstood. We never have underrated the difficulty
of a change such as we contemplate; but no difficulty attending
that, is for a moment to be put into the balance against the general
welfare of the country, if, on reflection, and on considering your
own position, you shall be of opinion that the interests of the
country demand that change. But, at any hazard, we cannot afford to
go down-hill. To bring us, as the Manchester men contemplate, to
the Continental level in point of wages as well as expenditure, is
to seal the ruin of the British empire, burdened as it is; or, in
the least dangerous view, to necessitate repudiation. That matter
is, as we have said before, for you to decide; and the period for
your decision is rapidly drawing near. On the next general election
depends the fate of the country, and--without saying one syllable
more upon the merits of the systems at issue--the decision or
inclination of your body will form the most important, because it
must be considered, as between conflicting interests, the most
impartial element, of the expression of British opinion.
THE JEW'S LEGACY.
A TALE OF THE SIEGE OF GIBRALTAR.
CHAPTER I.
The note-book of my grandfather, Major Flinders, contains much
matter relative to the famous siege of Gibraltar, and he seems to
have kept an accurate and minute journal of such of its incidents
as came under his own observation. Indeed, I suspect the historian
Drinkwater must have had access to it, as I frequently find the same
notabilia chronicled in pretty much the same terms by both these
learned Thebans. But while Drinkwater confines himself mostly to
professional matters--the state of the fortifications, nature of the
enemy's fire, casualties to the soldiery, and the like--and seldom
introduces an anecdote interesting to the generality of readers
without apologising for such levity, my grandfather's sympathies
seem to have been engrossed by the sufferings of the inhabitants
deprived of shelter, as well as of sufficient food, and helplessly
witnessing the destruction of their property. Consequently, his
journal, though quite below the dignity of history, affords, now and
then, a tolerably graphic glimpse of the beleagured town.
From the discursive and desultory nature of the old gentleman's
style, as before hinted, it would be vain to look for a continuous
narrative in his journal, even if it contained materials for such.
But here and there a literary Jack Horner might extract a plum or
two from the vast quantity of dough--of reflections, quotations,
and all manner of irrelevant observations, surrounding them. The
following incidents, which occurred at the most interesting period
of the long and tedious siege, appear to me to give a fair idea of
some of the characteristics of the time, and of the personages who
figured in it; and accordingly, after subjecting them to a process
analogous to gold-washing, I present them to the reader.
After a strict blockade of six months, reducing the garrison to
great extremity for want of provisions, Gibraltar was relieved by
Sir George Rodney, who landed a large quantity of stores. But about
a year after his departure, no further relief having reached them
except casual supplies from trading vessels that came at a great
risk to the Rock, their exigencies were even worse than before. The
issue of provisions was limited in quantity, and their price so
high, that the families, even of officers, were frequently in dismal
straits. This has given rise to a wooden joke of my grandfather's,
who, although he seldom ventures on any deliberate facetiousness,
has entitled the volume of his journal relating to this period of
the siege, _The Straits of Gibraltar_. He seems to have estimated
the worth of his wit by its rarity, for the words appear at the top
of every page.
The 11th of April 1781 being Carlota's birthday, the Major had
invited Owen (now Lieutenant Owen) to dine with them in honour of
the occasion. Owen was once more, for the time, a single man; for
Juana, having gone to visit her friends in Tarifa just before the
commencement of the siege, had been unable to rejoin her husband. In
vain had Carlota requested that the celebration might be postponed
till the arrival of supplies from England should afford them a
banquet worthy of the anniversary--the Major, a great stickler for
ancient customs, insisted on its taking place forthwith. Luckily,
a merchantman from Minorca had succeeded in landing a cargo of
sheep, poultry, vegetables, and fruit the day before, so that the
provision for the feast, though by no means sumptuous, was far
better than any they had been accustomed to for many months past.
The Major's note-book enables me to set the materials for the
dinner, and also its cost, before the reader--viz. a sheep's head,
price sixteen shillings, (my grandfather was too late to secure any
of the body, which was rent in pieces, and the fragments carried
off as if by wolves, ere the breath was well out of it)--a couple
of fowls, twenty shillings, (scraggy creatures, says my ancestor
in a parenthesis)--a ham, two guineas--raisins and flour for a
pudding, five shillings--eggs, (how many the deponent sayeth not,)
sixpence each--vegetables, nine and sixpence--and fruit for dessert,
seven and tenpence. Then, for wine, a Spanish merchant, a friend
of Carlota's, had sent them two bottles of champagne and one of
amontillado, a present as generous then as a hogshead would have
been in ordinary times; and there was, moreover, some old rum, and
two lemons for punch. Altogether, there was probably no dinner half
so good that day in Gibraltar.
At the appointed hour, the Major was reading in his quarters (a
tolerably commodious house near the South Barracks, and at some
distance outside the town) when Owen appeared.
"You're punctual, my boy; and punctuality's a cardinal virtue about
dinner-time," said my grandfather, looking at his watch; "three
o'clock exactly. And now we'll have dinner. I only hope the new cook
is a tolerable proficient."
"What's become of Mrs Grigson?" asked Owen. "You haven't parted with
that disciple of Apicius, I should hope?"
"She's confined again," said my grandfather, sighing; "a most
prolific woman that! It certainly can't be above half-a-year since
her last child was born, and she's just going to have another. 'Tis
certainly not longer ago than last autumn," he added musingly.
"A wonderful woman," said Owen; "she ought to be purchased by the
Government, and sent out to some of our thinly-populated colonies.
And who fills her place?"
"Why, I'll tell you," responded the Major. "Joe Trigg, my old
servant, is confined too--in the guardroom, I mean, for getting
drunk--and I've taken a man of the regiment, one Private Bags, for a
day or two, who recommended his wife as an excellent cook. She says
the same of herself; but this is her first trial, and I'm a little
nervous about it."
"Shocking rascal that Bags," said Owen.
"Indeed!" said my grandfather; "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't
inquire about his character. He offered his services, saying he came
from the same part of England as myself, though I don't recollect
him."
"Terrible work this blockade," said the Major after a pause. "Do
you know, if I was a general in command of a besieging army, I
don't think I could find it in my heart to starve out the garrison.
Consider now, my dear boy," (laying his forefinger on Owen's
arm,)--"consider, now, several thousand men, with strong appetites,
never having a full meal for months together. And just, too, as my
digestion was getting all right--for I never get a nightmare now,
though I frequently have the most delicious dreams of banquets
that I try to eat, but wake before I get a mouthful. 'Tis enough
to provoke a saint. And, as if this was not enough, the supply of
books is cut off. The _Weekly Entertainer_ isn't even an annual
entertainer to me. The last number I got was in '79, and I've been
a regular subscriber these twelve years. There's the _Gentleman's
Magazine_, too. The last one reached me a year since, with a capital
story in it, only half-finished, that I'm anxious to know the end
of; and also a rebus that I've been longing to see the answer to.
'The answer in our next,' says the tantalising editor. It's a
capital rebus--just listen now. 'Two-thirds of the name of an old
novelist, one-sixth of what we all do in the morning, and a heathen
deity, make together a morsel fit for a king.' I've been working at
it for upwards of a year, and I can't guess it. Can you?"
"Roast pig with stuffing answers the general description," said
Owen. "That, you'll admit, is a morsel fit for a king."
"Pooh!" said my grandfather. "But you must really try now. I've
run through the mythology, all that I know of it, and tried all
the old novelists' names, even Boccaccio and Cervantes. Never were
such combinations as I've made--but can't compound anything edible
out of them. Again, as to what we do in the morning: we all shave,
(that is, all who have beards)--and we yawn, too; at least I do,
on waking; but it must be a word of six letters. Then, who can the
heathen deity be?"
"Pan is the only heathen deity that has anything to do with
cookery," said Owen. "Frying-pan, you know, and stew-pan."
My grandfather caught at the idea, but had not succeeded in making
anything of it, or in approximating to the solution of the riddle,
when Carlota entered from an inner room.
"I wish, my dear, you would see about the dinner," said the Major;
"'tis a quarter past three."
"_Si, mi vida_," (yes, my life,) said Carlota, who was in the habit
of bestowing lavishly on my grandfather the most endearing epithets
in the Spanish language, some of them, perhaps, not particularly
applicable--_niño de mi alma_, (child of my soul,) _luz de mis
ojos_, (light of my eyes,) and the like; none of which appeared to
have any more effect on the object of them than if they had been
addressed to somebody else.
Carlota rung the bell, which nobody answered. "Nurse is busy with
de _niña_," she said, when nobody answered it; "I go myself to de
_cocina_," (kitchen,)--she spoke English as yet but imperfectly.
"There's one comfort in delay," said the Major; "'tis better to boil
a ham too much than too little--and yet I shouldn't like it overdone
either."
Here they were alarmed by an exclamation from Carlota. "_Ah Dios!
Caramba! Ven, ven, mi niño!_" cried she from the kitchen.
The Major and Owen hastened to the kitchen, which was so close
at hand that the smell of the dinner sometimes anticipated its
appearance in the dining-room. Mrs Bags, the new cook, was seated
before the fire. On the table beside her was an empty champagne
bottle, the fellow to which protruded its neck from a pail in one
corner, where the Major had put it to cool; and another bottle
of more robust build, about half-full, was also beside her. The
countenance of Mrs Bags wore a pleasant and satisfied, though not
very intelligent smile, as she gazed steadfastly on the ham that
was roasting on a spit before the fire--at least one side of it was
done quite black, while the other oozed with warm greese; for the
machinery which should have turned it was not in motion.
"_Caramba!_" exclaimed Carlota, with uplifted hands. "_Que
picarilla!_"--(What a knave of a woman!)
"Gracious heavens!" said my grandfather, "she's roasting it! Who
ever heard of a roast ham?"
"A many years," remarked Mrs Bags, without turning her head, and
still smiling pleasantly, "have I lived in gentlemen's families--"
Here this fragment of autobiography was terminated by a hiccup.
"And the champagne bottle is empty," said Owen, handling it. "A nice
sort of cook this of yours, Major. She seems to have constituted
herself butler, too."
My grandfather advanced and lifted the other bottle to his nose.
"'Tis the old rum," he ejaculated with a groan. "But if the woman
has drunk all this 'twill be the death of her. Bags," he called,
"come here."
The spouse of Mrs Bags emerged from a sort of scullery behind the
kitchen--a tall bony man, of an ugliness quite remarkable, and with
a very red face. He was better known by his comrades as Tongs, in
allusion probably to personal peculiarities; for the length of his
legs, the width of his bony hips, and the smallness of his head,
gave him some distant resemblance to that article of domestic
ironmongery; but as his wife called herself Mrs Bags, and he was
entered in the regimental books by that name, it was probably his
real appellation.
"Run directly to Dr Fagan," said the Major, "and request him to come
here. Your wife has poisoned herself with rum."
"'Tisn't rum," said Bags, somewhat thickly--"'tis fits."
"Fits!" said my grandfather.
"Fits," doggedly replied Mr Bags, who seemed by no means disturbed
at the alleged indisposition of his wife--"she often gets them."
"Don't alarm yourself, Major," said Owen, "I'll answer for it she
hasn't drunk _all_ the rum. The scoundrel is half-drunk himself, and
smells like a spirit-vault. You'd better take your wife away," he
said to Bags.
"She can leave if she ain't wanted," said Private Bags, with
dignity: "we never comes where we ain't wanted." And he advanced to
remove the lady. Mrs Bags at first resisted this measure, proceeding
to deliver a eulogium on her own excellent qualities, moral and
culinary. She had, she said, the best of characters, in proof of
which she made reference to several persons in various parts of the
United Kingdom, and, as she spoke, she smiled more affably than ever.
"_La picarilla no tiene verguenza_," (the wretch is perfectly
shameless,) cried Carlota, who, having hastily removed the ham
from the fire, was now looking after the rest of the dinner. The
fowls, cut up in small pieces, were boiling along with the sheep's
head, and, probably to save time, the estimable Mrs Bags had put
the rice and raisins destined for a pudding into the pot along with
them--certainly, as Owen remarked, a bold innovation in cookery.
Still continuing to afford them glimpses of her personal history,
Mrs Bags was at length persuaded to retire along with her helpmate.
"What astonishing impudence," said the Major, shutting the door upon
her, "to pretend to be a cook, and yet know no better than to roast
a ham!"
Carlota, meanwhile, was busy in remedying the disaster as far as she
could; cutting the ham into slices and frying it, making a fricassee
of the fowls, and fishing the raisins out of the pot, exclaiming
bitterly all the while, in English and Spanish, against the
_tunanta_ (equivalent to female scoundrel or scamp) who had spoilt
the only nice dinner her _pobrecito_, her _niño_, her _querido_,
(meaning my grandfather,) had been likely to enjoy for a long time,
stopping occasionally in her occupations to give him a consolatory
kiss. However, my grandfather did not keep up the character of a
martyr at all well: he took the matter really very patiently; and
when the excellent Carlota had set the dinner on the table, and he
tasted the fine flavour of the maltreated ham, he speedily regained
his accustomed good-humour.
"It is very strange," he said presently, while searching with a fork
in the dish before him, "that a pair of fowls should have only three
wings, two legs, and one breast between them."
It certainly was not according to the order of nature; nevertheless
the fact was so, all my grandfather's researches in the dish
failing to bring to light the missing members. This however, was
subsequently explained by the discovery of the remains of these
portions of the birds in the scullery, where they appeared to have
been eaten after being grilled; and Mrs Bags' reason for adopting
this mode of cooking them was also rendered apparent--viz., that she
might secure a share for herself without immediate detection.
However, all this did not prevent them from making the best of what
was left, and the Major's face beamed as he drank Carlota's health
in a glass of the remaining bottle of champagne, as brightly as if
the dinner had been completely successful.
"It is partly my fault, Owen," said the Major, "that you haven't a
joint of mutton instead of this sheep's head. I ought to have been
sharper. The animal was actually sold in parts before he was killed.
Old Clutterbuck had secured a haunch, and he a single man you
know--'tis thrown away upon him. I offered him something handsome
for his bargain, but he wouldn't part with it."
"We're lucky to get any," returned Owen. "Never was such a scramble.
Old Fiskin, the commissary, and Mrs O'Regan, the Major's wife, both
swore the left leg was knocked down to them; neither would give in,
and it was put up again, when the staff doctor, Pursum, who had just
arrived in a great hurry, carried it off by bidding eightpence more
than either. Not one of the three has spoken to either of the others
since; and people say," added Owen, "Mrs O'Regan avers openly that
Fiskin didn't behave like a gentleman."
"God knows!" said my grandfather, "'tis a difficult thing in such a
case to decide between politeness and a consciousness of being in
the right. Fiskin likes a good dinner."
The dinner having been done justice to, Carlota removed the remains
to a side-table, and the Major was in the act of compounding a bowl
of punch, when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," cried
Carlota.
A light and timid step crossed the narrow passage separating the
outer door from that of the room they sat in, and there was another
hesitating tap at this latter. "Come in," again cried Carlota, and a
young girl entered with a basket on her arm.
"'Tis Esther Lazaro," said Carlota in Spanish. "Come in, child; sit
here and tell me what you want."
Esther Lazaro was the daughter of a Jew in the town, whose
occupations were multifarious, and connected him closely with the
garrison. He discounted officers' bills, furnished their rooms, sold
them everything they wanted--all at most exorbitant rates. Still,
as is customary with military men, while perfectly aware that they
could have procured what he supplied them with elsewhere at less
expense, they continued to patronise and abuse him rather than
take the trouble of looking out for a more liberal dealer. As the
difficulties of the garrison increased, he had not failed to take
advantage of them, and it was even said he was keeping back large
stores of provisions and necessaries till the increasing scarcity
should enable him to demand his own terms for them.
His daughter was about fifteen years old--a pretty girl, with hair
of the unusual colour of chestnut, plaited into thick masses on the
crown of her head. Her skin was fairer than is customary with her
race--her eyes brown and soft in expression, her face oval, and
her figure, even at this early age, very graceful, being somewhat
more precocious than an English girl's at those years. She was a
favourite with the ladies of the garrison, who often employed her to
procure feminine matters for them. Carlota, particularly, had always
treated her with great kindness--and hence the present visit. She
had come, she said timidly, to ask a favour--a great favour. She had
a little dog that she loved. (Here a great commotion in the basket
seemed to say she had brought her _protégé_ with her.) He had been
given to her by a young school friend who was dead, and her father
would no longer let her keep it, because, he said, these were no
times to keep such creatures, when provisions, even those fit for a
dog, were so dear. He was a very good little dog--would the Señora
take him?
"Let us look at him, Esther," said Owen--"I see you have brought him
with you."
"He is not pretty," said Esther, blushing as she produced him from
the basket. He certainly was not, being a small cur, marked with
black and white, like a magpie, with a tall curling over his back.
He did not appear at all at his ease in society, for he tried to
shrink back again into the basket.
"He was frightened," she said, "for he had been shut up for more
than a month. She had tried to keep him in her bedroom, unknown to
her father, feeding him with part of her own meals; but he had found
it out, and had beaten her, and threatened to kill the dog if ever
he saw it again."
"_Pobrecito!_" (poor little thing,) said the good Carlota--"we shall
take good care of it. _Toma_," (take this,) offering him a bit of
meat. But he crept under her chair, with his tail so depressed, in
his extreme bashfulness, that the point of it came out between his
forelegs.
Carlota would have made the young Jewess dine there forthwith, at
the side-table still spread with the remains of the dinner; but
she refused to take anything, only sipping once from a glass of
wine that Carlota insisted on making her drink of. Then she rose,
and, having tied the end of a string that was fastened to the dog's
collar to the leg of the table, to prevent his following her, took
her leave, thanking Carlota very prettily.
"_A Dios, Sancho!_" she said to the little dog, who wagged his
tail and gave her a piteous look as she turned to go away--"_A
Dios, Sancho_," she repeated, taking him up and kissing him very
affectionately. The poor child was ready to cry.
"Come and see him every day, my child," said Carlota, "and when
better times come you shall have him again."
CHAPTER II.
Lazaro the Jew was seated towards dusk that evening in a sort of
office partitioned off by an open railing from a great store filled
with a most motley collection of articles. Sofas, looking-glasses,
washing-stands--bales of goods in corded canvass--rows of old boots
purchased from officers' servants--window curtains lying on heaps
of carpeting and matting--bedsteads of wood and iron--crockery
and glass--were all piled indiscriminately. Similar articles had
also overflowed along the passage down the wooden steps leading
to the square stone court below, which was lumbered with barrels,
packing-cases, and pieces of old iron. This court was entered
from the street, and an arched door on one side of it, barred and
padlocked, opened on a large warehouse, which nobody except the Jew
had set foot in for many months.
The Jew himself was a spare, rather small man, with a thin eager
face, small sharp features, and a scanty beard. Being by descent
a Barbary Jew, he wore the costume peculiar to that branch of his
race--a black skull-cap; a long-skirted, collarless, cloth coat,
buttoned close, the waist fastened with a belt; loose light-coloured
trousers and yellow slippers--altogether he looked somewhat like an
overgrown scholar of Christ's Hospital. He was busied in turning
over old parchment-covered ledgers, when an officer entered.
Von Dessel was a captain in Hardenberg's regiment. He was a square,
strong-built man, about forty, with very light hair, as was apparent
since the governor's order had forbidden the use of powder to the
troops, in consequence of the scarcity of flour. His thick, white,
overhanging eyebrows, close lips, and projecting under jaw gave
sternness to his countenance.
"Good afternoon, captain," said the Jew; "what I do for you to-day,
sare?"
"Do for me! By Gott, you have done for me already, with your cursed
Hebrew tricks," said the captain. The German and the Jew met on a
neutral ground of broken English.
"I always treat every gentleman fair, sare," said the Jew. "I tell
you, captain, I lose by that last bill of yours."
"_Der teufel!_ who gains, then?" said Von Dessel, "for you cut me
off thirty per cent."
The Jew shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't make it so, sare; the siege makes it so. When the port is
open, you shall have more better exchange."
"Well, money must be had," said the German. "What will you give now
for my bill for twenty pounds?"
The Jew consulted a book of figures--then made some calculations on
paper--then appeared to consider intently.
"Curse you, speak!" said the choleric captain. "You have made up
your mind about how much roguery long ago."
"Captain, sare, I give you feefty dallars," said the Jew.
The captain burst forth with a volley of German execrations.
"Captain," said the Jew presently, "I like to please a gentleman if
I can. I give you one box of cigars besides--real Cubas--one hundred
and feefty in a box."
The captain at this broke forth again, but checked himself presently
on the entrance of the Jew's daughter, who now returned from the
Major's. She advanced quietly into the room, made a little bow to
the captain, took off and laid aside her shawl, and, taking up some
work, sat down and began to sew.
Von Dessel resumed his expostulation in a milder tone. The Jew,
however, knew the money was necessary to him, and only yielded
so far as to increase his box of cigars to two hundred; and the
captain, finding he could get no better terms from him, was forced
to agree. While the Jew was drawing out the bills, the German gazed
attentively at Esther, with a good deal of admiration expressed in
his countenance.
"I can't take the money now," said he, after signing the bills. "I
am going on duty. Bring it to me to-morrow morning, at nine o'clock."
"I'm afraid I can't, sare," said Lazaro; "too moch business.
Couldn't you send for it, captain?"
"Not possible," said the German; "but you must surely have somebody
that might bring it--some trustworthy person you know." And his eye
rested on Esther.
"There's my dater, sare," said the Jew--"I shall send her, if that
will do."
"Good," said the captain, "do not forget," and quitted the room
forthwith.
He was scarcely gone when a pair with whom the reader is already
slightly acquainted, Mr and Mrs Bags, presented themselves. The
effects of their morning conviviality had in a great measure
disappeared.
"Your servant, sir," said Bags. The Jew nodded.
"We've got a few articles to dispose of," pursued Mr Bags, looking
round the room cautiously. "They was left us," he added in a low
tone, "by a _diseased_ friend."
"Ah!" said the Jew, "never mind where you got 'em. Be quick--show
them."
Mrs Bags produced from under her cloak, first a tin teakettle, then
a brass saucepan; and Mr Bags, unbuttoning his coat, laid on the
table three knives and a silver fork. Esther, passing near the table
at the time, glanced accidentally at the fork, and recognised the
Flinders crest--a talbot, or old English bloodhound.
"Father," said she hastily, in Spanish, "don't have anything to do
with that--it must be stolen." But the Jew turned so sharply on her,
telling her to mind her work, that she retreated.
The Jew took up the tea-kettle, and examined the bottom to see that
it was sound--did the same with the saucepan--looked at the knives
narrowly, and still closer at the fork--then ranged them before him
on the table.
"For dis," said he, laying his hand on the tea-kettle, "we will say
one pound of rice; for dis (the saucepan) two pounds of corned beef;
for de knives, a bottle of rum; and for de fork, seex ounces of the
best tea."
"Curse your tea!" said Mr Bags.
"Yes!" said Mrs Bags, who had with difficulty restrained herself
during the process of valuation, "we doesn't want no tea. And the
things is worth a much more than what you say: the saucepan's as
good as new, and the fork's silver--"
"Plated," said the Jew, weighing it across his finger.
"A many years," said Mrs Bags, "have I lived in gentlemen's
families, and well do I know plate from silver. I've lived with Mrs
Milson of Pidding Hill, where everything was silver, and nothing
plated, even to the handles of the doors; and a dear good lady she
was to me; many's the gown, she giv me. And I've lived with--"
Here the Jew unceremoniously interrupted the train of her
recollections by pushing the things from before him. "Take what I
offer, or else take your things away," said he, shortly.
Mr and Mrs Bags grumbled considerably. The tea they positively
refused at any price: Mr Bags didn't like it, and Mrs Bags said it
disagreed with her. So the Jew agreed to give them instead another
bottle of rum, a pound of onions, and two pounds of beef; and with
these terms they at length closed, and departed with the results of
their barter.
During the altercation, a soldier of another regiment had entered,
and stood silently awaiting his turn to be attended to. He was a
gaunt man, with want written legibly in the hollows of his face
and the dismal eagerness of his eye. He now came forward, and with
trembling hands unfolded an old gown, and handed it to the Jew.
"'Tis no good to me," said the latter, giving it back, after holding
it against the light; "nothing but holes."
"But my wife has no other," said the man: "'tis her last stitch of
clothes, except her petticoat and a blanket. I've brought everything
else to you."
The Jew shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, in token
that he could not help it.
"I swear 'tis her last!" reiterated the man, as if he really fancied
this fact must give the garment as much value in the Jew's eyes as
in his own.
"I tell you I won't have it!" said the Jew, testily.
"Give me only a loaf for it, or but one pound of potatoes," said the
soldier: "'tis more than my wife and four children have had among
them for two days. Half-rations for one, among six of us, is too
hard to live."
"A pound of potatoes," said the Jew, "is worth four reals and
a-half--eighteenpence; your wife's gown is worth--nothing!"
"Then take this," said the man, beginning frantically to pull off
his uniform coat; "anything is better than starving."
The Jew laughed. "What!" said he, "you think I don't know better
than to buy a soldier's necessaries, eh? Ah, ah! no such a fool, I
think, my friend. What your captain say?--eh?"
The man struck his hand violently on the table. "Then give me--or
lend me," said he, "some food, much or little, and I'll work for you
every hour I'm off duty till you're satisfied. I will, Mr Lazaro, so
help me God!"
"I got plenty of men to work for me," said Lazaro; "don't want any
more. Come again, when you've got something to sell, my friend."
The man rolled up the gown without speaking, then lifted it over his
head, and dashed it into the furthest corner of the store. He was
hurrying from the place, when, as if unwilling to throw away his
last chance, he turned back, gathered it up, and, thrusting it under
his arm, quitted the store with lingering steps, as if he even yet
hoped to be called back. No such summons reached him, however; but,
immediately after he was gone, Esther rose and stole softly down the
stairs. She overtook him at the street-door opening from the court
before mentioned, and laid her hand on his arm. The man turned and
glared on her. "What!--he'll buy it, will he?" said he.
"Hush!" said Esther--"keep it for your poor wife. Look; I have no
money, but take these," and she placed in his hand two earrings
hastily detached from her ears.
The man stood looking at her for a space, as if stupified, without
closing his hand on the trinkets that lay on the palm; then,
suddenly rousing himself, he swore, with tears in his eyes, that
for this service he would do for her anything on earth she should
require from him; but she only begged him to go away at once, and
say nothing, lest her father should overhear the transaction, who
would certainly be angry with her for it.
Bags and his wife had stopt in a corner of the court, to pack
up their property in a commodious form for conveyance, and had
witnessed this scene in silence. As soon as the soldier had, in
compliance with Esther's entreaties, disappeared, Bags came forward.
"And your father would be angry, would he, my dear?" said he.
"Oh, very--oh, so angry! Please don't stop me," she said, trying to
pass him.
"And what'll ye give me not to tell him, now?" asked Mr Bags.
"Ain't ye got nothing for me?"
"No--oh, no--indeed, nothing. Do let me pass."
"Yes, you have; you've got this, I think," said Bags, snatching at
a silver-mounted comb glistening in her hair, which, thus loosened,
all fell down on her shoulders as she darted past him. "And now,"
said Mr Bags, inspecting his prize, "I think me and that 'ere
cheating Jew is quits for the silver fork. I'll allow it's plated
now."
CHAPTER III.
Early the next morning (the 12th of April) a rumour went through
the town that an English fleet was signalled as in sight. The news
roused the starving people like electricity. The pale spectres of
men that, on the previous day, had stalked so gauntly through the
dreary streets--the wretched, sinking women, and children careworn
as grandfathers--poured forth, with something like a natural light
in their hollow eyes, to witness the joyful spectacle. The sea-wall
of the city was, like the margin of a vast pool of Bethesda,
thronged with hopeful wretches awaiting the coming of the angel.
The streets were instantly deserted. Those who could not leave their
homes got on the housetops, but the great mass of the population
spread itself along the line-wall, the Grand Parade and Alameda,
and the heights skirting the chief slopes of the Rock. Moors and
Jews, Spaniards and English, citizens and soldiers, men, women,
and children, of all ages, grades, and nations, ranged themselves
indiscriminately wherever they could obtain a view of the sea.
For some time the wished-for sight was delayed by a thick fog that
spread itself across the Straits and the entrance of the bay. A
murmur rose from each successive rank of people that forced itself
into a front place on the line-wall. Terrible doubts flew about,
originating no one knew where, but gaining strength and confirmation
as they passed from mouth to mouth. On the summit of the Rock behind
them the signal for a fleet flew steadily from the mast at Middle
Hill; but still in this, as in all crowds, were some of little
faith, who were full of misgivings. Many rushed up to the signal
station, unable to bear the pain of the delay. My grandfather
noticed the Jew Lazaro among the throng, watching the event with an
anxious eye, though his anxiety was from the opposite cause to that
of most of the spectators. The arrival of supplies would at once
bring down the price of provisions, and rob him, for the present,
of his expected profits; and as each successive rumour obtained
credence with the crowd, his countenance brightened as their hopes
fell, and sank as they again emerged from despondency.
Not far from him was an old Genoese woman, wearing the quaint red
cloak, trimmed with black velvet, that old Genoese women usually
wear in Gibraltar. She hovered round the skirts of the crowd,
occasionally peering beneath an uplifted arm, or thrusting it
between two obstructing figures, to catch a glimpse, though it was
evident that her dim eyes would fail to discern the fleet when
it should come in view. Her thin shrivelled features, relieved
against her black hood, were positively wolfish from starvation.
She frequently drew one hand from beneath her cloak, and gazed at
something she held in it--then, muttering, she would again conceal
it. My grandfather's curiosity was roused. He drew near and watched
for the reappearance of the object that so engrossed her. It was a
blue mouldy crust of bread.
The wished-for spectacle was at length revealed. "As the sun became
more powerful," says Drinkwater, rising into positive poetry
with the occasion, "the fog gradually rose, _like the curtain of
a vast theatre_, discovering to the anxious garrison one of the
most beautiful and pleasing scenes it is possible to conceive. The
convoy, consisting of near a hundred vessels, were in a compact
body, led by several men-of-war--their sails just filled enough for
steerage, while the majority of the line-of-battle ships lay to
under the Barbary shore, having orders not to enter the bay, lest
the enemy should molest them with their fireships."
Then rose a great shout--at once the casting-off of long-pressing
anxiety and the utterance of delight. Happy tears streamed down
haggard faces overgrown with hair, and presently men turned to one
another, smiling in the face of a stranger neighbour as in that of
an old friend, while a joyful murmur, distilled from many languages,
rose upward. Assuredly, if blessings are of any avail, the soul of
Admiral Darby, who commanded the relieving fleet, is at this moment
in Paradise.
Friends and relations now began to search for one another in
the crowd, which broke quickly into knots, each contriving how
to enjoy together the plenty that was to descend upon them. My
grandfather's eye at this juncture was again attracted by the old
Genoese woman. When the crowd shouted, she screened her eyes with
her withered hand, and, with her nostril spread, her chin fallen, in
her eagerness gazed towards the sea--but presently shook her head,
discerning nothing. Then she plucked by the arm a joyful Spaniard.
"_Es verdad? Por Dios, es verdad?_" she cried; "_jura! jura!_"--(Is
it true? Swear by Heaven it is true.)
"_Si, si,_" said the Spaniard, pointing; "_es verdad_," ('tis true.)
"You may see them yourself."
Instantly the old woman, for the last time, drew forth her
treasured crust, and began to devour it, muttering, as she tore
away each mouthful, "_Mas mañana! mas mañana!_" (I shall have more
to-morrow--more to-morrow!)
After the crowd had partially dispersed, Owen was returning to
his quarters to breakfast, when, as he paused to open the door,
he heard a voice he thought he knew crying out in affright in the
rooms opposite, where Von Dessel resided. Presently the door of the
quarters was opened, and the flushed and frightened face of Esther
Lazaro appeared, as she struggled to escape from Von Dessel, who
held her arm.
"Señor, señor, speak to the gentleman!" she cried to Owen.
"Leetle foolish girl," said Von Dessel, grinning a smile on seeing
him; "she frightens at nothing. Come in, child"--trying to shut the
door.
"Why don't you let her alone?" said Owen; "don't you see she doesn't
like you?"
"Pouf!" said the captain. "We all have trouble with them
sometimes--you must know that well."
"No, by Jupiter!" cried Frank Owen. "If I couldn't gain them
willingly, they might go to the devil for me. But you hurt her--pray
let her go--you must indeed."
"Do you mind your own affair," said the captain, "and don't meddle;"
and, exerting his strength, he drew Esther in, and partially
succeeded in shutting the door--she calling the while again on Owen
to help her. Frank stepped forward, and, putting his foot against
the door, sent it into the room, causing Captain Von Dessel, who was
behind it, to stagger back with some violence, and to quit his hold
of Esther, who ran down stairs.
"Very good, sir," said the captain, stalking grimly out of his room,
pale with rage. "You have thought right to interfere with me, and to
insult me. By Gott! I will teach you better, young man. Shall we say
in one hour, sir, in the Fives' Court?"
Owen nodded. "At your pleasure," said he, and, entering his own
quarters, shut the door.
Meanwhile my grandfather walked about with the telescope he had
brought with him to look after the fleet under his arm, enjoying the
unusual sight of happy faces around him. And he has remarked it as
a singular feature of humanity, that this prospect of relief from
physical want inspired a far more deep and universal joy than he
had witnessed in any public rejoicings arising from such causes as
loyalty or patriotism evinced at a coronation or the news of a great
victory; and hence my grandfather takes occasion to express a fear
that human nature, as well as other nature, is, except among the
rarer class of souls, more powerfully and generally influenced by
its animal propensities than by more refined causes.
He was so engrossed with the philanthropic pursuit of enjoying the
joy of the multitude, and the philosophic one of extracting moral
reflections therefrom, that he quite forgot he had not breakfasted.
He was just beginning to be reminded of the circumstance by a
feeling of hollowness in the region of the stomach, and to turn
his steps homeward, when a light hand was laid on his arm. My
grandfather turned, and beheld the face of the young Jewess looking
wistfully in his.
She began at first to address him in Spanish--the language she spoke
most naturally; but, quickly perceiving her mistake on hearing the
extraordinary jargon in which he replied, (for it is a singular
fact that nobody but Carlota, who taught him, could understand my
grandfather's Spanish,) she exchanged it for his own tongue. She
told him in a few hurried words of the quarrel Owen had incurred on
her account with Von Dessel, and of the challenge she had overheard
given by the latter, beseeching the major to hasten to prevent the
result.
"In the Fives' Court! in an hour!" said my grandfather. "When did
this happen?"
Esther thought nearly an hour ago--she had been almost so long
seeking my grandfather.
"I'll go, child--I'll go at once," said the Major. "With Von Dessel,
too, as if he could find nobody else to quarrel with but the best
swordsman in the garrison. 'Souls and bodies' quoted my grandfather,
'hath he divorced three.'"
With every stride he took, the Major's uneasiness was augmented. At
any time his anxiety would have been extreme while peril threatened
Frank; but now, when he was calculating on him as a companion
at many a well-spread table, when they might forget their past
miseries, it peculiarly affected him.
"To think," muttered my grandfather, "that these two madmen should
choose a time when everybody is going to be made so happy, by
getting plenty to eat, to show their gratitude to Providence by
cutting one another's throats!"
The danger to Owen was really formidable; for, though a respectable
swordsman, he was no unusual proficient in the graceful art, while
his opponent was not only, as my grandfather had said, the best
swordsman in the garrison, but perhaps the best at that time in the
army. As a student in Germany he had distinguished himself in some
sanguinary duels; and since his arrival in Gibraltar, a Spanish
gentleman, a very able fencer, had fallen beneath his arm.
"God grant," said my grandfather to himself, as he neared the Fives'
Court, "that we may settle this without the perdition of souls.
Frank, my dear boy, we could better spare a better man!"
On attempting to enter the Fives' Court he was stopped by the
master, posted at the door. "It was engaged," he said, "for a
private match."
"Ay, ay," said my grandfather, pushing past him; "a pretty match,
indeed! Ay, ay--pray God we can stop it!"
Finding the inner door locked, the Major, who was well acquainted
with the locality--for, when he had nothing else particular to
do, he would sometimes mark for the players for a rubber or
two--ascended the stairs to the gallery.
About the centre of the court stood the combatants. All
preliminaries had been gone through--for they were stripped to their
shirts--and the seconds (one a German, the adjutant of Hardenberg's
regiment--the other, one Lieutenant Rushton, an old hand at these
affairs, and himself a fire-eater) stood by, each with a spare sword
in his hand. In a corner was the German regimental surgeon, his
apparatus displayed on the floor, ready for an emergency. Rushton
fully expected Owen to fall, and only hoped he might escape without
a mortal wound. Von Dessel himself seemed of the same opinion,
standing square and firm as a tower, scarcely troubling himself to
assume an attitude, but easy and masterly withal. Both contempt and
malice were expressed for his antagonist in his half-shut eyes and
sardonic twist of the corners of his mouth.
"Owen, Owen, my boy!" shouted my grandfather, rushing to the front
of the gallery, and leaning over, as the swords crossed--"stop, for
God's sake. You mustn't fight that swashbuckler! They say he hath
been fencer to the Sophy," roared the Major, in the words of Sir
Toby Belch.
The combatants just turned their heads for a moment to look at the
interrupter, and again crossed swords.
Immediately on finding his remonstrance disregarded, the Major
descended personally into the arena--not by the ordinary route of
the stairs, but the shorter one of a perpendicular drop from the
gallery, not effected with the lightness of a feathered Mercury. But
the clatter of his descent was lost in the concussion of a discharge
of artillery that shook the walls. Instantly the air was alive
with shot and hissing shells; and before the echoes of the first
discharge had ceased, the successive explosion of the shells in the
air, and the crashing of chimneys, shattered doors, and falling
masonry, increased the uproar. One shell burst in the court, filling
it with smoke. My grandfather felt, for a minute, rather dizzy with
the shock. When the smoke cleared, by which time he had partially
recovered himself, the first object that caught his eye was Von
Dessel lying on the pavement, and the doctor stooping over him. The
only other person hurt was Rushton, a great piece of the skin of
whose forehead, detached by a splinter, was hanging over his right
eye. Von Dessel had sustained a compound fracture of the thigh,
while the loss of two fingers from his right hand had spoiled his
thrust in tierce for ever.
"What can be the matter?" said my grandfather, looking upward, as a
second flight of missiles hurtled overhead.
"Matter enough," quoth Rushton, mopping the blood from his eye with
his handkerchief; "those cursed devils of Spaniards are bombarding
the town."
The Major went up to Owen, and squeezed his hand. "We won't abuse
the Spaniards for all that," said he--"they've saved your life, my
boy."
CHAPTER IV.
Enraged at seeing their blockade evaded by the arrival of Darby's
fleet, the Spaniards revenged themselves by directing such a fire
upon Gibraltar, from their batteries in the Neutral Ground, as in
a short time reduced the town to a mass of ruins. This misfortune
was rendered the more intolerable to the besieged, as it came in
the moment of exultation and general thanksgiving. While words of
congratulation were passing from mouth to mouth, the blow descended,
and "turned to groans their roundelay."
The contrast between the elation of the inhabitants when my
grandfather entered the Fives' Court, and their universal
consternation and despair when he quitted it, was terrible. The
crowd that had a few minutes before so smilingly and hopefully
entered their homes, now fled from them in terror. Again the
streets were thronged by the unhappy people, who began to believe
themselves the sport of some powerful and malevolent demon. Whole
families, parents, children, and servants, rushed together into
the streets, making their way to the south to escape the missiles
that pursued them. Some bore pieces of furniture snatched up in
haste, and apparently seized because they came first to hand; some
took the chairs they had been sitting on; one man my grandfather
noticed bearing away with difficulty the leaf of a mahogany table,
leaving behind the legs which should have supported it; and a woman
had a crying child in one hand, and in the other a gridiron, still
reeking with the fat of some meat she had been cooking. Rubbish
from the houses began to strew the streets; and here and there
a ragged breach in a wall rent by the cannon afforded a strange
incongruous glimpse of the room inside, with its mirrors, tables,
and drapery, just as the inhabitants left them. Armed soldiers
were hastening to their different points of assembly, summoned by
bugles that resounded shrilly amid the din, and thrusting their way
unceremoniously through the impeding masses of fugitives.
The house of the Jew Lazaro was one of the first that was seriously
injured. The blank wall of the great warehouse before mentioned,
that faced the street, had, either from age or bad masonry, long
before exhibited several cracks. A large segment, bounded by
two of these cracks, had been knocked away by a shot, and the
superincumbent mass falling in consequence, the great store, and all
its hoarded treasures, appeared through the chasm.
The Jew's instincts had, at first, led him to save himself by
flight. But, on returning timorously to look after his property, the
sight of the ruined wall, and the unprotected hoards on which he had
so securely reckoned as the source of wealth, obliterated in his
mind, for the time, all sense of personal danger. Seeing a party of
soldiers issuing from a wine-house near, he eagerly besought them to
assist him in removing his property to a place of safety, promising
to reward them largely for their risk and trouble.
One of the soldiers thus appealed to was Mr Bags.
"Ho, ho!" said Mr Bags; "here's a chance--here's a pleasure,
comrades. We can help Mr Lazaro, who is always so good to us--this
here Jewish gentleman, that gives such liberal prices for our
things. Certainly--we'll remove 'em all, and not charge him nothing.
Oh--oh--ah!" And, to give point to his irony, Mr Bags distorted his
face hideously, and winked upon his friends.
The idea of giving Lazaro any assistance was considered a capital
joke, and caused a great deal of mirth as they walked towards the
store, to which the Jew eagerly led the way.
"If there's anything good to eat or drink in the store, we may
remove some of it, though it won't be on our backs, eh, boys?" said
Bags, as he stept in advance, over a heap of rubbish, into the store.
"These first--these, my friends," cried the Jew, going up to a row
of barrels, standing a little apart from the crowded masses of
articles.
"Oh, these first, eh?" said Bags; "they're the best, be they? Thank
you, Mr Lazaro; we'll see what's in 'em;" and, taking up a gimlet
that lay near, he proceeded to bore a hole in one of the barrels,
desiring a friend, whom he addressed as Tim, to tap the next one.
"Thieves!" screamed the Jew, on witnessing this proceeding, seizing
Bags' arm, "leave my store--go out--let my goods alone!" Bags lent him
a shove that sent him into a corner, and perceiving liquor flowing
from the hole he had drilled, applied his mouth to the orifice.
"Brandy," said he, as he paused for breath, "real Cognac. Comrades,
here's luck to that 'ere shot that showed us the way in;" and he
took another diligent pull at the hole.
Meantime his comrades had not been idle; other barrels were opened,
and their contents submitted to a critical inspection.
The Jew tried various modes to induce them to relinquish their
booty: first threats--then offers of reward--then cajolery; and,
at last, attempted to interpose and thrust them from their spoil.
A shot from the enemy entering the store, enfiladed a long line of
barrels, scattering the staves and their contents. The place was
instantly flooded with liquor--wine, molasses, spirits, and oil,
ran in a mingled stream, soaking the _débris_ of biscuit and salt
provisions that strewed the floor. One soldier was struck dead, and
Mr Bags only escaped destruction by the lucky accident of having his
head at that moment apart from the barrel which had engrossed his
attention, and which was knocked to pieces.
The Jew, partly stunned by a wound in the forehead from the splinter
of a barrel, and partly in despair at the destruction of his
property, came to the entrance of the store, seating himself among
the rubbish. Other plunderers speedily followed the example of the
marauding soldiers, but he made no attempt to stop them as they
walked past him. My grandfather, passing at the time on his way
home, was horrified at the sight of him. Flour from a splintered
barrel had been scattered over his face, and blood from the wound
in his forehead, trickling down, had clotted it on his cheeks and
scanty beard, giving him an aspect at once appalling and disgusting.
His daughter had waited at the door of the Fives' Court till she
saw Owen come forth in safety, and had then availed herself of
the protection of the Major as far as her own home. Shrieking at
the dismal sight, she sprang forward and threw herself before the
Jew, casting her arms around him. This seemed to rouse him. He
arose--looked back into the store; and then, as if goaded by the
sight of the wreck into intolerable anguish, he lifted his clenched
hands above his head, uttering a sentence of such fearful blasphemy,
that a devout Spaniard, who was emerging from the store with some
plunder, struck him on the mouth. He never heeded the blow, but
continued to rave, till, suddenly overcome by loss of blood and
impotent rage, he dropt senseless on the ground.
My grandfather, calling some soldiers of his regiment who were
passing, desired them to convey him to the hospital at the South
Barracks, and, again taking the terrified and weeping Esther under
his protection, followed to see the unfortunate Jew cared for.
At the various parades that day Mr Bags was reported absent, being
in fact engaged in pursuits of a much more interesting nature than
his military duties. A vast field of interprise was opened to him
and other adventurous spirits, of which they did not fail to avail
themselves, in the quantity of property of all kinds abandoned by
the owners, in houses and shops where locks and bolts were no longer
a protection; and although the firing, which ceased for an hour
or two in the middle of the day, was renewed towards evening and
continued with great fury, the ardour of acquisition by no means
abated.
About midnight a sentry on the heights of Rosia (the name given
to a portion of the rugged cliffs towards the south and near the
hospital) observed, in the gloom, a figure lurking about one of the
batteries, and challenged it. Receiving no answer, he threatened to
fire, when Bags came forward reluctantly, with a bundle in his hand.
"Hush, Bill," said Bags, on finding the sentry was a personal
friend--"don't make a row: it's only me, Bags--Tongs, you know," he
added, to insure his recognition.
"What the devil are you doing there, you fool?" asked his friend in
a surly tone--"don't you know the picquet's after you?"
"I've got some little things here that I want to lay by, where
nobody won't see 'em, in case I'm catched," returned Bags. "Don't
you take no notice of me, Bill, and I'll be off directly."
"What have ye got?" asked Bill, whose curiosity was awakened by the
proceedings of his friend.
"Some little matters that I picked up in the town," returned Bags.
"Pity you should be on guard to-day, Bill--there was some pretty
pickings. I'll save something for you, Bill," added Bags, in an
unaccountable access of generosity.
The sentry, however, who was a person in every way worthy of the
friendship of Mr Bags, expressed no gratitude for the considerate
offer, but began poking at the bundle with his bayonet.
"Hands off, Bill," said Bags, "they won't abear touching."
"Let's see 'em," said Bill.
"Not a bit on it," said Bags; "they ain't aworth looking at."
"Suppose I was to call the sergeant of the guard," said Bill.
"You wouldn't do such a action?" said Bags, in a tone strongly
expressive of disgust at such baseness. "No, no, Bill, you ain't
that sort of fellow, _I'm_ sure."
"It's my dooty," said the sentry, placing the butt of his musket on
the ground, and leaning his elbow on the muzzle. "You see that what
you said, Tongs, was very true, about its being hard upon me to be
carrying about this here damnable weppin" (slapping the barrel of
the musket) "all day for fourpence ha'penny, while you are making
your fortin. It is, Tongs, d--d hard."
"Never mind; there'll be plenty left to-morrow," said Bags in a
consolatory tone.
"What shall we say, now, if I lets ye hide it?" said Bill, pointing
to the bundle. "Half-shares?"
"This ain't like a friend, Bill," returned Tongs, highly disgusted
with this ungenerous proposal. "Nobody ever knowed me interfere
with a comrade when I was on sentry. How long ago is it since I let
ye stay in my box an hour, till ye was sober enough to walk into
barracks, when I was sentry at the gate? Why, the whole bundle ain't
worth eighteenpence--and I've worked hard for it."
"Half-shares?" reiterated Bill, not melted in the least by the
memory of ancient benefits.
"No, by G--!" said Bags in great wrath.
"Serg----," began Bill in an elevated voice, porting his arms at the
same time.
"Stop!" said Bags; "don't call the sergeant. Half is better nor
nothing, if ye're going to behave like that. We'll say half, then."
"Ah," said Bill, returning to his former position--"I thought we
should agree. And now let's see 'em, Tongs."
Muttering still his disapprobation of this unworthy treatment, Bags
put his bundle on the stone embrasure of the battery, and began to
unfold it.
Eighteenpence was certainly a low valuation. Bags appeared to have
visited a jeweller's shop. Watches, rings, bracelets, gold chains,
and brooches glittered on the dingy surface of the handkerchief.
"My eye!" said Bill, unable to repress a low laugh of delight--"why,
we'll turn bankers when we've sold 'em. Tongs and Co., eh?" said
Bill with considerable humour.
Bags, however, told him he was altogether mistaken in his
estimate--most of the things were pinchbeck, he said, and the stones
all glass; and, to save Bill any trouble, he offered to dispose of
them himself to the best possible advantage, and bring his partner
his share of the proceeds, which would certainly be at least
ninepence, and might perhaps be half-a-dollar. This arrangement
did not, however, meet the approbation of the astute William, who
insisted on dividing the spoils by lot. But here, again, there was
a slight misunderstanding, for both fixed their affections on a
gigantic watch, which never could have been got into any modern
pocket, and whose face was ornamented with paintings from the
heathen mythology. Both of them supposed, from the size and the
brilliancy of the colours, that this must be of immense value.
Finding they were not likely to come to a speedy arrangement on
this point, they agreed to postpone the division of the spoils till
morning.
"I'll tell ye where to put it, Bags," said Bill. "These here guns in
this battery haven't been fired for years, nor ain't likely to be,
though they loaded 'em the other day. Take out the wad of this one,
and put in the bundle."
Bags approved of the idea, withdrew the wad from the muzzle of the
gun, put in the bundle as far as his arm would reach, and then
replaced the wad.
"Honour bright?" said Bags, preparing to depart.
"Honour bright," returned Bill; and Bags disappeared.
Nevertheless he did not feel sufficient confidence in his
confederate's integrity to justify his quitting the place and
leaving him to his own devices. He thought Bill might perhaps avail
himself of his absence to remove the treasure, or be guilty of some
other treachery. He therefore crept back again softly, till he got
behind a crag from whence he had a full view of the battery.
For some time Bill walked sternly to and fro on his post. Bags
observed, however, that he always included the gun where the deposit
lay in his perambulations, which became shorter and shorter. At last
he halted close to it, laid down his musket against the parapet,
and, approaching the muzzle of the gun, took out the wad.
At this moment a neighbouring sentry gave an alarm. The guard
turned out, and Bill, hastily replacing the wad, resumed his arms
and looked about for the cause of the alarm. About a mile out in
the bay several red sparks were visible. As he looked there were a
corresponding number of flashes, and then a whistling of shot high
overhead told that the guns from which they had been discharged had
been laid too high. The Spanish gunboats were attacking the south.
The drums beat to arms, and in a few minutes the battery was manned
with artillerymen. To the inconceivable horror of Bags and Bill, the
whole of the guns in the battery were altered in position, and a
gunner took post at the rear of each with a lighted portfire. Then
a flushed face might be seen, by the blue light of the portfires,
rising from behind a neighbouring piece of rock, the eyes staring,
the mouth open in agonised expectation.
"Number one--fire!" said the officer in command, to the gunner in
rear of the gun in which Mr Bags had invested his capital.
"No, no!" shouted Bags, rising wildly from behind the rock.
The portfire touched the vent--there was a discharge that seemed to
rend Mr Bags's heartstrings and blow off the roof of his skull--and
the clever speculation on which he had counted for making his
fortune ended, like many others, in smoke. He gazed for a moment out
in the direction of the flash, as if he expected to see the watches
and rings gleaming in the air; then he turned and disappeared in the
darkness.
After a few ineffectual discharges, the Spaniards seemed to become
aware of the badness of their aim, and to take measures to amend it.
Several shot struck the hospital; and some shells falling through
the roof, exploded in the very wards where the sick lay. The unhappy
Jew, Lazaro, lying in a feverish and semi-delirious state from his
former hurt and agitation, was again struck by a splinter of a
shell which burst in the ward where the Major's care had seen him
deposited, blowing up the ceiling and part of the wall. In the midst
of the confusion, the Jew, frantic with terror, rushed unrestrained
from the building, followed only by his daughter, who was watching
by his bed. He was not missed for some time, and the attempts to
discover him, made after his disappearance became known, were of no
avail. A neighbouring sentry had seen a white figure, followed by
another crying after it, dash across the road and disappear in the
bushes; but the search made about the vicinity of the spot failed in
detecting any traces of them, and those who troubled themselves to
think of the matter at all, surmised that they had fallen into the
sea.
CHAPTER V.
For some pages, my grandfather's note-book is filled with memoranda
of singular casualties from the enemy's shot, wonderful escapes,
and hasty moments of quietude and attempted comfort snatched "even
in the cannon's mouth." The fire from the Spanish batteries shortly
reduced the town to ruins, and the gunboats at night precluded all
hope of peace and oblivion after the horrors of the day. Dreams, in
which these horrors were reproduced, were interrupted by still more
frightful nocturnal realities. One of the curious minor evils that
my grandfather notices, as resulting from an incessant cannonade,
to those not engaged in it actively enough to withdraw their
attention from the noise, is the extreme irritation produced by its
long continuance, amounting, in persons of nervous and excitable
temperament, to positive exasperation.
Some of the numerous incidents he chronicles are also recorded by
Drinkwater, especially that of a man who recovered after being
almost knocked to pieces by the bursting of a shell. "His head was
terribly fractured, his left arm broken in two places, one of his
legs shattered, the skin and muscles torn off his right hand, the
middle finger broken to pieces, and his whole body most severely
bruised and marked with gunpowder. He presented so horrid an object
to the surgeons, that they had not the smallest hopes of saving his
life, and were at a loss what part to attend to first. He was that
evening trepanned; a few days afterwards his leg was amputated,
and other wounds and fractures dressed. Being possessed of a most
excellent constitution, nature performed wonders in his favour,
and in eleven weeks the cure was completely effected. His name,"
continues Mr Drinkwater, with what might be deemed irony--if the
worthy historian ever indulged in that figure of rhetoric--"is
Donald Ross, and he" (_i. e._ the remaining fragment of the said
Donald Ross) "now enjoys his sovereign's bounty in a pension of
ninepence a-day for life." One might almost suppose that Mr Hume had
some hand in affixing the gratuity; but in those days there was a
king who knew not Joseph.
My grandfather appears to have had also an adventure of his own.
During a cessation of the cannonade, he was sitting one morning on
a fragment of rock, in the garden behind his quarters, reading his
favourite author. The firing suddenly recommenced, and a long-ranged
shell, striking the ground at some distance, rolled towards him.
He glanced half-absently at the hissing missile; and whether he
actually did not for a moment recollect its character, or whether,
as was often the case on such occasions, the imminence of the danger
paralysed him, he sat immovably watching it as it fizzed within a
couple of yards of him. Unquestionably in another three seconds
my grandfather's earthly tabernacle would have been resolved into
its original atoms, had not the intrepid Carlota (who was standing
near gathering flowers to stick in her hair) darted on him, and,
seizing him by the arm, dragged him behind a wall. They were scarce
under shelter when the shell exploded--the shock laying them both
prostrate, though unhurt but for a few bruises--while the stone
on which the Major had been sitting was shivered to atoms. To the
description of this incident in the Major's journal are appended a
pious reflection and a short thanksgiving, which, being entirely of
a personal nature, I omit.
The stores landed from the fleet were in a very precarious position.
Owing to the destruction of the buildings, there were no means of
placing them where they might be sheltered at once from the fire of
the enemy and from rain. Some were piled under sails spread out as
a sort of roof to protect them, and some, that were not likely to
sustain immediate injury from the damp air of such a depository,
were ordered to be conveyed to St Michael's Cave.
This cave is one of the most curious features of the Rock. Its
mouth--an inconsiderable opening in the slope of the mountain--is
situated many hundred feet above the sea. Within, it expands into a
spacious hall, the roof, invisible in the gloom, supported by thick
pillars formed by the petrified droppings of the rock. From this
principal cavern numerous smaller ones branch off, leading, by dark,
broken, and precipitous passages, to unknown depths. Along one of
these, according to tradition, Governor O'Hara advanced farther than
ever man had gone before, and left his sword in the inmost recess to
be recovered by the next explorer who should be equally adventurous.
But whether it is that the tradition is unfounded, or that the
weapon has been carried off by some gnome, or that the governor's
exploit is as yet unrivalled, the sword has never been brought to
light.
For the duty of placing the stores here, the name of Lieutenant
Owen appeared in the garrison orders. My grandfather having nothing
particular to do, and being anxious to escape as much as possible
for a short time from the din of the bombardment, offered to
accompany Frank in the execution of this duty.
The day was dark and gloomy, and the steep path slippery from rain,
so that the mules bearing the stores toiled with difficulty up the
ascent. At first, my grandfather and Owen indulged in cheerful
conversation; but shortness of breath soon reduced the Major to
monosyllables, and the latter part of the journey was accomplished
in silence. Frequently the Major paused and faced about, at once
to look at the prospect and to take breath. Far below, on his
right, was seen the southern end of the town, consisting partly
of a heap of ruins, with here and there a rafter sticking out of
the mass, partly of roofless walls, among which was occasionally
heard the crashing of shot; but the guns that discharged them, as
well as those that replied from the town, were invisible from
this point. Directly beneath him the ground afforded a curious
spectacle, being covered with tents, huts, and sheds, of all sorts
and sizes, where the outcast population of the ruined town obtained
a precarious and insufficient shelter. The only building visible
which still retained its former appearance was the convent--the
governor's residence--which was protected by bomb-proofs, and where
working-parties were constantly engaged in repairing the injuries.
The bay, once thickly wooded with masts and dotted with sails, was
now blank and cheerless; only the enemy's cruisers were visible,
lying under the opposite shore of Spain.
Owen and my grandfather arrived at the mouth of the cave somewhat in
advance of the convoy. To their surprise a smoke was issuing from
it; and, as they approached nearer, their nostrils were greeted by
an odour at once savoury and spicy. Going softly up they looked in.
Mr Bags and a couple of friends were seated round a fire, over which
was roasting a small pig, scientifically butchered and deprived of
his hair, and hung up by the heels. The fire, in the absence of
other fuel, (of which there was an extreme scarcity in Gibraltar,)
was supplied by bundles of cinnamon plundered from the store of some
grocer, and, as the flame waxed low, Mr Bags took a fresh bundle
from a heap of that fragrant spice by his side, and laid it on the
embers. Mrs Bags was occupied in basting the pig with lard, which
she administered from time to time with an iron ladle.
Presently Mr Bags tapped on the pig's back with his knife. It sent
forth a crisp crackling sound, that made my grandfather's mouth
water, and caused Mr Bags to become impatient.
"Polly," said he, "it's my opinion it's been done these three
minutes. I can't wait much longer."
And he cast a glance at the other two soldiers, (in whom, as well as
in Bags, Owen recognised men of his company who had been reported
absent for some days, and were supposed to have gone over to the
enemy,) to ascertain if their opinions tallied with his own on this
point.
"It can't be no better," said one, taking hold of the pig's neck
between his finger and thumb, which he afterwards applied to his
mouth.
"I can't abear my meat overdone," said the third. "What I say is,
let them that likes to wait, wait, and let them that wants to begin,
begin." So saying, he rose, and was about to attack the ribs of the
porker with his knife.
"Do stop a minute--that's a dear," said Mrs Bags; "another bundle of
cinnament will make it parfect. I'll give ye something to stay your
stomach;" and stepping to a nook in the wall of the cavern, where
stood a large barrel, she filled a pewter measure, and handed it to
the impatient advocate for underdone pork, who took a considerable
dram, and passed it to his companions.
"Cinnament's better with pork nor with most things," said Bags. "It
spoils goose, because it don't agree with the inions, and it makes
fowls wishy-washy; but it goes excellent with pig."
"What's left in the larder?" asked one of the party.
"There's a week's good eating yet," said Mrs Bags, "and we _might_
make it do ten days or a fortnight."
"Well!" said the other, "they may say what they like about sieges,
but this is the jolliest time ever _I_ had."
"It's very well by day," said Bags, "but the nights is cold, and the
company of that ghost ain't agreeable--I seed it again last night."
"Ah!" said his friend, "what was it like, Tongs?"
"Something white," returned Bags in an awful whisper, "with a
ghost's eyes. You may allays know a ghost by the eyes. I was just
rising up, and thinking about getting a drink, for my coppers was
hot, when it comes gliding up from that end of the cave. I spoke to
you, and then I couldn't see it no more, because it was varnished."
"Ghosts always varnishes if you speak," said Mrs Bags. "But never
mind the spirit now--let's look after the flesh," added the lady,
who possessed a fund of native pleasantry: "the pig's done to a
turn."
At this interesting juncture, and just as they were about to fall
to, the footsteps of the approaching mules struck on their ears.
Owen went to meet the party, and hastily selecting six men from it,
advanced, and desired them to secure the astounded convivialists.
On recovering from their first astonishment, Bags begged Owen would
overlook the offence; they were only, he pleaded, having a little
spree--times had been hard lately. Mrs Bags, as usual, displayed
great eloquence, though not much to the purpose. She seemed to have
some idea that an enumeration of the gentlemen's families she had
lived in, and the high estimation in which she had been held in
all, would really tell powerfully in favour of the delinquents, and
persevered accordingly, till they were marched off in custody of the
escort, when she made a final appeal to my grandfather, as the last
gentleman whose family she had lived in--with what advantage to the
household the reader knows. The Major, who could not forgive the
roasting of his ham, called her, in reply, a "horrible woman," but,
at the same time, whispered to Owen that he hoped the fellows would
not be severely punished. "If we had caught them after dinner," said
he, "I shouldn't have pitied them so much."
"Never mind them," said Owen; "let us proceed to business. We must
select the driest spot we can find to put the stores in."
[Here, by way of taking leave of Mr Bags, I may remark, that he
narrowly escaped being hanged as a plunderer--failing which, he was
sentenced by a court-martial to receive a number of lashes, which I
refrain from specifying, because it would certainly make the hair of
a modern humanitarian turn white with horror.]
"Come along, Major," said Owen; "perhaps we may find more of these
scoundrels in the course of our researches."
The Major did not move; he was earnestly regarding the carcase of
the pig, that steamed hissing above the embers.
"Queer idea that of the cinnamon fire," said he. "I wonder how the
meat tastes."
Owen did not hear him, having walked forward.
"Have you got a knife about you, Frank?" said the Major. "Do you
know I have a curious desire to ascertain the flavour. It may be a
feature in cookery worth knowing."
Owen had not a knife, nor had any of the men, but one of them
suggested that the Major's sword would answer the purpose.
"To be sure," said the Major. "A good idea! I don't see why
swords shouldn't be turned into carving-knives as well as into
pruning-hooks." So saying, he drew it from the sheath, and,
straddling across the fire, detached a crisp brown mouthful from the
pig's ribs, and putting a little salt on it, he conveyed it to his
mouth.
"Excellent!" cried the Major. "I give you my word of honour, Owen,
'tis excellent! The cinnamon gives it a sort of a ----"
Here a second and larger mouthful interrupted the criticism.
"It must be very near lunch-time," said the Major, pausing, sword
in hand, when he had swallowed it; then, pretending to look at his
watch--"Bless me, it only wants half-an-hour of it. Do you think
this business will take you long, Owen?"
"About a couple of hours," said Owen.
"Ah, why, there you see," returned the Major, "we shan't get home
till long past lunch-time. I really don't see why we shouldn't take
a snack now. Nothing can be better than that pig. I only wish the
woman had dressed my dinner half as well. Corporal Hodson, would you
oblige me with a piece of that biscuit near you?" And, detaching a
large fragment of pork, he placed it on the biscuit, and sprinkling
it with pepper and salt, which condiments had not been forgotten in
the gastronomic arrangements of Mr Bags, he proceeded to follow Owen
into the interior of the cave, taking huge bites as he went.
The path slopes at first steeply downward from the mouth to the
interior of the cavern, where it becomes more level. Light being
admitted only at the entrance, the gloom of the interior is almost
impenetrable to the eye. The men had brought torches to assist them
in their work, and, a suitable spot having been selected, these were
stuck on different points and abutments of the rocky wall, when the
party proceeded to unload the mules at the entrance, conveying their
burdens into the cave.
In the midst of the bustle and noise attending the operation, the
little dog given by Esther to Carlota, which had that morning
followed the Major, to whom it had speedily attached itself, began
barking and howling dismally in a dark recess behind one of the
great natural pillars before spoken of. As the noise continued,
intermixed with piteous whinings, one of the men took a torch from
the wall, and stepped forward into the darkness, to see what ailed
the animal. Presently he cried out that "there was a man there."
My grandfather, who was next him, immediately followed, and five
paces brought him to the spot. The soldier who held the torch was
stooping, and holding it over a figure that lay on the ground on its
back. In the unshaven, blood-stained countenance, my grandfather, at
first, had some difficulty in recognising Lazaro the Jew. Some fiery
splashes of pitch from the torch dropping at the moment on his bare
throat, produced no movement, though, had he been living, they must
have scorched him to the quick.
On the body was nothing but the shirt he wore the night of his
flight from the hospital, but his legs were wrapt in a woman's
dress. Across his breast, on her face, lay Esther, in her white
under-garments--for the gown that wrapt the Jew's legs was hers. The
glare of the torch was bright and red on the two prostrate figures,
and on the staring appalled countenance of the man who held it--the
group forming a glowing spot in the vast, sombre, vaulted space,
where dim gleams of light were caught and repeated on projecting
masses of rock, more and more faintly, till all was bounded by
darkness.
Years afterwards my grandfather would sometimes complain of having
been revisited, in dreams of the night, by that ghastly piece of
Rembrandt painting.
The rest quickly flocked to the spot, and Esther was lifted and
found to breathe, though the Jew was stiff and cold. Some diluted
spirit, from the cellar of Bags, being poured down her throat she
revived a little, when my grandfather caused two of the men to bear
her carefully to his house; and the body of the Jew being wrapt in a
piece of canvass, was placed on a mule and conveyed to the hospital
for interment.
Medical aid restored Esther to consciousness, and she told how they
came to be found in the cave.
Her father, on leaving the hospital, had fled by chance, as she
thought, to this cave, for he did not reach it by the usual path,
but climbed, in his delirious fear, up the face of the rock, and she
had followed him as well as she could, keeping his white figure in
sight. They had both lain exhausted in the cave till morning, when,
finding that her father slept, she was on the point of leaving him
to seek assistance. But, unhappily, before she could quit the place,
Bags and his associates entered from their plundering expedition
into the town, and, frightened at their drunken language, and
recognising in Bags the man who had robbed her, she had crept back
to her concealment. The party of marauders never quitted the cavern
from the moment of establishing themselves in it. They spent the
day in eating, drinking, singing songs, and sometimes quarrelling.
Twice, at night, she ventured forth; but she always found one of
them asleep across the entrance, so that she could not pass without
waking him, and once one of them started up, and seemed about to
pursue her--doubtless Bags, on the occasion when he thought he saw
a ghost. Nevertheless, she had mustered courage twice to take some
fragments of food that were lying near the fire, leaving each time a
piece of money in payment; and she had also taken a lighted candle,
the better to ascertain her father's situation. He had never spoken
to her since the first night of their coming, and, during all those
dark and weary hours, (for they were three nights and two days in
the cavern,) she had remained by him listening to his incoherent
mutterings and moans. The candle had showed her that he had lost
much blood, from the wound in his forehead breaking out afresh, as
well as from the other received in the hospital, though the latter
was but a flesh wound. These she had bandaged with shreds of her
dress, and had tried to give him some of the nourishment she had
procured, but could force nothing on him except some water. Some
hours, however--how long she did not know, but it was during the
night--before Owen's party found her, the Jew had become sensible.
He told her he was dying; and, unconscious of where he was, desired
her to fetch a light. This she had procured in the same way as
before, lighting the candle at the embers of the fire round which
Bags and his friends reposed. Then the Jew, who seemed to imagine
himself still in the hospital, bid her say whom, among those she
knew in Gibraltar, she would wish to have charge of her when he was
no more; and, on her mentioning Carlota, had desired her to take pen
and paper and write his will as he should dictate it. Pen she had
none, but she had a pencil and a scrap of paper in her pocket, and
with these she wrote, leaning over to catch the whispered syllables
that he with difficulty articulated.
From this paper it would appear that the Jew had some fatherly
feelings for Esther concealed beneath his harsh deportment towards
her. I can describe the will, for I have often seen it. It is
written on a piece of crumpled writing-paper, about the size of a
bank-note, very stained and dirty. It is written in Spanish; and
in it the Jew entreats "the Señora, the wife of Sr. Don Flinder,
English officer, to take charge of his orphan child, in requital
whereof he leaves her the half of whatsoever property he dies
possessed of, the other half to be disposed of for the benefit of
his daughter." Then follows a second paragraph, inserted at Esther's
own desire, to the effect that, should she not survive, the whole
was to be inherited by the aforesaid Señora. It is dated "Abril
1781," and signed in a faint, straggling hand, quite different from
the clear writing of the rest--"JOSÉ LAZARO."
Esther would now have gone, at all hazards, to obtain assistance,
but the Jew clutched her arm, and would not permit her to quit him.
He breathed his last shortly after, and Esther remembered nothing
more till she came to herself in the Major's house. The paper was
found in her bosom.
Some days after this event my grandfather went with Owen into the
town, during a temporary lull in the enemy's firing, to visit the
house of Lazaro, in order to ascertain whether anything valuable
was left that might be converted to Esther's benefit. They had
some difficulty in finding the exact locality, owing to the utter
destruction of all the landmarks. The place was a mass of ruins.
Some provisions and goods had been left by the plunderers, but so
mixed with rubbish, and overflowed with the contents of the casks
of liquor and molasses, as to be of no value even in these times of
dearth.
Owen, poking about among the wreck, observed an open space in the
middle of one of the shattered walls, as if something had been built
into it. With the assistance of my grandfather's cane, he succeeded
in dislodging the surrounding masonry, already loosened by shot, and
they discovered it to be a recess made in the thickness of the wall,
and closed by a small iron door. At the bottom was lying a small
box, also of iron, which they raised, not without difficulty, for
its weight was extraordinary in proportion to its dimensions. This
being conveyed to my grandfather's, and opened, was found to contain
more than six hundred doubloons, (a sum in value about two thousand
pounds,) and many bills of exchange and promissory notes, mostly
those of officers. The latest was that of Von Dessel. These the
Major, by Esther's desire, returned to the persons whose signatures
they bore.
Esther never completely recovered from the effects of her sojourn
in the cave, but remained always pale and of weak health. My
grandfather took good care of her inheritance for her, and on
leaving Gibraltar, at the conclusion of the siege, invested the
whole of it safely for her benefit, placing her, at the same time,
in the family of some respectable persons of her own religion. She
afterwards married a wealthy Hebrew; and, in whatever part of
the world the Major chanced to be serving, so long as she lived,
valuable presents would constantly arrive from Gibraltar--mantillas
and ornaments of jewellery for Carlota, and butts of delicious
sherry for my grandfather. These, however, ceased with her death,
about twenty years afterwards.
This is, I believe, the most connected and interesting episode to
be found in the Major's note-book; and it is, I think, the last
specimen I shall offer of these new "Tales of my Grandfather."
As a child I used to listen, with interest ever new, to the tale
of the young Jewess, which the narrator had often heard from the
lips of Carlota and her husband. St Michael's Cave took rank in my
mind with those other subterranean abodes where Cassim, the brother
of Ali Baba, who forgot the word "_Open Sesame_," was murdered by
the Forty Thieves; where Aladdin was shut by the magician in the
enchanted garden; and where Robinson Crusoe discovered the dying
he-goat. And when, at the conclusion of the tale, the scrap of
paper containing the Jew's will was produced from a certain desk,
and carefully unfolded, I seemed to be connected by some awful and
mysterious link with these departed actors in the scenes I had so
breathlessly listened to.
LIFE AMONGST THE LOGGERS.
_Forest Life and Forest Trees._ By JOHN S. SPRINGER. New York:
Harper. London: Sampson Low. 1851.
The northern and elder States of the great American Union have
ceased to be associated in our minds with those ideas of wild
and romantic adventure which are inseparably connected with some
of their younger brethren far west and south. There is nothing
suggestive of romance in such names as New York, Maine, and
Pennsylvania: cotton bales, keen traders and repudiated debts,
drab coats, wooden clocks, and counterfeit nutmegs, compose the
equivocal and unpoetical visions they conjure up to European
imaginations. But drop we our eyes down the map to lawless Arkansas,
feverish Louisiana, and debateable Texas, or westwards to the still
newer State of California, and a host of stirring and picturesque
associations throng upon our memory. Strange scenes and a motley
array pass before us. Bands of hunters and trappers, scarce more
civilised than the Indians with whom they war, or gentler than the
buffalo which yields them sport and food; predatory armies, for
Mexico bound, keen for spoil and regardless of right; caravans of
adventurous gold-seekers braving the perilous passage of the Rocky
Mountains; hardy squatters, axe in hand, hewing themselves a home
in the heart of the wilderness; innumerable traits of courage and
endurance--incredible sufferings and countless crimes--make up a
picture-gallery unrivalled of its kind. In those districts, not
a league of prairie, not a mountain or stream, not a _bayou_ or
_barranca_, but has derived recent and vivid interest from the
animated sketches of Sealsfield, Ruxton, Wise, and a host of other
graphic and vigorous delineators.
As if to vindicate the claims to interest of the northern American
provinces, a Down-easter, Springer by name, who hails from the State
of Maine, has exhibited, in a curious little volume, the adventurous
side of life in _his_ part of the Union. At a first glance, there
would appear to be few created things whose history was likely to be
less interesting than that of a Yankee pine-log. Get astride it with
Springer, and paddle up the Penobscot, clearing rapids and other
impediments as best you may on so unpromising a float--and, before
reaching the place where it grew, you shall marvel at the skill
and daring expended, and at the risks run to procure it. Springer,
who was reared amongst the pine forests, which his axe afterwards
helped to thin, is an enthusiastic woodsman, and feels "kinder
jealous" that whilst the habits and adventures of many classes of
his countrymen have occupied skilful writers and public attention,
no chronicler should have been found for the deeds and perils of
that numerous class to which he for some years belonged. To supply
this deficiency, he himself, although more used to handle axe than
goose-quill, has written a plain and unpretending account of scenes
and incidents which he shared in and witnessed. The freshness of
the subject, and the honest earnestness of the man, would atone for
clumsier treatment than it has met with at his hands.
The second title of Mr Springer's book gives a clearer idea of
its contents than the primary one. The volume comprises, says the
title-page, "Winter camp-life, among the Loggers, and wild-wood
adventure, with descriptions of lumbering operations on the various
rivers of Maine and New Brunswick." It is divided into three parts;
the first and shortest being a dissertation on forest trees, with
particular reference to those of America; the second, entitled
"The Pine Tree, or Forest Life," giving an account of wood-cutting
operations; the third, "River Life," detailing the progress of
the timber from the forest to the "boom," or depôt. The chief
interest of the book begins with the second chapter of the second
part, wherein is described the commencement of the labours of a
gang of "loggers," or woodcutters. In the hunt after timber, as
after certain animals, the first thing to be done is to mark the
whereabout of your game preparatory to starting in its pursuit. On
the eve of the chase the keeper reconnoitres the retreat of the
wild-boar. Before a party of loggers proceed to establish a camp
and pass the winter woodcutting, they send out scouts to ascertain
where timber is plenty. Thirty years since, this was scarcely
necessary--the pine, that forest king of the northern States,
abounded on every side. Fifty years hence--so it is estimated by
those best qualified to judge--the vast pine forests, through which
the Penobscot flows, will be on the eve of extinction. Now is the
intermediate stage. A man cannot, as he formerly could, step from
his house to his day's work; but research and labour still command
a rich timber harvest. Exploring expeditions may be made at any
period of the year, but autumn is the favourite season. They consist
generally of only two or three men, accustomed to the business,
who, provided with the necessary provisions, with a coffee-pot and
a blanket, axe, rifle, and ammunition, embark on skiff or _bateau_,
and pole and paddle their way two hundred miles or more up the
Penobscot or the St Croix, and their numerous tributaries. On
reaching the district it is proposed to explore, the boat is hauled
ashore and turned bottom upwards, the load of stores is divided
amongst the party, and they strike into the forest, rousing, on
their passage, the stately moose, the timid deer, the roaming black
bear, and many an inferior denizen of the lonesome wilderness. They
now begin "prospecting." Often the thickness of the forest and the
uneven surface of the country prevent their obtaining a sufficiently
extensive view, and compel them to climb trees in order to look
around them.
"When an ascent is to be made, the spruce tree is generally
selected, principally for the superior facilities which its
numerous limbs afford the climber. To gain the first limbs of
this tree, which are from twenty to forty feet from the ground,
a smaller tree is undercut and lodged against it, clambering
up which the top of the spruce is reached. Sometimes, when a
very elevated position is desired, the spruce tree is lodged
against the trunk of some lofty pine, up which we ascend to
a height twice that of the surrounding forest. From such a
tree-top, like a mariner at the mast-head upon the look-out for
whales, (and indeed the pine is the whale of the forest,) large
'clumps' and 'veins' of pine are discovered, whose towering
tops may be seen for miles around. Such views fill the bosom of
timber-hunters with an _intense interest_. They are the object
of his search--his treasure, his Eldorado; and they are beheld
with peculiar and thrilling emotions. To detail the process more
minutely, we should observe, that the man in the tree-top points
out the direction in which the pines are seen; or, if hid from
the view of those below by the surrounding foliage, he breaks a
small limb, and throws it in the direction in which they appear,
whilst a man at the base marks the direction indicated by the
falling limb by means of a compass which he holds in his hand,
the compass being quite as necessary in the wilderness as on the
pathless ocean. In fair weather the sun serves as an important
guide; and in cloudy weather the close observation of an
experienced woodman will enable him to steer a tolerably correct
course by the moss which grows on the trunks of most hardwood
trees, the north sides of which are covered with a much larger
share than the other portions of the trunk. This Indian compass,
however, is not very convenient or safe, particularly in passing
through swampy lands, which are of frequent occurrence."
Two reflections are suggested by the paragraph we have just copied.
The substance of one of them is noted in the Preface. "This volume,"
says the modest and sensible Springer, "makes no pretensions to
literary merit; sooner would it claim kindred with the wild and
uncultivated scenes of which it is but a simple relation." The
second reflection is, that our wood-cutter is an enthusiast in
his craft; for wood-cutting in Maine _is_ a craft, and no common
log-chopping. To Springer, a towering grove of timber is as exciting
a sight as is to the hunter that of a herd of antlered deer or
shaggy buffalo. The pine especially is the object of his love and
admiration. He abounds in anecdotes and arguments to prove its
good qualities, and labours hard to establish its superiority to
the oak. Reared amongst the noble pines of Maine, he says, even as
a child, he could never hear, without feelings of jealousy, the
oak extolled as monarch of the forest. Admitting it to excel in
strength, he vaunts, upon the other hand, the superior grandeur and
girth of the pine, its value in building, the breadth of its planks,
their clearness, beauty, and freedom from knots, the numerous uses
to which it is applicable, its excellence as fuel, its perfect
adaptation to all the joiner's purposes. He extols in turn each of
its varieties; the red pine, remarkable for its tall trunk, which
sometimes rises eighty feet from the ground before putting out a
limb; the pitch pine, inferior in size, but preferable to any other
wood for generating steam in engines; the white pine, superior
to all in value and dimensions. He tells us of pines, of which
he has read or heard, of extraordinary grandeur and diameter: of
one, two hundred and sixty-four feet long; and of another which,
at three feet from the ground, was fifty-seven feet nine inches in
circumference. These extraordinary specimens were cut some years
ago. Trees of such dimensions are now rare.
"I have worked in the forests among this timber several years,"
says Springer, "have cut many hundreds of trees, and seen many
thousands, but I never found one larger than one I felled on a
little stream which empties into Jackson Lake, near the head of
Baskahegan stream, in eastern Maine. This was a pumpkin pine,
(a variety of the white pine.) Its trunk was as straight and
handsomely grown as a moulded candle, and measured six feet in
diameter four feet from the ground, without the aid of spur
roots. It was about nine rods in length, or one hundred and
forty-four feet, about sixty-five feet of which was free of
limbs, and retained its diameter remarkably well. I was employed
about one hour and a quarter in felling it. The afternoon was
beautiful; everything was calm, and to me the circumstances
were deeply interesting. After chopping an hour or so, the
mighty giant, the growth of centuries, which had withstood the
hurricane, and raised itself in peerless majesty above all
around, began to tremble under the strokes of a mere insect, as
I might appear in comparison with it. My heart palpitated as I
occasionally raised my eye to its pinnacle to catch the first
indications of its fall. It came down at length with a crash,
which seemed to shake a hundred acres, whilst the loud echo rang
through the forest, dying away amongst the distant hills. It had
a hollow in the butt about the size of a barrel, and the surface
of the stump was sufficiently spacious to allow a yoke of oxen
to stand upon it. It made five logs, and loaded a six-ox team
three times. The butt-log was so large, that the stream did not
float it in the spring; and when the drive was taken down, we
were obliged to leave it behind, much to our regret and loss. At
the boom, that log would have been worth fifty dollars."
The pine tracts ascertained, the quality of the trees examined,
the distance the timber will have to be hauled duly calculated,
and the ground inspected, through which logging roads must be
cut, the exploring party retrace their steps to the place where
they left their boat. Foot-sore with their forest roamings, they
gladly look forward to the quick, gliding passage down stream. A
grievous disappointment sometimes awaits them. In the fall of the
year, the black bear is seized with a violent longing for pitch and
resinous substances, and frequently strips fir trees of their bark
for the sake of the exudations. Occasionally he stumbles over a
timber-hunter's _bateau_, and tears it to pieces in the course of
the rough process he employs to extract the tar from its planks. If
it is injured beyond possibility of repair, the unlucky pioneers
have to perform their homeward journey on foot, unless indeed they
are so fortunate as to fall in with some Indian trapper, whose canoe
they can charter for a portion of the way. Once at home, the next
step is to obtain permits from the State or proprietors, securing,
at a stipulated price of so much per thousand feet, the exclusive
right to cut timber within certain bounds. Then comes haymaking--a
most important part of the loggers' duty; for on nothing does the
success of the wood-cutting campaign depend more than on the good
working condition of the sturdy teams of oxen which drag the logs
from the snow-covered forest to the river's brink. Hard by the
forest extensive strips of meadow-land are commonly found, covered
with a heavy growth of grass, and thither large bands of men repair
to make and stalk the hay for the ensuing winter's consumption. The
labour of haymaking in these upland meadows of Maine is rendered
intolerably painful by the assaults of flies and mosquitoes, and
especially by the insidious attacks of millions of midges, so small
as to be scarcely perceptible to the naked eye, and which get
between the clothes and the skin, causing a smarting and irritation
so great as to impede the progress of the work. The torment of
these insect attacks is hardly compensated by the pastimes and
adventures incidental to the occupation. Now and then a shot is to
be had at a stray deer; the streams swarm with beautiful trout and
pickerel; skirmishes with black bears are of frequent occurrence.
Mr Springer's volume abounds with stories of encounters with bears,
wolves, and "Indian devils"--a formidable species of catamount,
of which the Indians stand in particular dread. Although the bear
rarely shows himself pugnacious unless assailed, his meddlesome,
thievish propensities render him particularly obnoxious to the
hay-makers and wood-cutters; and when they meet him, they never can
abstain from the aggressive, however civilly Bruin may be disposed
to pass them by.
"On one occasion," says Mr Springer, "two men, crossing a small
lake in skiff, on their return from putting up hay, discovered
a bear swimming from a point of land for the opposite shore. As
usual in such cases, temptation silenced prudence--they changed
their course, and gave chase. The craft being light, they gained
fast upon the bear, who exerted himself to the utmost to gain
the shore; but, finding himself an unequal match in the race,
he turned upon his pursuers, and swam to meet them. One of the
men, a short, thick-set, dare-devil fellow, seized an axe, and,
the moment the bear came up, inflicted a blow upon his head. It
seemed to make but a slight impression, and before it could be
repeated the bear clambered into the boat. He instantly grappled
the man who struck him, firmly setting his teeth in his thigh;
then, settling back upon his haunches, he raised his victim in
the air, and shook him as a dog would a wood-chuck. The man at
the helm stood for a moment in amazement, without knowing how to
act, and fearing that the bear might spring overboard and drown
his companion; but, recollecting the effect of a blow upon the
end of a bear's snout, he struck him with a short setting-pole.
The bear dropped his victim into the bottom of the boat, sallied
and fell overboard, and swam again for the shore. The man bled
freely from the bite, and, as the wound proved too serious to
allow a renewal of the encounter, they made for the shore.
But one thing saved them from being upset: the water proved
sufficiently shoal to admit of the bear's getting bottom, from
which he sprang into the boat. Had the water been deep, the
consequences might have been more serious."
From its first to its last stage, the logger's occupation is one
of severe toil and frequent peril. When the pioneer's duty is
accomplished, and when the hay is made, there is still hard work to
be done before he can begin to level the forest giants. No kind of
labour, Mr Springer assures us, tests a man's physical abilities
and powers of endurance more than boating supplies up river. The
wood-cutters come to a fall, and have to land their implements and
provisions, and to carry them past it. Their boats, too, must be
carried, and that over rocks and fallen trees, through thickets and
pathless swamps. Then they come to rapids, up which they have to
pole their heavy-laden bateaux. For this work, prodigious skill,
nerve, and strength are requisite. Then come the long portages from
lake to lake, and the danger of being swamped, when traversing
these, by sudden gusts of wind lashing the lake, in a few minutes'
time, into foaming waves, in which the deeply-loaded boats could not
for a moment live.
"Our frail skiff was about eighteen feet long, and four feet
across the top of the gunwale amidships, tapering to a point at
either end, constructed of thin slips of pine boards, nailed
to some half-dozen pair of slender knees, about two inches in
diameter. On board were fifteen hundred pounds of provisions,
with seven men, which pressed her into the water nearly to the
gunwale; three inches from the position of a level, and she
would fill with water."
In such an overburthened cockle-shell as this did Mr Springer once
find himself in company with a drunken man, who was only withheld
from capsizing the boat by the threat of having his skull split
with a paddle; for an inordinate addiction to rum is the loggers'
chief vice, a vice palliated by the hardship and exposure they
endure. Drinking, however, is on the decline amongst them of late
years, since "it has been fully demonstrated that men can endure the
chilling hardships of river-driving quite as well, and indeed far
better, without the stimulus of ardent spirits, and perform more and
better-directed labour." Black pepper tea is drunk on cold nights
when camping in the open air, and is found a warming and comfortable
beverage. Both in drink and diet the loggers look more to strength
than to delicacy. Salt pork, ship bread, and molasses, compose the
staple of their consumption. The drippings from a slice of pork,
roasted before the fire, are allowed to fall on the bread, which is
then dignified by the name of buttered toast. Sometimes the salt
pork is eaten raw, dipped in molasses,--a mixture unequalled for
nastiness, we should imagine, excepting by that of oysters and brown
sugar. "The recital may cause," says honest Springer in his comical
English, "in delicate and pampered stomachs some qualms, yet we can
assure the uninitiated that, from these gross samples, the hungry
woodsman makes many a delicious meal." An assurance which gives us
a most exalted idea of the appetite and digestion of the loggers of
Maine.
Once in the forest with their stores, the woodmen carefully select
a suitable spot, clear the ground, build their "camp" and "hovel,"
and commence their winter's work. The "camp" and "hovel" are two
log-houses, the former being for the men, the latter for the oxen.
In some respects the beasts are better treated than their masters,
for their hovel is floored with small poles, a luxury unknown in
the camp, where the men sleep on branches strewn upon the bare
earth. "Having completed our winter residences, next in order comes
the business of looking out and cutting the 'main' and some of
the principal 'branch roads.' These roads, like the veins in the
human body, ramify the wilderness to all the principal 'clumps' and
'groves' of pine embraced in the permit." Mr Springer expatiates on
the graceful curves of the roads, whose inequalities soon become
filled with snow, and their surface hard-beaten and glassy, polished
by the sled and logs which are continually passing over it, whilst
overhead the trees interlace their spreading branches. "Along this
roadside, on the way to the landing, runs a serpentine path for the
'knight of the goad,' whose deviations are marked now outside this
tree, then behind that 'windfall,' now again intercepting the main
road, skipping along like a dog at one's side." The teamster, if
he does his duty, works harder than any man in camp. Under a good
teamster, the oxen receive care almost as tender as though they were
race-horses with thousands depending on their health and condition.
With proper attention and management, they should be in as good
flesh in the spring as when they began hauling early in winter.
"The last thing at night before 'turning in,' the teamster
lights his lantern and repairs to the ox-hovel. In the morning,
by peep of day, and often before, his visits are repeated, to
hay and provender, and card, and yoke up. While the rest of the
hands are sitting or lounging around the liberal fire, shifting
for their comfort, after exposure to the winter frosts through
the day, he must repeatedly go out to look after the comfort
of the sturdy, faithful ox. And then, for an hour or two in
the morning again, whilst all, save the cook, are closing up
the sweet and unbroken slumbers of the night, so welcome and
necessary to the labourer, he is out amid the early frost with,
I had almost said, the care of a mother, to see if 'old Turk' is
not loose, whether 'Bright' favours the near fore-foot, (which
felt a little hot the day before,) as he stands up on the hard
floor, and then to inspect 'Swan's' provender-trough, to see
if he has eaten his meal, for it was carefully noted that at
the 'watering-place' last night he drank but little; whilst at
the further end of the 'tie-up' he thinks he hears a little
clattering noise, and presently 'little Star' is having his
shins gently rapped, as a token of his master's wish to raise
his foot to see if some nail has not given way in the loosened
shoe; and this not for once, but every day, with numberless
other cares connected with his charge."
The oxen are taken out to the forest by the last detachment of
wood-cutters, when winter fairly sets in. This is the hardest trip
of any. Both man and beast experience much inconvenience from the
cold. Often, when driving a boat up rapids, ice forms upon the
poles in the men's hands, which are already so cold and stiff that
they can scarcely retain their grasp; yet an instant's cessation of
exertion would be fraught with imminent peril to life and goods.
The oxen, attached to long lightly-loaded sleds, are driven over
rough miry tracks. "In crossing large streams, we unyoke the oxen
and swim them over. If we have no boat, a raft is constructed, upon
which our effects are transported, when we reyoke and pursue our
route as before. Our cattle are often very reluctant to enter the
water whilst the anchor-ice runs, and the cold has already begun
to congeal its surface." Lakes are crossed upon the ice, which not
unfrequently breaks in. Mr Springer gives an account of a journey he
made, when this misfortune happened, and ten oxen at one time were
struggling in the chilling waters of Baskahegan Lake. They were all
got out, he tells us, although rescue under such circumstances would
appear almost hopeless.
"Standing upon the edge of the ice, a man was placed by the side
of each ox to keep his head out of the water. We unyoked one at
a time, and throwing a rope round the roots of his horns, the
warp was carried forward and attached to the little oxen, (a
pair that had not broken in,) whose services on this occasion
were very necessary. A strong man was placed on the ice at the
edge, so that, lifting the ox by his horns, he was able to
press the ice down and raise his shoulder up on the edge, when
the warp-oxen would pull them out. For half-an-hour we had a
lively time of it, and in an almost incredibly short time we had
them all safely out, and drove them back upon the point nearly
a mile. It was now very dark. We left our sleds in the water
with the hay, pulling out a few armsful, which we carried to
the shore to rub the oxen down with. Poor fellows! they seemed
nearly chilled to death, and shook as if they would fall to
pieces."
So great is the labour of taking oxen to the forest every
Fall--often to a distance of two hundred miles into the
interior--that the wood-cutters sometimes leave them, when they go
down stream in the spring to get their own living in the wilderness,
and hunt them up again in autumn. They thrive finely in the
interval, and get very wild and difficult to catch; but when at last
subjugated, they evidently recognise their masters, and are pleased
to see them. Occasionally they disappear in the course of the
summer, and are heard of no more; they are then supposed to have got
"mired or cast," or to have been devoured by wolves--or by bears,
which also are known to attack oxen.
"An individual who owned a very fine 'six-ox team' turned them
into the woods to brouse, in a new region of country. Late in
the evening, his attention was arrested by the bellowing of
one of them. It continued for an hour or two, then ceased
altogether. The night was very dark, and as the ox was supposed
to be more than a mile distant, it was thought not advisable
to venture in search of him until morning. As soon as daylight
appeared, the owner started, in company with another man, to
investigate the cause of the uproar. Passing on about a mile,
he found one of his best oxen prostrate, and, on examination,
there was found a hole eaten into the thickest part of his hind
quarter nearly as large as a hat; not less than six or eight
pounds of flesh were gone. He had bled profusely. The ground
was torn up for rods around where the encounter occurred; the
tracks indicated the assailant to be a very large bear, who had
probably worried the ox out, and then satiated his ravenous
appetite, feasting upon him while yet alive. A road was bushed
out to the spot where the poor creature lay, and he was got upon
a sled and hauled home by a yoke of his companions, where the
wound was dressed. It never, however, entirely healed, though
it was so far improved as to allow of its being fattened, after
which he was slaughtered for food."
In cold weather in those forests the bears and wolves are
exceedingly audacious. The latter have a curious habit of
accompanying the teams on their journeys between the forest and the
river to which they drag the logs. This has only occurred of late
years, and the manner in which they thus volunteer their services as
assistant drivers is exceedingly curious.
"Three teams," says Springer, "in the winter of 1844, all in
the same neighbourhood, were beset with these ravenous animals.
They were of unusually large size, manifesting a most singular
boldness, and even familiarity, without the usual appearance of
ferocity so characteristic of the animal. Sometimes one, and in
another instance three, in a most unwelcome manner, volunteered
their attendance, accompanying the teamster a long distance on
his way. They would even jump on the log and ride, and approach
very near the oxen. One of them actually jumped upon the sled,
and down between the bars, while the sled was in motion. Some of
the teamsters were much alarmed, keeping close to the oxen, and
driving on as fast as possible. Others, more courageous, would
run forward and strike at them with their goad-sticks; but the
wolves sprang out of the way in an instant. But, although they
seemed to act without a motive, there was something so cool and
impudent in their conduct that it was trying to the nerves--even
more so than an active encounter. For some time after this,
firearms were a constant part of the teamster's equipage."
The distant howling and screaming of the wolves, compared by an old
Yankee hunter to the screeching of forty pair of old cart-wheels,
is particularly ominous and disagreeable. Springer has collected a
number of curious anecdotes concerning them. One night a pack of the
prowling marauders were seen trailing down Mattawamkeag River on the
ice. The dwellers in a log-house hard by soaked some meat in poison
and threw it out. Next morning the meat was gone, and six wolves lay
dead, all within sight of each other. "Every one of them had dug a
hole down through the snow into the frozen earth, in which they had
thrust their noses, either for water to quench the burning thirst
produced by the poison, or to snuff some antidote to the fatal
drug. A bounty was obtained on each of ten dollars, besides their
hides, making a fair job of it, as well as ridding the neighbourhood
of an annoying enemy." Several of Mr Springer's logging and
lumbering friends have contributed to his book the results of their
experience, and narratives of their adventures, some of which he
gives in their own words. Amongst these is an ill-written, but yet a
very exciting, account of a wolf-chase, or we should perhaps rather
say a man-chase, the wolves in this instance being the pursuers,
and Springer's neighbour the pursued. The person in question was
passionately fond of skating, and one night he left a friend's
house to skate a short distance up the frozen Kennebeck, which
flowed before the door. It was a bright still evening; the new moon
silvered the frosty pines. After gliding a couple of miles up the
river, the skater turned off into a little tributary stream, over
which fir and hemlock twined their evergreen branches. The archway
beneath was dark, but he fearlessly entered it, unsuspicious of
peril, with a joyous laugh and hurra--an involuntary expression of
exhilaration, elicited by the bracing crispness of the atmosphere,
and glow of pleasant exercise. What followed is worth extracting.
"All of a sudden a sound arose, it seemed from the very ice
beneath my feet. It was loud and tremendous at first, until it
ended in one long yell. I was appalled. Never before had such
a noise met my ears. I thought it more than mortal--so fierce,
and amid such an unbroken solitude, that it seemed a fiend from
hell had blown a blast from an infernal trumpet. Presently I
heard the twigs on the shore snap as if from the tread of some
animal, and the blood rushed back to my forehead with a bound
that made my skin burn. My energies returned, and I looked
around me for some means of defence. The moon shone through the
opening by which I had entered the forest, and, considering this
the best means of escape, I darted towards it like an arrow.
It was hardly a hundred yards distant, and the swallow could
scarcely outstrip my desperate flight; yet as I turned my eyes
to the shore, I could see two dark objects dashing through the
underbrush at a pace nearly double mine. By their great speed,
and the short yells which they occasionally gave, I knew at once
that they were the much dreaded grey wolf."
Here Springer interposes a vignette of a wolf--a most formidable and
unwholesome-looking quadruped--grinning over the well-picked bone of
some unlucky victim. The logger's pages are enlivened by a number
of illustrations--woodcuts of course--rough enough in execution,
but giving an excellent notion of the scenery, animals, and logging
operations spoken of in the text. Grey wolves are of untameable
fierceness, great strength and speed, and pursue their prey to the
death with frightful tenacity, unwearyingly following the trail--
"With their long gallop, which can tire
The hounds' deep hate, the hunter's fire."
A more dangerous foe a benighted traveller could hardly fall in with.
"The bushes that skirted the shore," continues the hunted of
wolves, "flew past with the velocity of light as I dashed on in
my flight. The outlet was nearly gained; one second more and I
should be comparatively safe; when my pursuers appeared on the
bank, directly above me, which rose to the height of some ten
feet. There was no time for thought; I bent my head, and dashed
wildly forward. The wolves sprang, but, miscalculating my speed,
sprang behind, whilst their intended prey glided out into the
river.
"Nature turned me towards home. The light flakes of snow spun
from the iron of my skates, and I was now some distance from my
pursuers, when their fierce howl told me that I was again the
fugitive. I did not look back; I did not feel sorry or glad;
one thought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my return,
of their tears if they should never see me again, and then
every energy of body and mind was exerted for my escape. I was
perfectly at home on the ice. Many were the days I spent on my
skates, never thinking that at one time they would be my only
means of safety. Every half minute an alternate yelp from my
pursuers made me but too certain they were close at my heels.
Nearer and nearer they came; I heard their feet pattering on
the ice nearer still, until I fancied I could hear their deep
breathing. Every nerve and muscle in my frame was stretched to
the utmost tension. The trees along the shore seemed to dance in
the uncertain light, and my brain turned with my own breathless
speed, when an involuntary motion turned me out of my course.
The wolves close behind, unable to stop and as unable to turn,
slipped, fell, still going on far ahead, their tongues lolling
out, their white tusks gleaming from their bloody mouths, their
dark shaggy breasts freckled with foam; and as they passed me
their eyes glared, and they howled with rage and fury. The
thought flashed on my mind that by this means I could avoid
them--viz., by turning aside whenever they came too near; for
they, by the formation of their feet, are unable to run on ice
except in a right line.
"I immediately acted on this plan. The wolves, having regained
their feet, sprang directly towards me. The race was renewed for
twenty yards up the stream; they were already close on my back,
when I glided round and dashed past them. A fierce howl greeted
my evolution, and the wolves slipped upon their haunches, and
sailed onward, presenting a perfect picture of helplessness
and baffled rage. Thus I gained nearly a hundred yards each
turning. This was repeated two or three times, every moment
the wolves getting more excited and baffled, until, coming
opposite the house, a couple of staghounds, aroused by the
noise, bayed furiously from their kennels. The wolves, taking
the hint, stopped in their mad career, and, after a moment's
consideration, turned and fled. I watched them till their dusky
forms disappeared over a neighbouring hill; then, taking off my
skates, I wended my way to the house."
From some unassigned reason, wolves have increased of late years in
the wild forests of north-eastern Maine. Up to 1840, Mr Springer,
who had been much in that district, logging in winter and clearing
land in summer, never saw one. Since then they have frequently been
seen in numerous parties, and of most formidable size. There would
not seem to be much to choose, as far as the pleasure of the thing
goes, between an encounter with one of these ravenous brutes and a
tussle with a catamount. Springer, however, who must be competent to
judge, considers the catamount the worse customer. He tells an ugly
story, which may serve as a pendant to that of the bear's breakfast
on live beef, of what happened to a logger named Smith, when on his
way to join a timbering party in the woods. He had nearly reached
camp, when he fell in with a catamount, or "Indian devil." Retreat
was impossible; for reflection there was no time: arms he had none.
Acting from impulse, he sprang up a small tree--perhaps as sensible
a thing as he could have done. He had scarcely ascended his length,
when the creature, fierce from hunger, made a bound and caught him
by the heel. Although badly bitten, Smith managed to get his foot
out of the shoe, in which the tiger-cat's teeth were firmly set, and
shoe and savage fell together to the ground. What then ensued is so
horrible and extraordinary that we should suspect our wood-cutting
friend of imaginative decoration, but for the assurance he gives us
in his preface, that "the incidents he has related are real, and
that in no case is the truth sacrificed to fancy or embellishment."
He shall finish his yarn himself.
"The moment he was disengaged, Smith sprang for a more secure
position, and the animal at the same time leaped to another
large tree, about ten feet distant, up which he ascended to
an elevation equal to that of his victim, from which he threw
himself upon him, firmly fixing his teeth in the calf of his
leg. Hanging suspended thus until the flesh, insufficient to
sustain the weight, gave way, he dropped again to the ground,
carrying a portion of flesh in his mouth. _Having greedily
devoured this morsel_, he bounded again up the opposite tree,
and from thence upon Smith, in this manner renewing his attacks,
and tearing away the flesh in mouthfuls from his legs. During
this agonising operation, Smith contrived to cut a limb from
the tree, to which he managed to bind his jack-knife, with
which he could now assail his enemy at every leap. He succeeded
thus in wounding him so badly that at length his attacks were
discontinued, and he disappeared in the dense forest."
Smith, who, as Springer coolly informs us, "had exerted his voice
to the utmost," whilst the catamount was devouring him in detail,
(we can perfectly imagine a man bellowing like twenty bulls under
such circumstances,) was found by his friends in a state of dreadful
exhaustion and suffering, and was carried to camp on a litter. He
ultimately recovered, but had sustained irreparable injuries. "Such
desperate encounters are of rare occurrence," Springer quietly adds.
We should think they were. Really these loggers are cool hands.
Encounters with black bears are much more common, we are informed.
These are strong fellows, clever at parrying blows, and at wrenching
the weapon from their assailant's hand--very tenacious of life,
and confirmed robbers. Springer and his comrades were once, whilst
ascending a river, followed by one of them for several days. He
was bent upon plunder, and one night he walked off with a bundle
containing clothing, boots, shaving implements, and other things,
for which it might be thought a bear could have little occasion.
He examined his prize in the neighbourhood of the camp, tore the
clothes to shreds, and chewed up the cow-hide boots and the handle
of a razor. From the roof of a log-house, which the woodmen erected
a few miles farther on, he carried off a ten-gallon keg of molasses,
set it on one end, knocked the head in or out, and was about to
enjoy the feast, when he was discovered, pursued, and at last
killed. At page 140 we find a capital account of a fight between a
family of bears (father, mother, and cubs) and two foresters; and
at page 100 the stirring-up of a bear's den is graphically described.
The pine tree is subject to disease of more than one kind, the most
frequent being a sort of cancer, known amongst lumber-men as "Conk"
or "Konkus," whose sole external manifestation is a small brown
spot, usually at several feet from the ground, and sometimes no
larger than a shilling. The trees thus afflicted are noway inferior
to the soundest in size and apparent beauty; but on cutting into
them the rot is at once evident, the wood being reddish in colour,
and of spungy texture. "Sometimes it shoots upwards, in imitation
of the streaming light of the aurora borealis; in others downwards,
and even both ways, preserving the same appearance." Unscrupulous
loggers cheat the unwary by driving a knot or piece of a limb of
the same tree into the plague-spot, and hewing it off smoothly, so
as to give it the appearance of a natural knot. A great many pines
are hollow at the base or butt, and these hollows are the favourite
winter-retreats of Bruin the bear.
"A few rods from the main logging road where I worked one
winter," said Mr Johnston, (a logger whom Springer more than
once quotes,) "there stood a very large pine tree. We had nearly
completed our winter's work, and it still stood unmolested,
because, from appearances, it was supposed to be worthless.
Whilst passing it one day, not quite satisfied with the decision
that had been made upon its quality, I resolved to satisfy my
own mind touching its value; so, wallowing to it through the
snow, which was nearly up to my middle, I struck it several
blows with the head of my axe, an experiment to test whether
a tree be hollow or not. When I desisted, my attention was
arrested by a slight scratching and whining. Suspecting the
cause, I thumped the tree again, listening more attentively, and
heard the same noise as before. It was a bear's den. Examining
the tree more closely, I discovered a small hole in the trunk,
near the roots, with a rim of ice on the edge of the orifice,
made by the freezing of the breath and vapour from the inmates."
The logging crew were summoned, and came scampering down, eager
for the fun. The snow was kicked away from the root of the tree,
exposing the entrance to the den; and a small hole was cut in the
opposite side, through which the family of bears were literally
"stirred up with a long pole;" and when the great she-bear, annoyed
at this treatment, put her head out at the door, she was cut over
the pate with an axe.
"The cubs, four in number--a thing unusual by one-half--we took
alive, and carried to camp, kept them a while, and finally sold
them. They were quite small and harmless, of a most beautiful
lustrous black, and fat as porpoises. The old dam was uncommonly
large--we judged she might weigh about three hundred pounds. Her
hide, when stretched out and nailed on to the end of the camp,
appeared quite equal to a cow's hide in dimensions."
The attacks of wild animals are far from being the sole dangers
to which the wood-cutters of Maine are exposed in following their
toilsome occupation. Scarcely any phase of their adventurous
existence is exempt from risk. Bad wounds are sometimes accidentally
received from the axe whilst felling trees. To heal these, in the
absence of surgeons, the loggers are thrown upon their own very
insufficient resources. Life is also constantly endangered in
felling the pine, which comes plunging down, breaking, splitting,
and crushing all before it. The broken limbs which are torn from the
fallen tree, and the branches it wrenches from other trees,
"rendered brittle by the intense frosts, fly in every direction,
like the scattered fragments of an exploding ship. Often these
wrenched limbs are suspended directly over the place where our
work requires our presence, and on the slightest motion, or from
a sudden gust of wind, they slip down with the stealthiness
of a hawk and the velocity of an arrow. I recollect one in
particular, which was wrenched from a large pine I had just
felled. It lodged in the top of a towering birch, directly over
where it was necessary for me to stand whilst severing the
top from the trunk. Viewing its position with some anxiety,
I ventured to stand and work under it, forgetting my danger
in the excitement. Whilst thus engaged, the limb slipped from
its position, and, falling directly before me, end foremost,
penetrated the frozen earth. It was about four inches through,
and ten feet long. It just grazed my cap; a little variation,
and it would have dashed my head to pieces. Attracted on one
occasion, whilst swamping a road, by the appearance of a
large limb which stuck fast in the ground, curiosity induced
me to extricate it, for the purpose of seeing how far it had
penetrated. After considerable exertion, I succeeded in drawing
it out, when I was amazed _to find a thick cloth cap on the end
of it_. It had penetrated the earth to a considerable depth.
Subsequently I learned that _it_ [the cap, we presume, but
Springer makes sad work of his pronouns] belonged to a man who
was killed instantly by _its_ fall, [here our logging friend
must be supposed to refer to the timber,] striking him on the
head, and carrying his cap into the ground with it."
This is not impossible, although it does a little remind us of
certain adventures of the renowned Munchausen. And Springer is so
pleasant a fellow, that we shall not call his veracity in question,
or even tax him with that tinting of truth in which many of his
countrymen excel, but of which he only here and there lays himself
open to suspicion. He certainly does put our credulity a little
to the strain by an anecdote of a moose deer, which he gives,
however, between inverted commas, on the authority of a hunter who
occasionally passed the night at the logger's camp. The moose is the
largest species of deer found in the New-England forests, its size
varying from that of a large pony to that of a full-grown horse.
It has immense branching antlers, and, judging from its portrait,
which forms the frontispiece to _Forest Life_, we readily believe
Springer's assurance, that "the taking of moose is sometimes quite
hazardous." Quite astonishing, we are sure the reader will say, is
the following ride:--
"Once," hunter _loquitur_, "whilst out on a hunting excursion,
I was pursued by a bull-moose. He approached me with his
muscular neck curved, and head to the ground, in a manner not
dissimilar to the attitude assumed by horned cattle when about
to encounter each other. Just as he was about to make a pass
at me, I sprang suddenly between his wide-spreading antlers,
bestride his neck. Dexterously turning round, I seized him by
the horns, and, locking my feet together under his neck, I
clung to him like a sloth. With a mixture of rage and terror,
he dashed wildly about, endeavouring to dislodge me; but, as
my life depended upon maintaining my position, I clung to him
with a corresponding desperation. After making a few ineffectual
attempts to disengage me, he threw out his nose, and, laying his
antlers back upon his shoulders, _which formed a screen for my
defence_, he sprang forward into a furious run, still bearing
me upon his neck. Now penetrating dense thickets, then leaping
high 'windfalls,' (old fallen trees,) and struggling through
swamp-mires, he finally fell from exhaustion, after carrying
me about three miles. Improving the opportunity, I drew my
hunting-knife from its sheath, and instantly buried it in his
neck, cutting the jugular vein, which put a speedy termination
to the contest and the flight."
After which we presume that he spitted the moose on a pine tree,
roasted and ate it, and used its antlers for toothpicks. The
adventure is worthy of Mazeppa or the Wild Huntsman. By the antlers
_forming a screen for the rider's defence_, we are reminded of
that memorable morning in the life of the great German Baron, when
his horse, cut in two, just behind the saddle, by the fall of a
portcullis, was sewn together with laurel-twigs, which sprouted
up into a pleasant bower, beneath whose appropriate shade the
redoubtable warrior thenceforward rode to victory. An awful liar,
indeed, must have been the narrator of this "singular adventure,"
as Springer, who tells this story quite gravely, artlessly styles
it. Doubtless such yarns are acceptable enough by the camp-fire,
where the weary logger smokes the pipe of repose after a hard day's
work; and they are by no means out of place in the logger's book,
of which, however, they occupy but a small portion--by far the
greater number of its chapters being filled with solid and curious
information. The third and longest part, "River Life," upon which
we have not touched, is highly interesting, and gives thrilling
accounts of the dangers incurred during the progress down stream of
the various "parcels" of logs, which, each distinguished like cattle
by the owner's mark, soon mingle and form one grand "drive" on the
main river. "Driving" of this kind is a very hazardous occupation.
Sometimes the logs come to a "jam," get wedged together in a narrow
part of the river or amongst rocks, and, whilst the drivers work
with axe and lever to set the huge floating field of tree-trunks in
motion again, lives are frequently lost. This is easy to understand.
The removal of a single log, the keystone of the mass--nay, a
single blow of the axe--often suffices to liberate acres of timber
from their "dead lock," and set them furiously rushing down the
rapid current. Then does woe betide those who are caught in the
hurly-burly. Sometimes, the key-log being well ascertained, a man
is let down, like a samphire-gatherer, by a rope from an adjacent
cliff, on to the "jam." Then--
"As the place to be operated upon may in some cases be a little
removed from the shore, he either walks to it with the rope
attached to his body, or, untying the rope, leaves it where
he can readily grasp it in time to be drawn from his perilous
position. Often, where the pressure is direct, a few blows only
are given with the axe, when the log snaps in an instant with
a loud report, followed suddenly by the violent motion of the
'jam;' and, ere our bold river-driver is jerked half way to the
top of the cliff, scores of logs, in wildest confusion, rush
beneath his feet, whilst he yet dangles in the air above the
trembling mass. If that rope, on which life and hope hang thus
suspended, should part, worn by the sharp point of some jutting
rock, death, certain and quick, were inevitable."
The wood-cutter's occupation, which, to European imagination,
presents itself as peaceful, pastoral, and void of peril, assumes
a very different aspect when pursued in North American forests. If
any doubt this fact, let them study Springer, who will repay the
trouble, and of whose volume we have rather skimmed the surface than
meddled with the substance.
MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.
BY PISISTRATUS CAXTON.
CHAPTER VII.
Randal advanced--"I fear, Signior Riccabocca, that I am guilty of
some want of ceremony."
"To dispense with ceremony is the most delicate mode of conferring
a compliment," replied the urbane Italian, as he recovered from his
first surprise at Randal's sudden address, and extended his hand.
Violante bowed her graceful head to the young man's respectful
salutation. "I am on my way to Hazeldean," resumed Randal, "and,
seeing you in the garden, could not resist this intrusion."
RICCABOCCA.--"You come from London? Stirring times for you English,
but I do not ask you the news. No news can affect us."
RANDAL, (softly.)--"Perhaps--yes."
RICCABOCCA, (startled.)--"How?"
VIOLANTE.--"Surely he speaks of Italy, and news from that country
affects you still, my father."
RICCABOCCA.--"Nay, nay, nothing affects me like this country; its
east winds might affect a pyramid! Draw your mantle round you,
child, and go in; the air has suddenly grown chill."
Violante smiled on her father, glanced uneasily towards Randal's
grave brow, and went slowly towards the house.
Riccabocca, after waiting some moments in silence, as if expecting
Randal to speak, said with affected carelessness, "So you think that
you have news that might affect me? _Corpo di Bacco!_ I am curious
to learn what!"
"I may be mistaken--that depends on your answer to one question. Do
you know the Count of Peschiera?"
Riccabocca winced, and turned pale. He could not baffle the watchful
eye of the questioner.
"Enough," said Randal; "I see that I am right. Believe in my
sincerity. I speak but to warn and to serve you. The Count seeks to
discover the retreat of a countryman and kinsman of his own."
"And for what end?" cried Riccabocca, thrown off his guard, and
his breast dilated, his crest rose, and his eye flashed; valour
and defiance broke from habitual caution and self-control. "But
pooh," he added, striving to regain his ordinary and half-ironical
calm, "it matters not to me. I grant, sir, that I know the Count di
Peschiera; but what has Dr Riccabocca to do with the kinsmen of so
grand a personage?"
"Dr Riccabocca--nothing. But--" here Randal put his lip close to the
Italian's ear, and whispered a brief sentence. Then retreating a
step, but laying his hand on the exile's shoulder, he added--"Need I
say that your secret is safe with me?"
Riccabocca made no answer. His eyes rested on the ground musingly.
Randal continued--"And I shall esteem it the highest honour you can
bestow on me, to be permitted to assist you in forestalling danger."
RICCABOCCA, (slowly.)--"Sir, I thank you; you have my secret, and I
feel assured it is safe, for I speak to an English gentleman. There
may be family reasons why I should avoid the Count di Peschiera;
and, indeed, He is safest from shoals who steers clearest of
his--relations."
The poor Italian regained his caustic smile as he uttered that wise,
villanous Italian maxim.
RANDAL.--"I know little of the Count of Peschiera save from the
current talk of the world. He is said to hold the estates of a
kinsman who took part in a conspiracy against the Austrian power."
RICCABOCCA.--"It is true. Let that content him; what more does he
desire. You spoke of forestalling danger; what danger? I am on the
soil of England, and protected by its laws."
RANDAL.--"Allow me to inquire if, had the kinsman no child, the
Count di Peschiera would be legitimate and natural heir to the
estates he holds?"
RICCABOCCA.--"He would. What then?"
RANDAL.--"Does that thought suggest no danger to the child of the
kinsman?"
Riccabocca recoiled, and gasped forth, "The child! You do not mean
to imply that this man, infamous though he be, can contemplate the
crime of an assassin?"
Randal paused perplexed. His ground was delicate. He knew not what
causes of resentment the exile entertained against the Count. He
knew not whether Riccabocca would not assent to an alliance that
might restore him to his country--and he resolved to feel his way
with precaution.
"I did not," said he, smiling gravely, "mean to insinuate so
horrible a charge against a man whom I have never seen. He seeks
you--that is all I know. I imagine, from his general character, that
in this search he consults his interest. Perhaps all matters might
be conciliated by an interview!"
"An interview!" exclaimed Riccabocca; "there is but one way we
should meet--foot to foot, and hand to hand."
"Is it so? Then you would not listen to the Count if he proposed
some amicable compromise; if, for instance, he was a candidate for
the hand of your daughter?"
The poor Italian, so wise and so subtle in his talk, was as rash and
blind when it came to action, as if he had been born in Ireland, and
nourished on potatoes and Repeal. He bared his whole soul to the
merciless eye of Randal.
"My daughter!" he exclaimed. "Sir, your very question is an insult."
Randal's way became clear at once. "Forgive me," he said mildly;
"I will tell you frankly all that I know. I am acquainted with the
Count's sister. I have some little influence over her. It was she
who informed me that the Count had come here, bent upon discovering
your refuge, and resolved to wed your daughter. This is the danger
of which I spoke. And when I asked your permission to aid in
forestalling it, I only intended to suggest that it might be wise to
find some securer home, and that I, if permitted to know that home,
and to visit you, could apprise you from time to time of the Count's
plans and movements."
"Sir, I thank you sincerely," said Riccabocca with emotion; "but am
I not safe here?"
"I doubt it. Many people have visited the Squire in the shooting
season, who will have heard of you--perhaps seen you, and who are
likely to meet the Count in London. And Frank Hazeldean, too, who
knows the Count's sister--"
"True, true," interrupted Riccabocca. "I see, I see. I will
consider. I will reflect. Meanwhile you are going to Hazeldean.
Do not say a word to the Squire. He knows not the secret you have
discovered."
With those words Riccabocca turned slightly away, and Randal took
the hint to depart.
"At all times command and rely on me," said the young traitor, and
he regained the pale to which he had fastened his horse.
As he remounted, he cast his eyes towards the place where he had
left Riccabocca. The Italian was still standing there. Presently
the form of Jackeymo was seen emerging from the shrubs. Riccabocca
turned hastily round, recognised his servant, uttered an exclamation
loud enough to reach Randal's ear, and then catching Jackeymo by the
arm, disappeared with him amidst the deeper recesses of the garden.
"It will be indeed in my favour," thought Randal as he rode on, "if
I can get them into the neighbourhood of London--all occasion there
to woo, and if expedient, to win--the heiress."
CHAPTER VIII.
"By the Lord Harry!" cried the Squire, as he stood with his wife in
the park, on a visit of inspection to some first-rate South-Downs
just added to his stock--"By the Lord, if that is not Randal Leslie
trying to get into the park at the back gate! Hollo, Randal! you
must come round by the lodge, my boy," said he.
"You see this gate is locked to keep out trespassers."
"A pity," said Randal. "I like short cuts, and you have shut up a
very short one."
"So the trespassers said," quoth the Squire; "but Stirn would not
hear of it;--valuable man, Stirn. But ride round to the lodge. Put
up your horse, and you'll join us before we can get to the house."
Randal nodded and smiled, and rode briskly on.
The Squire rejoined his Harry.
"Ah, William," said she anxiously, "though certainly Randal Leslie
means well, I always dread his visits."
"So do I, in one sense," quoth the Squire, "for he always carries
away a bank-note for Frank."
"I hope he is really Frank's friend," said Mrs Hazeldean.
"Whose else can he be? Not his own, poor fellow, for he will never
accept a shilling from me, though his grandmother was as good a
Hazeldean as I am. But, zounds! I like his pride, and his economy
too. As for Frank--"
"Hush, William!" cried Mrs Hazeldean, and put her fair hand before
the Squire's mouth. The Squire was softened, and kissed the fair
hand gallantly--perhaps he kissed the lips too; at all events, the
worthy pair were walking lovingly arm-in-arm when Randal joined them.
He did not affect to perceive a certain coldness in the manner of
Mrs Hazeldean, but began immediately to talk to her about Frank;
praise that young gentleman's appearance; expatiate on his health,
his popularity, and his good gifts, personal and mental; and this
with so much warmth, that any dim and undeveloped suspicions Mrs
Hazeldean might have formed soon melted away.
Randal continued to make himself thus agreeable, until the Squire,
persuaded that his young kinsman was a first-rate agriculturist,
insisted upon carrying him off to the home farm, and Harry turned
towards the house to order Randal's room to be got ready: "For,"
said Randal, "knowing that you will excuse my morning dress, I
venture to invite myself to dine and sleep at the Hall."
On approaching the farm-buildings, Randal was seized with the
terror of an impostor; for, despite all the theoretical learning on
Bucolics and Georgics with which he had dazzled the Squire, poor
Frank, so despised, would have beat him hollow when it came to
judging of the points of an ox or the show of a crop.
"Ha, ha!" cried the Squire, chuckling, "I long to see how you'll
astonish Stirn. Why, you'll guess in a moment where we put the
top-dressing; and when you come to handle my short-horns, I dare
swear you'll know to a pound how much oilcake has gone into their
sides."
"Oh, you do me too much honour--indeed you do. I only know the
general principles of agriculture--the details are eminently
interesting; but I have not had the opportunity to acquire them."
"Stuff!" cried the Squire. "How can a man know general principles
unless he has first studied the details? You are too modest, my boy.
Ho! there's Stirn looking out for us!"
Randal saw the grim visage of Stirn peering out of a cattle-shed,
and felt undone. He made a desperate rush towards changing the
Squire's humour.
"Well, sir, perhaps Frank may soon gratify your wish and turn farmer
himself."
"Eh!" quoth the Squire, stopping short. "What now?"
"Suppose he was to marry?"
"I'd give him the two best farms on the property rent free. Ha, ha!
Has he seen the girl yet? I'd leave him free to choose, sir. I chose
for myself--every man should. Not but what Miss Sticktorights is an
heiress, and, I hear, a very decent girl, and that would join the
two properties, and put an end to that lawsuit about the right of
way, which began in the reign of King Charles the Second, and is
likely otherwise to last till the day of judgment. But never mind
her; let Frank choose to please himself."
"I'll not fail to tell him so, sir. I did fear you might have some
prejudices. But here we are at the farm-yard."
"Burn the farm-yard! How can I think of farm-yards when you talk
of Frank's marriage? Come on--this way. What were you saying about
prejudices?"
"Why, you might wish him to marry an Englishwoman, for instance."
"English! Good heavens, sir, does he mean to marry a Hindoo?"
"Nay, I don't know that he means to marry at all: I am only
surmising; but if he did fall in love with a foreigner--"
"A foreigner! Ah, then Harry was--" The Squire stopped short.
"Who might, perhaps," observed Randal--not truly if he referred to
Madame di Negra--"who might, perhaps, speak very little English?"
"Lord ha' mercy!"
"And a Roman Catholic--"
"Worshipping idols, and roasting people who don't worship them."
"Signior Riccabocca is not so bad as that."
"Rickeybockey! Well, if it was his daughter! But not speak English!
and not go to the parish church! By George! if Frank thought of such
a thing, I'd cut him off with a shilling. Don't talk to me, sir; I
would. I'm a mild man, and an easy man; but when I say a thing, I
say it, Mr. Leslie. Oh, but it is a jest--you are laughing at me.
There's no such painted, good-for-nothing creature in Frank's eye,
eh?"
"Indeed, sir, if ever I find there is, I will give you notice in
time. At present I was only trying to ascertain what you wished for
a daughter-in-law. You said you had no prejudice."
"No more I have--not a bit of it."
"You don't like a foreigner and a Catholic?"
"Who the devil would?"
"But if she had rank and title?"
"Rank and title! Bubble and squeak! No, not half so good as bubble
and squeak. English beef and good cabbage. But foreign rank and
title!--foreign cabbage and beef!--foreign bubble and foreign
squeak!" And the Squire made a wry face, and spat forth his disgust
and indignation.
"You must have an Englishwoman?"
"Of course."
"Money?"
"Don't care, provided she is a tidy, sensible, active lass, with a
good character for her dower."
"Character--ah, that is indispensable?"
"I should think so, indeed. A Mrs. Hazeldean of Hazeldean; you
frighten me. He's not going to run off with a divorced woman, or a--"
The Squire stopped, and looked so red in the face, that Randal
feared he might be seized with apoplexy before Frank's crimes had
made him alter his will.
Therefore he hastened to relieve Mr Hazeldean's mind, and assured
him that he had been only talking at random; that Frank was in
the habit, indeed, of seeing foreign ladies occasionally, as all
persons in the London world were; but that he was sure Frank would
never marry without the full consent and approval of his parents.
He ended by repeating his assurance, that he would warn the Squire
if ever it became necessary. Still, however, he left Mr Hazeldean
so disturbed and uneasy, that that gentleman forgot all about the
farm, and went moodily on in the opposite direction, re-entering the
park at its farther extremity. As soon as they approached the house,
the Squire hastened to shut himself with his wife in full parental
consultation; and Randal, seated upon a bench on the terrace,
revolved the mischief he had done, and its chances of success.
While thus seated, and thus thinking, a footstep approached
cautiously, and a low voice said, in broken English, "Sare, sare,
let me speak vid you."
Randal turned in surprise, and beheld a swarthy saturnine face, with
grizzled hair and marked features. He recognised the figure that had
joined Riccabocca in the Italian's garden.
"Speak-a you Italian?" resumed Jackeymo.
Randal, who had made himself an excellent linguist, nodded assent;
and Jackeymo, rejoiced, begged him to withdraw into a more private
part of the grounds.
Randal obeyed, and the two gained the shade of a stately chestnut
avenue.
"Sir," then said Jackeymo, speaking in his native tongue, and
expressing himself with a certain simple pathos, "I am but a poor
man; my name is Giacomo. You have heard of me;--servant to the
Signior whom you saw to-day--only a servant; but he honours me
with his confidence. We have known danger together; and of all his
friends and followers, I alone came with him to the stranger's land."
"Good, faithful fellow," said Randal, examining the man's face, "say
on. Your master confides in you? He confided that which I told him
this day?"
"He did. Ah, sir! the Padrone was too proud to ask you to explain
more--too proud to show fear of another. But he does fear--he ought
to fear--he shall fear," (continued Jackeymo, working himself up
to passion)--"for the Padrone has a daughter, and his enemy is a
villain. Oh, sir, tell me all that you did not tell to the Padrone.
You hinted that this man might wish to marry the Signora. Marry
her!--I could cut his throat at the altar!"
"Indeed," said Randal; "I believe that such is his object."
"But why? He is rich--she is penniless; no, not quite that, for we
have saved--but penniless, compared to him."
"My good friend, I know not yet his motives; but I can easily learn
them. If, however, this Count be your master's enemy, it is surely
well to guard against him, whatever his designs; and, to do so, you
should move into London or its neighbourhood. I fear that, while we
speak, the Count may get upon his track."
"He had better not come here!" cried the servant menacingly, and
putting his hand where the knife was _not_.
"Beware of your own anger, Giacomo. One act of violence, and you
would be transported from England, and your master would lose a
friend."
Jackeymo seemed struck by this caution.
"And if the Padrone were to meet him, do you think the Padrone would
meekly say, 'Come stà sa Signoria?' The Padrone would strike him
dead!"
"Hush--hush! You speak of what, in England, is called murder, and
is punished by the gallows. If you really love your master, for
heaven's sake get him from this place--get him from all chance of
such passion and peril. I go to town to-morrow; I will find him a
house that shall be safe from all spies--all discovery. And there,
too, my friend, I can do--what I cannot at this distance--watch over
him, and keep watch also on his enemy."
Jackeymo seized Randal's hand and lifted it towards his lip; then,
as if struck by a sudden suspicion, dropped the hand, and said
bluntly--"Signior, I think you have seen the Padrone twice. Why do
you take this interest in him?"
"Is it so uncommon to take interest even in a stranger who is
menaced by some peril?"
Jackeymo, who believed little in general philanthropy, shook his
head sceptically.
"Besides," continued Randal, suddenly bethinking himself of a more
plausible reason--"besides, I am a friend and connection of Mr
Egerton; and Mr Egerton's most intimate friend is Lord L'Estrange;
and I have heard that Lord L'Estrange--"
"The good lord! Oh, now I understand," interrupted Jackeymo, and his
brow cleared. "Ah, if _he_ were in England! But you will let us know
when he comes?"
"Certainly. Now, tell me, Giacomo, is this Count really unprincipled
and dangerous? Remember, I know him not personally."
"He has neither heart, head, nor conscience."
"That makes him dangerous to men; but to women, danger comes from
other qualities. Could it be possible, if he obtained any interview
with the Signora, that he could win her affections?"
Jackeymo crossed himself rapidly, and made no answer.
"I have heard that he is still very handsome."
Jackeymo groaned.
Randal resumed--"Enough; persuade the Padrone to come to town."
"But if the Count is in town?"
"That makes no difference; the safest place is always the largest
city. Everywhere else a foreigner is in himself an object of
attention and curiosity."
"True."
"Let your master, then, come to London. He can reside in one of the
suburbs most remote from the Count's haunts. In two days I will have
found him a lodging and write to him. You trust to me now?"
"I do indeed--I do, Excellency. Ah, if the Signorina were married,
we would not care!"
"Married! But she looks so high!"
"Alas! not now--not here!"
Randal sighed heavily. Jackeymo's eyes sparkled. He thought he had
detected a new motive for Randal's interest--a motive to an Italian
the most natural, the most laudable of all.
"Find the house, Signior--write to the Padrone. He shall come. I'll
talk to him. I can manage him. Holy San Giacomo, bestir thyself
now--'tis long since I troubled thee!"
Jackeymo strode off through the fading trees, smiling and muttering
as he went.
The first dinner-bell rang, and, on entering the drawing-room,
Randal found Parson Dale and his wife, who had been invited in haste
to meet the unexpected visitor.
The preliminary greetings over, Mr Dale took the opportunity
afforded by the Squire's absence to inquire after the health of Mr
Egerton.
"He is always well," said Randal. "I believe he is made of iron."
"His heart is of gold," said the Parson.
"Ah!" said Randal, inquisitively, "you told me you had come in
contact with him once, respecting, I think, some of your old
parishioners at Lansmere?"
The Parson nodded, and there was a moment's silence.
"Do you remember your battle by the Stocks, Mr Leslie?" said Mr
Dale, with a good-humoured laugh.
"Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my old opponent
in London the first year I went up to it."
"You did!--where?"
"At a literary scamp's--a cleverish man called Burley."
"Burley! I have seen some burlesque verses in Greek by a Mr Burley."
"No doubt, the same person. He has disappeared--gone to the dogs, I
dare say. Burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power at
present."
"Well, but Leonard Fairfield?--you have seen him since?"
"No."
"Nor heard of him?"
"No!--have you?"
"Strange to say, not for a long time. But I have reason to believe
that he must be doing well."
"You surprise me! Why?"
"Because, two years ago, he sent for his mother. She went to him."
"Is that all?"
"It is enough; for he would not have sent for her if he could not
maintain her."
Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler
announced dinner.
The Squire was unusually taciturn--Mrs Hazeldean thoughtful--Mrs
Dale languid, and headachy. The Parson, who seldom enjoyed the
luxury of converse with a scholar, save when he quarrelled with Dr
Riccabocca, was animated, by Randal's repute for ability, into a
great desire for argument.
"A glass of wine, Mr Leslie. You were saying, before dinner, that
burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power at present.
Pray, sir, what knowledge is in power?"
RANDAL, (laconically.)--"Practical knowledge."
PARSON.--"What of?"
RANDAL.--"Men."
PARSON, (candidly.)--"Well, I suppose that is the most available
sort of knowledge, in a worldly point of view. How does one learn
it? Do books help?"
RANDAL.--"According as they are read, they help or injure."
PARSON.--"How should they be read in order to help?"
RANDAL.--"Read specially to apply to purposes that lead to power."
PARSON, (very much struck with Randal's pithy and Spartan
logic.)--"Upon my word, sir, you express yourself very well. I must
own that I began these questions in the hope of differing from you;
for I like an argument."
"That he does," growled the Squire; "the most contradictory
creature!"
PARSON.--"Argument is the salt of talk. But now I am afraid I must
agree with you, which I was not at all prepared for."
Randal bowed, and answered--"No two men of our education can dispute
upon the application of knowledge."
PARSON, (pricking up his ears.)--"Eh! what to?"
RANDAL.--"Power, of course."
PARSON, (overjoyed.)--"Power!--the vulgarest application of it, or
the loftiest? But you mean the loftiest?"
RANDAL, (in his turn interested and interrogative.)--"What do you
call the loftiest, and what the vulgarest?"
PARSON.--"The vulgarest, self-interest; the loftiest, beneficence."
Randal suppressed the half disdainful smile that rose to his lip.
"You speak, sir, as a clergyman should do. I admire your sentiment,
and adopt it; but I fear that the knowledge which aims only at
beneficence very rarely in this world gets any power at all."
SQUIRE, (seriously.)--"That's true; I never get my own way when I
want to do a kindness, and Stirn always gets his when he insists on
something diabolically brutal and harsh."
PARSON.--"Pray, Mr Leslie, what does intellectual power refined to
the utmost, but entirely stripped of beneficence, most resemble?"
RANDAL.--"Resemble?--I can hardly say. Some very great man--almost
any very great man--who has baffled all his foes, and attained all
his ends."
PARSON.--"I doubt if any man has ever become very great who has not
meant to be beneficent, though he might err in the means. Cæsar was
naturally beneficent, and so was Alexander. But intellectual power
refined to the utmost, and wholly void of beneficence, resembles
only one being, and that, sir, is the Principle of Evil."
RANDAL, (startled.)--"Do you mean the Devil?"
PARSON.--"Yes, sir--the Devil; and even he, sir, did not succeed!
Even he, sir, is what your great men would call a most decided
failure."
MRS DALE.--"My dear--my dear."
PARSON.--"Our religion proves it, my love; he was an angel, and he
fell."
There was a solemn pause. Randal was more impressed than he liked to
own to himself. By this time the dinner was over, and the servants
had retired. Harry glanced at Carry. Carry smoothed her gown and
rose.
The gentlemen remained over their wine; and the Parson, satisfied
with what he deemed a clencher upon his favourite subject of
discussion, changed the subject to lighter topics, till happening to
fall upon tithes, the Squire struck in, and by dint of loudness of
voice, and truculence of brow, fairly overwhelmed both his guests,
and proved to his own satisfaction that tithes were an unjust and
unchristian-like usurpation on the part of the Church generally, and
a most especial and iniquitous infliction upon the Hazeldean estates
in particular.
CHAPTER IX.
On entering the drawing-room, Randal found the two ladies seated
close together, in a position much more appropriate to the
familiarity of their school-days than to the politeness of the
friendship now existing between them. Mrs Hazeldean's hand hung
affectionately over Carry's shoulder, and both those fair English
faces were bent over the same book. It was pretty to see these sober
matrons, so different from each other in character and aspect, thus
unconsciously restored to the intimacy of happy maiden youth by
the golden link of some Magician from the still land of Truth or
Fancy--brought together in heart, as each eye rested on the same
thought;--closer and closer, as sympathy, lost in the actual world,
grew out of that world which unites in one bond of feeling the
readers of some gentle book.
"And what work interests you so much?" said Randal, pausing by the
table.
"One you have read, of course," replied Mrs Dale, putting a
bookmark embroidered by herself into the page, and handing the
volume to Randal. "It has made a great sensation, I believe."
Randal glanced at the title of the work. "True," said he, "I have
heard much of it in London, but I have not yet had time to read it."
MRS DALE.--"I can lend it to you, if you like to look over it
to-night, and you can leave it for me with Mrs Hazeldean."
PARSON, (approaching.)--"Oh! that book!--yes, you must read it. I do
not know a work more instructive."
RANDAL.--"Instructive! Certainly I will read it then. But I thought
it was a mere work of amusement--of fancy. It seems so, as I look
over it."
PARSON.--"So is the _Vicar of Wakefield_; yet what book more
instructive?"
RANDAL.--"I should not have said _that_ of the _Vicar of Wakefield_.
A pretty book enough, though the story is most improbable. But how
is it instructive?"
PARSON.--"By its results: it leaves us happier and better. What
can any instruction do more? Some works instruct through the head,
some through the heart; the last reach the widest circle, and often
produce the most genial influence on the character. This book
belongs to the last. You will grant my proposition when you have
read it."
Randal smiled and took the volume.
MRS DALE.--"Is the author known yet?"
RANDAL.--"I have heard it ascribed to many writers, but I believe no
one has claimed it."
PARSON.--"I think it must have been written by my old college
friend, Professor Moss, the naturalist; its descriptions of scenery
are so accurate."
MRS DALE.--"La, Charles dear! that snuffy, tiresome, prosy
professor? How can you talk such nonsense? I am sure the author must
be young; there is so much freshness of feeling."
MRS HAZELDEAN, (positively.)--"Yes, certainly young."
PARSON, (no less positively.)--"I should say just the contrary.
Its tone is too serene, and its style too simple for a young man.
Besides, I don't know any young man who would send me his book, and
this book has been sent me--very handsomely bound too, you see.
Depend upon it, Moss is the man--quite his turn of mind."
MRS DALE.--"You are too provoking, Charles dear! Mr Moss is so
remarkably plain, too."
RANDAL.--"Must an author be handsome?"
PARSON.--"Ha, ha! Answer that, if you can, Carry."
Carry remained mute and disdainful.
SQUIRE, (with great _naiveté_.)--"Well, I don't think there's
much in the book, whoever wrote it; for I've read it myself, and
understand every word of it."
MRS DALE.--"I don't see why you should suppose it was written by a
man at all. For my part, I think it must be a woman."
MRS HAZELDEAN.--"Yes, there's a passage about maternal affection,
which only a woman could have written."
PARSON.--"Pooh, pooh! I should like to see a woman who could
have written that description of an August evening before a
thunderstorm; every wildflower in the hedgerow exactly the flowers
of August--every sign in the air exactly those of the month. Bless
you! a woman would have filled the hedge with violets and cowslips.
Nobody else but my friend Moss could have written that description."
SQUIRE.--"I don't know; there's a simile about the waste of
corn-seed in hand-sowing, which makes me think he must be a farmer!"
MRS DALE, (scornfully.)--"A farmer! In hob-nailed shoes, I suppose!
I say it is a woman."
MRS HAZELDEAN.--"A WOMAN, and A MOTHER!"
PARSON.--"A middle-aged man, and a naturalist."
SQUIRE.--"No, no, Parson; certainly a young man; for that love-scene
puts me in mind of my own young days, when I would have given my
ears to tell Harry how handsome I thought her; and all I could say
was--'Fine weather for the crops, Miss.' Yes, a young man, and a
farmer. I should not wonder if he had held the plough himself."
RANDAL, (who had been turning over the pages.)--"This sketch of
Night in London comes from a man who has lived the life, of cities,
and looked at wealth with the eyes of poverty. Not bad! I will read
the book."
"Strange," said the Parson, smiling, "that this little work should
so have entered into our minds, suggested to all of us different
ideas, yet equally charmed all--given a new and fresh current to
our dull country life--animated us as with the sight of a world in
our breasts we had never seen before, save in dreams;--a little
work like this, by a man we don't know, and never may! Well, _that_
knowledge _is_ power, and a noble one!"
"A sort of power, certainly, sir," said Randal, candidly; and that
night, when Randal retired to his own room, he suspended his schemes
and projects, and read, as he rarely did, without an object to gain
by the reading.
The work surprised him by the pleasure it gave. Its charm lay in
the writer's calm enjoyment of the Beautiful. It seemed like some
happy soul sunning itself in the light of its own thoughts. Its
power was so tranquil and even, that it was only a critic who could
perceive how much force and vigour were necessary to sustain the
wing that floated aloft with so imperceptible an effort. There was
no one faculty predominating tyrannically over the others; all
seemed proportioned in the felicitous symmetry of a nature rounded,
integral, and complete. And when the work was closed, it left behind
it a tender warmth that played round the heart of the reader, and
vivified feelings that seemed unknown before. Randal laid down the
book softly; and for five minutes the ignoble and base purposes to
which his own knowledge was applied, stood before him, naked and
unmasked.
"Tut," said he, wrenching himself violently away from the benign
influence, "it was not to sympathise with Hector, but to conquer
with Achilles, that Alexander of Macedon kept Homer under his
pillow. Such should be the true use of books to him who has the
practical world to subdue; let parsons and women construe it
otherwise as they may!"
And the Principle of Evil descended again upon the intellect, from
which the guide of beneficence was gone.
CHAPTER X.
Randal rose at the sound of the first breakfast bell, and on the
staircase met Mrs Hazeldean. He gave her back the book; and as he
was about to speak, she beckoned to him to follow her into a little
morning-room appropriated to herself. No boudoir of white and gold,
with pictures by Watteau, but lined with large walnut-tree presses,
that held the old heirloom linen strewed with lavender--stores for
the housekeeper, and medicines for the poor.
Seating herself on a large chair in this sanctum, Mrs Hazeldean
looked formidably at home.
"Pray," said the lady, coming at once to the point, with her usual
straightforward candour, "what is all this you have been saying to
my husband as to the possibility of Frank's marrying a foreigner?"
RANDAL.--"Would you be as averse to such a notion as Mr Hazeldean
is?"
MRS HAZELDEAN.--"You ask me a question, instead of answering mine."
Randal was greatly put out in his fence by these rude thrusts. For
indeed he had a double purpose to serve--first thoroughly to know if
Frank's marriage with a woman like Madame di Negra would irritate
the Squire sufficiently to endanger the son's inheritance; and,
secondly, to prevent Mr and Mrs Hazeldean believing, seriously that
such a marriage was to be apprehended, lest they should prematurely
address Frank on the subject, and frustrate the marriage itself.
Yet, withal, he must so express himself, that he could not be
afterwards accused by the parents of disguising matters. In his
talk to the Squire the preceding day, he had gone a little too
far--farther than he would have done but for his desire of escaping
the cattle-shed and short-horns. While he mused, Mrs Hazeldean
observed him with her honest sensible eyes, and finally exclaimed--
"Out with it, Mr Leslie!"
"Out with what, my dear madam? The Squire has sadly exaggerated
the importance of what was said mainly in jest. But I will own to
you plainly, that Frank has appeared to me a little smitten with a
certain fair Italian."
"Italian!" cried Mrs Hazeldean. "Well, I said so from the first.
Italian!--that's all, is it?" and she smiled.
Randal was more and more perplexed. The pupil of his eye contracted,
as it does when we retreat into ourselves, and think, watch, and
keep guard.
"And perhaps," resumed Mrs Hazeldean, with a very sunny expression
of countenance, "you have noticed this in Frank since he was here?"
"It is true," murmured Randal; "but I think his heart or his fancy
was touched even before."
"Very natural," said Mrs Hazeldean; "how could he help it?--such
a beautiful creature! Well, I must not ask you to tell Frank's
secrets; but I guess the object of attraction; and though she will
have no fortune to speak of--and it is not such a match as he might
form--still she is so amiable, and has been so well brought up, and
is so little like one's general notions of a Roman Catholic, that I
think I could persuade Hazeldean into giving his consent."
"Ah!" said Randal, drawing a long breath, and beginning with his
practised acuteness to detect Mrs Hazeldean's error, "I am very much
relieved and rejoiced to hear this; and I may venture to give Frank
some hope, if I find him disheartened and desponding, poor fellow!"
"I think you may," replied Mrs Hazeldean, laughing pleasantly. "But
you should not have frightened poor William so, hinting that the
lady knew very little English. She has an accent, to be sure; but
she speaks our tongue very prettily. I always forget that she's not
English born! Ha, ha, poor William!"
RANDAL.--"Ha, ha!"
MRS HAZELDEAN.--"We had once thought of another match for Frank--a
girl of good English family."
RANDAL.--"Miss Sticktorights?"
MRS HAZELDEAN.--"No; that's an old whim of Hazeldean's. But he knows
very well that the Sticktorights would never merge their property
in ours. Bless you, it would be all off the moment they came to
settlements, and had to give up the right of way. We thought of a
very different match; but there's no dictating to young hearts, Mr
Leslie."
RANDAL.--"Indeed no, Mrs Hazeldean. But since we now understand each
other so well, excuse me if I suggest that you had better leave
things to themselves, and not write to Frank on the subject. Young
hearts, you know, are often stimulated by apparent difficulties, and
grow cool when the obstacle vanishes."
MRS HAZELDEAN.--"Very possibly; it was not so with Hazeldean and
me. But I shall not write to Frank on the subject, for a different
reason--though I would consent to the match, and so would William;
yet we both would rather, after all, that Frank married an
Englishwoman, and a Protestant. We will not, therefore, do anything
to encourage the idea. But if Frank's happiness becomes really at
stake, _then_ we will step in. In short, we would neither encourage
nor oppose. You understand?"
"Perfectly."
"And, in the meanwhile, it is quite right that Frank should see the
world, and try to distract his mind, or at least to know it. And I
dare say it has been some thought of that kind which has prevented
his coming here."
Randal, dreading a farther and plainer _éclaircissement_, now rose,
and saying, "Pardon me, but I must hurry over breakfast, and be back
in time to catch the coach"--offered his arm to his hostess, and led
her into the breakfast-parlour. Devouring his meal, as if in great
haste, he then mounted his horse, and, taking cordial leave of his
entertainers, trotted briskly away.
All things favoured his project--even chance had befriended him in
Mrs Hazeldean's mistake. She had not unnaturally supposed Violante
to have captivated Frank on his last visit to the Hall. Thus, while
Randal had certified his own mind that nothing could more exasperate
the Squire than an alliance with Madame di Negra, he could yet
assure Frank that Mrs Hazeldean was all on his side. And when the
error was discovered, Mrs Hazeldean would only have to blame herself
for it. Still more successful had his diplomacy proved with the
Riccaboccas; he had ascertained the secret he had come to discover;
he should induce the Italian to remove to the neighbourhood of
London; and if Violante were the great heiress he suspected her to
prove, whom else of her own age would she see but him? And the old
Leslie domains--to be sold in two years--a portion of the dowry
might purchase them! Flushed by the triumph of his craft, all former
vacillations of conscience ceased. In high and fervent spirits he
passed the Casino, the garden of which was solitary and deserted,
reached his home, and, telling Oliver to be studious, and Juliet to
be patient, walked thence to meet the coach and regain the capital.
CHAPTER XI.
Violante was seated in her own little room, and looking from the
window on the terrace that stretched below. The day was warm for
the time of year. The orange-trees had been removed under shelter
for the approach of winter; but where they had stood sate Mrs
Riccabocca at work. In the Belvidere, Riccabocca himself was
conversing with his favourite servant. But the casements and the
door of the Belvidere were open; and where they sate, both wife and
daughter could see the Padrone leaning against the wall, with his
arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the floor; while Jackeymo, with
one finger on his master's arm, was talking to him with visible
earnestness. And the daughter from the window, and the wife from
her work, directed tender anxious eyes towards the still thoughtful
form so dear to both. For the last day or two, Riccabocca had been
peculiarly abstracted, even to gloom. Each felt there was something
stirring at his heart--neither as yet knew what.
Violante's room silently revealed the nature of the education by
which her character had been formed. Save a sketch-book which lay
open on a desk at hand, and which showed talent exquisitely taught,
(for in this Riccabocca had been her teacher,) there was nothing
that spoke of the ordinary female accomplishments. No piano stood
open, no harp occupied yon nook, which seemed made for one; no
broidery frame, nor implements of work, betrayed the usual and
graceful resources of a girl; but ranged on shelves against the wall
were the best writers in English, Italian, and French; and these
betokened an extent of reading, that he who wishes for a companion
to his mind in the sweet commune of woman, which softens and refines
all it gives and takes in interchange, will never condemn as
masculine. You had but to look into Violante's face to see how noble
was the intelligence that brought soul to those lovely features.
Nothing hard, nothing dry and stern was there. Even as you detected
knowledge, it was lost in the gentleness of grace. In fact, whatever
she gained in the graver kinds of information, became transmuted,
through her heart and her fancy, into spiritual golden stores. Give
her some tedious and arid history, her imagination seized upon
beauties other readers had passed by, and, like the eye of the
artist, detected everywhere the Picturesque. Something in her mind
seemed to reject all that was mean and commonplace, and to bring
out all that was rare and elevated in whatever it received. Living
so apart from all companions of her age, she scarcely belonged to
the Present time. She dwelt in the Past, as Sabrina, in her crystal
well. Images of chivalry--of the Beautiful and the Heroic--such as,
in reading the silvery line of Tasso, rise before us, softening
force and valour into love and song--haunted the reveries of the
fair Italian maid.
Tell us not that the Past, examined by cold Philosophy, was no
better and no loftier than the Present; it is not thus seen by pure
and generous eyes. Let the Past perish, when it ceases to reflect on
its magic mirror the beautiful Romance which is its noblest reality,
though perchance but the shadow of Delusion.
Yet Violante was not merely the dreamer. In her, life was so
puissant and rich, that action seemed necessary to its glorious
development--action, but still in the woman's sphere--action to
bless and to refine and to exalt all around her, and to pour
whatever else of ambition was left unsatisfied into sympathy with
the aspirations of man. Despite her father's fears of the bleak air
of England, in that air she had strengthened the delicate health
of her childhood. Her elastic step--her eyes full of sweetness and
light--her bloom, at once soft and luxuriant--all spoke of the
vital powers fit to sustain a mind of such exquisite mould, and the
emotions of a heart that, once aroused, could ennoble the passions
of the South with the purity and devotion of the North.
Solitude makes some natures more timid, some more bold. Violante was
fearless. When she spoke, her eyes frankly met your own; and she was
so ignorant of evil, that as yet she seemed nearly unacquainted with
shame. From this courage, combined with affluence of idea, came a
delightful flow of happy converse. Though possessing so imperfectly
the accomplishments ordinarily taught to young women, and which may
be cultured to the utmost, and yet leave the thoughts so barren, and
the talk so vapid--she had that accomplishment which most pleases
the taste, and commands the love, of the man of talent; especially
if his talent be not so actively employed as to make him desire
only relaxation where he seeks companionship--the accomplishment
of facility in intellectual interchange--the charm that clothes in
musical words beautiful womanly ideas.
"I hear him sigh at this distance," said Violante softly, as she
still watched her father; "and methinks this is a new grief, and
not for his country. He spoke twice yesterday of that dear English
friend, and wished that he were here."
As she said this, unconsciously the virgin blushed, her hands
drooped on her knee, and she fell herself into thought as profound
as her father's, but less gloomy. From her arrival in England,
Violante had been taught a grateful interest in the name of Harley
L'Estrange. Her father, preserving a silence, that seemed disdain,
of all his old Italian intimates, had been pleased to converse with
open heart of the Englishman who had saved where countrymen had
betrayed. He spoke of the soldier, then in the full bloom of youth,
who, unconsoled by fame, had nursed the memory of some hidden sorrow
amidst the pine-trees that cast their shadow over the sunny Italian
lake; how Riccabocca, then honoured and happy, had courted from his
seclusion the English Signor, then the mourner and the voluntary
exile; how they had grown friends amidst the landscapes in which her
eyes had opened to the day; how Harley had vainly warned him from
the rash schemes in which he had sought to reconstruct in an hour
the ruins of weary ages; how, when abandoned, deserted, proscribed,
pursued, he had fled for life--the infant Violante clasped to
his bosom--the English soldier had given him refuge, baffled the
pursuers, armed his servants, accompanied the fugitive at night
towards the defile in the Apennines, and, when the emissaries of a
perfidious enemy, hot in the chase, came near, had said, "You have
your child to save! Fly on! Another league, and you are beyond the
borders. We will delay the foes with parley; they will not harm us."
And not till escape was gained did the father know that the English
friend had delayed the foe, not by parley, but by the sword, holding
the pass against numbers, with a breast as dauntless as Bayard's in
the immortal bridge.
And since then, the same Englishman had never ceased to vindicate
his name, to urge his cause, and if hope yet remained of restoration
to land and honours, it was in that untiring zeal.
Hence, naturally and insensibly, this secluded and musing girl had
associated all that she read in tales of romance and chivalry with
the image of the brave and loyal stranger. He it was who animated
her dreams of the Past, and seemed born to be, in the destined hour,
the deliverer of the Future. Around this image grouped all the
charms that the fancy of virgin woman can raise from the enchanted
lore of old Heroic Fable. Once in her early girlhood, her father (to
satisfy her curiosity, eager for general description) had drawn from
memory a sketch of the features of the Englishman--drawn Harley, as
he was in that first youth, flattered and idealised, no doubt, by
art and by partial gratitude--but still resembling him as he was
then; while the deep mournfulness of recent sorrow yet shadowed and
concentrated all the varying expression of his countenance; and to
look on him was to say,--"So sad, yet so young!" Never did Violante
pause to remember that the same years which ripened herself from
infancy into woman, were passing less gently over that smooth cheek
and dreamy brow--that the world might be altering the nature, as
time the aspect. To her, the hero of the Ideal remained immortal in
bloom and youth. Bright illusion, common to us all, where Poetry
once hallows the human form! Who ever thinks of Petrarch as the
old time-worn man? Who does not see him as when he first gazed on
Laura?--
"Ogni altra cosa ogni pensier va fore;
E sol ivi con voi rimansi Amore!"
CHAPTER XII.
And Violante, thus absorbed in reverie, forgot to keep watch on the
Belvidere. And the Belvidere was now deserted. The wife, who had no
other ideal to distract _her_ thoughts, saw Riccabocca pass into the
house.
The exile entered his daughter's room, and she started to feel his
hand upon her locks and his kiss upon her brow.
"My child!" cried Riccabocca, seating himself, "I have resolved to
leave for a time this retreat, and to seek the neighbourhood of
London."
"Ah, dear father, _that_, then, was your thought? But what can be
your reason? Do not turn away; you know how carefully I have obeyed
your command and kept your secret. Ah, you will confide in me."
"I do, indeed," returned Riccabocca, with emotion. "I leave this
place, in the fear lest my enemies discover me. I shall say to
others that you are of an age to require teachers, not to be
obtained here. But I should like none to know where we go."
The Italian said these last words through his teeth, and hanging his
head. He said them in shame.
"My mother--(so Violante always called Jemima)--my mother, you have
spoken to her?"
"Not yet. _There_ is the difficulty."
"No difficulty, for she loves you so well," replied Violante, with
soft reproach. "Ah, why not also confide in her? Who so true? so
good?"
"Good--I grant it!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "What then? 'Da cattiva
Donna guardati, ed alla buona non fidar niente,' (from the bad
woman, guard thyself; to the good woman trust nothing.) And if you
must trust," added the abominable man, "trust her with anything but
a secret!"
"Fie," said Violante, with arch reproach, for she knew her
father's humours too well to interpret his horrible sentiments
literally--"fie on your consistency, _Padre carissimo_. Do you not
trust your secret to me?"
"You! A kitten is not a cat, and a girl is not a woman. Besides, the
secret was already known to you, and I had no choice. Peace, Jemima
will stay here for the present. See to what you wish to take with
you; we shall leave to-night."
Not waiting for an answer, Riccabocca hurried away, and with a firm
step strode the terrace and approached his wife.
"_Anima mia_," said the pupil of Machiavel, disguising in the
tenderest words the cruellest intentions--for one of his most
cherished Italian proverbs was to the effect, that there is no
getting on with a mule or a woman unless you coax them--"_Anima
mia_,--soul of my being--you have already seen that Violante mopes
herself to death here."
"She, poor child! Oh no!"
"She does, core of my heart, she does, and is as ignorant of music
as I am of tent-stitch."
"She sings beautifully."
"Just as birds do, against all the rules, and in defiance of gamut.
Therefore, to come to the point, O treasure of my soul! I am going
to take her with me for a short time, perhaps to Cheltenham, or
Brighton--we shall see."
"All places with you are the same to me, Alphonso. When shall we go?"
"_We_ shall go to-night; but, terrible as it is to part from
you--you--"
"Ah!" interrupted the wife, and covered her face with her hands.
Riccabocca, the wiliest and most relentless of men in his maxims,
melted into absolute uxorial imbecility at the sight of that mute
distress. He put his arm round his wife's waist, with genuine
affection, and without a single proverb at his heart--"_Carissima_,
do not grieve so; we shall be back soon, and travelling is
expensive; rolling stones gather no moss, and there is so much to
see to at home."
Mrs Riccabocca gently escaped from her husband's arms. She withdrew
her hands from her face, and brushed away the tears that stood in
her eyes.
"Alphonso," she said touchingly, "hear me! What you think good, that
shall ever be good to me. But do not think that I grieve solely
because of our parting. No; I grieve to think that, despite all
these years in which I have been the partner of your hearth and
slept on your breast--all these years in which I have had no thought
but, however humbly, to do my duty to you and yours, and could have
wished that you had read my heart, and seen there but yourself and
your child--I grieve to think that you still deem me as unworthy
your trust as when you stood by my side at the altar."
"Trust!" repeated Riccabocca, startled and conscience-stricken;
"why do you say 'trust?' In what have I distrusted you? I am sure,"
he continued, with the artful volubility of guilt, "that I never
doubted your fidelity--hook-nosed, long-visaged foreigner though
I be; never pryed into your letters; never inquired into your
solitary walks; never heeded your flirtations with that good-looking
Parson Dale; never kept the money; and never looked into the
account-books!" Mrs Riccabocca refused even a smile of contempt at
these revolting evasions; nay, she seemed scarcely to hear them.
"Can you think," she resumed, pressing her hand on her heart to
still its struggles for relief in sobs--"can you think that I could
have watched, and thought, and tasked my poor mind so constantly,
to conjecture what might best soothe or please you, and not seen,
long since, that you have secrets known to your daughter--your
servant--not to me? Fear not--the secrets cannot be evil, or you
would not tell them to your innocent child. Besides, do I not know
your nature? and do I not love you because I know it?--it is for
something connected with these secrets that you leave your home. You
think that I should be incautious--imprudent. You will not take me
with you. Be it so. I go to prepare for your departure. Forgive me
if I have displeased you, husband."
Mrs Riccabocca turned away; but a soft hand touched the Italian's
arm. "O father, can you resist this? Trust her!--trust her! I am a
woman like her! I answer for her woman's faith. Be yourself--ever
nobler than all others, my own father."
"_Diavolo!_ Never one door shuts but another opens," groaned
Riccabocca. "Are you a fool, child? Don't you see that it was for
your sake only I feared--and would be cautious?"
"For mine! O then, do not make me deem myself mean, and the cause of
meanness. For mine! Am I not your daughter--the descendant of men
who never feared?"
Violante looked sublime while she spoke; and as she ended she led
her father gently on towards the door, which his wife had now gained.
"Jemima--wife mine!--pardon, pardon," cried the Italian, whose heart
had been yearning to repay such tenderness and devotion,--"come back
to my breast--it has been long closed--it shall be open to you now
and for ever."
In another moment, the wife was in her right place--on her
husband's bosom; and Violante, beautiful peace-maker, stood smiling
a while at both, and then lifted her eyes gratefully to heaven, and
stole away.
CHAPTER XIII.
On Randal's return to town, he heard mixed and contradictory rumours
in the streets, and at the clubs of the probable downfall of the
Government at the approaching session of Parliament. These rumours
had sprung up suddenly, as if in an hour. True that, for some time,
the sagacious had shaken their heads and said, "Ministers could
not last." True that certain changes in policy, a year or two
before, had divided the party on which the Government depended, and
strengthened that which opposed it. But still its tenure in office
had been so long, and there seemed so little power in the Opposition
to form a cabinet of names familiar to official ears, that the
general public had anticipated, at most, a few partial changes.
Rumour now went far beyond this. Randal, whose whole prospects at
present were but reflections from the greatness of his patron, was
alarmed. He sought Egerton, but the minister was impenetrable, and
seemed calm, confident, and imperturbed. Somewhat relieved, Randal
then set himself to work to find a safe home for Riccabocca; for the
greater need to succeed in obtaining fortune there, if he failed in
getting it through Egerton. He found a quiet house, detached and
secluded, in the neighbourhood of Norwood. No vicinity more secure
from espionage and remark. He wrote to Riccabocca, and communicated
the address, adding fresh assurances of his own power to be of
use. The next morning he was seated in his office, thinking very
little of the details, that he mastered, however, with mechanical
precision, when the minister who presided over that department of
the public service sent for him into his private room, and begged
him to take a letter to Egerton, with whom he wished to consult
relative to a very important point to be decided in the Cabinet
that day. "I want you to take it," said the minister smiling, (the
minister was a frank, homely man,) "because you are in Mr Egerton's
confidence, and he may give you some verbal message besides a
written reply. Egerton is often over cautious and brief in the
_litera scripta_."
Randal went first to Egerton's neighbouring office--he had not been
there that day. He then took a cabriolet and drove to Grosvenor
Square. A quiet-looking chariot was at the door. Mr Egerton was at
home; but the servant said, "Dr F. is with him, sir; and perhaps he
may not like to be disturbed."
"What, is your master ill?"
"Not that I know of, sir. He never says he is ill. But he has looked
poorly the last day or two."
Randal hesitated a moment; but his commission might be important,
and Egerton was a man who so held the maxim, that health and all
else must give way to business, that he resolved to enter; and,
unannounced, and unceremoniously, as was his wont, he opened the
door of the library. He started as he did so. Audley Egerton was
leaning back on the sofa, and the doctor, on his knees before him,
was applying the stethoscope to his breast. Egerton's eyes were
partially closed as the door opened. But at the noise he sprang
up, nearly oversetting the doctor. "Who's that?--How dare you!" he
exclaimed, in a voice of great anger. Then recognising Randal, he
changed colour, bit his lip, and muttered drily, "I beg pardon for
my abruptness; what do you want, Mr Leslie?"
"This letter from Lord ----; I was told to deliver it immediately
into your own hands; I beg pardon--"
"There is no cause," said Egerton, coldly. "I have had a slight
attack of bronchitis; and as Parliament meets so soon, I must take
advice from my doctor, if I would be heard by the reporters. Lay the
letter on the table, and be kind enough to wait for my reply."
Randal withdrew. He had never seen a physician in that house before,
and it seemed surprising that Egerton should even take a medical
opinion upon a slight attack. While waiting in the ante-room
there was a knock at the street door, and presently a gentleman,
exceedingly well dressed, was shown in, and honoured Randal with
an easy and half familiar bow. Randal remembered to have met this
personage at dinner, and at the house of a young nobleman of high
fashion, but had not been introduced to him, and did not even know
him by name. The visitor was better informed.
"Our friend Egerton is busy, I hear, Mr Leslie," said he, arranging
the camelia in his button hole.
"Our friend Egerton!" It must be a very great man to say, "Our
friend Egerton."
"He will not be engaged long, I dare say," returned Randal, glancing
his shrewd inquiring eye over the stranger's person.
"I trust not; my time is almost as precious as his own. I was
not so fortunate as to be presented to you when we met at Lord
Spendquick's. Good fellow, Spendquick; and decidedly clever."
Lord Spendquick was usually esteemed a gentleman without three ideas.
Randal smiled.
In the meanwhile the visitor had taken out a card from an embossed
morocco case, and now presented it to Randal, who read thereon,
"Baron Levy, No. --, Bruton St."
The name was not unknown to Randal. It was a name too often on the
lips of men of fashion not to have reached the ears of an _habitué_
of good society.
Mr Levy had been a solicitor by profession. He had of late years
relinquished his ostensible calling; and not long since, in
consequence of some services towards the negotiation of a loan, had
been created a baron by one of the German kings. The wealth of Mr
Levy was said to be only equalled by his good nature to all who were
in want of a temporary loan, and with sound expectations of repaying
it some day or other.
You seldom saw a finer-looking man than Baron Levy--about the
same age as Egerton, but looking younger: so well preserved--such
magnificent black whiskers--such superb teeth! Despite his name and
his dark complexion, he did not, however, resemble a Jew--at least
externally; and, in fact, he was not a Jew on the father's side,
but the natural son of a rich English _grand seigneur_, by a Hebrew
lady of distinction--in the opera. After his birth, this lady had
married a German trader of her own persuasion, and her husband had
been prevailed upon, for the convenience of all parties, to adopt
his wife's son, and accord to him his own Hebrew name. Mr Levy
senior was soon left a widower, and then the real father, though
never actually owning the boy, had shown him great attention--had
him frequently at his house--initiated him betimes into his own
high-born society, for which the boy showed great taste. But when my
Lord died, and left but a moderate legacy to the younger Levy, who
was then about eighteen, that ambiguous person was articled to an
attorney by his putative sire, who shortly afterwards returned to
his native land, and was buried at Prague, where his tombstone may
yet be seen. Young Levy, however, continued to do very well without
him. His real birth was generally known, and rather advantageous
to him in a social point of view. His legacy enabled him to become
a partner where he had been a clerk, and his practice became great
amongst the fashionable classes of society. Indeed he was so useful,
so pleasant, so much a man of the world, that he grew intimate with
his clients--chiefly young men of rank; was on good terms with both
Jew and Christian; and being neither one nor the other, resembled
(to use Sheridan's incomparable simile) the blank page between the
Old and the New Testament.
Vulgar, some might call Mr Levy, from his assurance, but it was not
the vulgarity of a man accustomed to low and coarse society--rather
the _mauvais ton_ of a person not sure of his own position, but
who has resolved to swagger into the best one he can get. When it
is remembered that he had made his way in the world, and gleaned
together an immense fortune, it is needless to add that he was as
sharp as a needle, and as hard as a flint. No man had had more
friends, and no man had stuck by them more firmly--as long as there
was a pound in their pockets!
Something of this character had Randal heard of the Baron, and he
now gazed, first at his card, and then at him, with--admiration.
"I met a friend of yours at Borrowwell's the other day," resumed the
Baron--"Young Hazeldean. Careful fellow--quite a man of the world."
As this was the last praise poor Frank deserved, Randal again smiled.
The Baron went on--"I hear, Mr Leslie, that you have much influence
over this same Hazeldean. His affairs are in a sad state. I should
be very happy to be of use to him, as a relation of my friend
Egerton's; but he understands business so well that he despises my
advice."
"I am sure you do him injustice."
"Injustice! I honour his caution. I say to every man, 'Don't come to
me--I can get you money on much easier terms than any one else;' and
what's the result? You come so often that you ruin yourself; whereas
a regular usurer without conscience frightens you. 'Cent per cent,'
you say; 'oh, I must pull in.' If you have influence over your
friend, tell him to stick to his bill-brokers, and have nothing to
do with Baron Levy."
Here the minister's bell rung, and Randal, looking through the
window, saw Dr F. walking to his carriage, which had made way for
Baron Levy's splendid cabriolet--a cabriolet in the most perfect
taste--Baron's coronet on the dark brown panels--horse black, with
such action!--harness just relieved with plating. The servant now
entered, and requested Randal to step in; and addressing the Baron,
assured him that he would not be detained a minute.
"Leslie," said the minister, sealing a note, "take this back to Lord
----, and say that I shall be with him in an hour."
"No other message?--he seemed to expect one."
"I dare say he did. Well, my letter is official, my message is not;
beg him to see Mr ---- before we meet--he will understand--all rests
upon that interview."
Egerton then, extending the letter, resumed gravely, "Of course you
will not mention to any one that Dr F. was with me: the health of
public men is not to be suspected. Hum--were you in your own room or
the ante-room?"
"The ante-room, sir."
Egerton's brow contracted slightly. "And Mr Levy was there, eh?"
"Yes--the Baron."
"Baron! true. Come to plague me about the Mexican loan, I suppose. I
will keep you no longer."
Randal, much meditating, left the house, and re-entered his hack
cab. The Baron was admitted to the statesman's presence.
CHAPTER XIV.
Egerton had thrown himself at full length on the sofa, a position
exceedingly rare with him; and about his whole air and manner, as
Levy entered, there was something singularly different from that
stateliness of port common to the austere legislator. The very tone
of his voice was different. It was as if the statesman--the man of
business--had vanished; it was rather the man of fashion and the
idler, who, nodding languidly to his visitor, said, "Levy, what
money can I have for a year?"
"The estate will bear very little more. My dear fellow, that last
election was the very devil. You cannot go on thus much longer."
"My dear fellow!" Baron Levy hailed Audley Egerton as "my dear
fellow." And Audley Egerton, perhaps, saw nothing strange in the
words, though his lip curled.
"I shall not want to go on thus much longer," answered Egerton, as
the curl on his lip changed to a gloomy smile. "The estate must,
meanwhile, bear £5000 more."
"A hard pull on it. You had really better sell."
"I cannot afford to sell at present. I cannot afford men to say,
'Audley Egerton is done up--his property is for sale.'"
"It is very sad when one thinks what a rich man you have been--and
may be yet!"
"Be yet! How?"
Baron Levy glanced towards the thick mahogany doors--thick and
impervious, as should be the doors of statesmen. "Why, you know
that, with three words from you, I could produce an effect upon the
stocks of three nations, that might give as each a hundred thousand
pounds. We would go shares."
"Levy," said Egerton coldly, though a deep blush overspread his
face, "you are a scoundrel; that is your look-out. I interfere with
no man's tastes and conscience. I don't intend to be a scoundrel
myself. I have told you that long ago."
The Baron laughed, without evincing the least displeasure.
"Well," said he, "you are neither wise nor complimentary, but you
shall have the money. But yet, would it not be better," added Levy,
with emphasis, "to borrow it, without interest, of your friend
L'Estrange?"
Egerton started as if stung.
"You mean to taunt me, sir!" he exclaimed, passionately. "I accept
pecuniary favours from Lord L'Estrange! I!"
"Tut, my dear Egerton, I dare say my Lord would not think so ill now
of that little act in your life which--"
"Hold!" exclaimed Egerton, writhing. "Hold!"
He stopped, and paced the room, muttering in broken sentences, "To
blush before this man! Chastisement, chastisement!"
Levy gazed on him with hard and sinister eyes. The minister turned
abruptly.
"Look you, Levy," said he, with forced composure--"you hate me--why,
I know not. I have never injured you--never avenged the inexpiable
wrong you did me."
"Wrong!--you a man of the world! Wrong! Call it so if you will,
then," he added shrinkingly, for Audley's brow grew terrible. "But
have I not atoned it? Would you ever have lived in this palace, and
ruled this country as one of the most influential of its ministers,
but for my management--my whispers to the wealthy Miss Leslie? Come,
but for me what would you have been--perhaps a beggar?"
"What shall I be now if I live? _Then_ I should not have been a
beggar; poor perhaps in money, but rich--rich in all that now leaves
my life bankrupt. Gold has not thriven with me; how should it? And
this fortune--it has passed for the main part into your hands. Be
patient, you will have it all ere long. But there is one man in the
world who has loved me from a boy, and woe to you if ever he learn
that he has the right to despise me!"
"Egerton, my good fellow," said Levy, with great composure, "you
need not threaten me, for what interest can I possibly have in
tale-telling to Lord L'Estrange? As to hating you--pooh! You snub me
in private, you cut me in public, you refuse to come to my dinners,
you'll not ask me to your own; still, there is no man I like better,
nor would more willingly serve. When do you want the £5000?"
"Perhaps in one month, perhaps not for three or four. Let it be
ready when required."
"Enough; depend on it. Have you any other commands?"
"None."
"I will take my leave, then. By the by, what do you suppose the
Hazeldean rental is worth--net?"
"I don't know, nor care. You have no designs upon _that_, too?"
"Well, I like keeping up family connections. Mr Frank seems a
liberal young gentleman."
Before Egerton could answer, the Baron had glided to the door, and,
nodding pleasantly, vanished with that nod.
Egerton remained, standing on his solitary hearth. A drear, single
man's room it was, from wall to wall, despite its fretted ceilings
and official pomp of Bramah escritoires and red boxes. Drear and
cheerless--no trace of woman's habitation--no vestige of intruding,
happy children. There stood the austere man alone. And then with a
deep sigh he muttered, "Thank heaven, not for long--it will not last
long."
Repeating those words, he mechanically locked up his papers, and
pressed his hand to his heart for an instant, as if a spasm had shot
through it.
"So--I must shun all emotion!" said he, shaking his head gently.
In five minutes more, Audley Egerton was in the streets, his mien
erect, and his step firm as ever.
"That man is made of bronze," said a leader of the Opposition to a
friend as they rode past the minister. "What would I give for his
nerves!"
JOHNSTON'S NOTES ON NORTH AMERICA.
_Notes on North America, Agricultural, Social, and Economical._ By
JAMES F. W. JOHNSTON, M.A., F.R.SS.L. and E., &c. Two Vols. post
8vo. William Blackwood & Sons.
Professor Johnston had three objects in view in his visit to the
New World. His high reputation as an agricultural chemist had
induced the Agricultural Society of New York to request him to give
a course of lectures at Albany upon the connection of chemical and
geological science with that of the cultivation of land. He had also
been commissioned by the Government of New Brunswick to examine
and report on the agricultural capabilities of that province. And
besides these public duties, he was impelled by a strong desire to
study the actual position of the art of husbandry in the fertile
regions of the West, and the influence which its progress is likely
to exert upon British agriculture.
Our shrewd brother Jonathan, however brilliant his achievements have
been in other arts, has not hitherto earned any great reputation
as a scientific farmer. Nature has been so bountiful to him,
that, with "fresh fields and pastures new" ever before him, he
has hitherto had no need to resort to the toilsome processes and
anxious expedients--"_curis acuens mortalia corda_"--of our Old
World systems of agriculture. On the newer lands of the Union, at
least, the rotations followed, the waste of manures, and the general
contempt of all method and economy, are such as would break the
heart of a Haddingtonshire "grieve," and in a couple of seasons
convert his trim acres into a howling wilderness. What would our
respected friend Mr Caird say to a course of cropping like the
following, which, though given by Professor Johnston as a specimen
of New Brunswick farming, is the usual method followed on most of
the new soils of North America?--
"He cuts down the wood and burns it, then takes a crop of
potatoes, followed by one of wheat, with grass seeds. _Nine
successive crops of hay follow in as many years_; after which
the stumps are taken up, the land is ploughed, a crop of wheat
is taken; it is then manured for the first time, or limed, and
laid down again for a similar succession of crops of hay. This
treatment is hard enough; but the unskilful man, after burning
and spreading the ashes, takes two or three more crops of grain,
leaves it to sow itself with grass, then cuts hay as long as
it bears a crop which is worth cutting--after all which he
either stumps and ploughs it, or leaves it to run again into the
wilderness state."--(_Johnston_, vol. i. p. 104.)
Such a system seems, at first sight, to argue a barbarous ignorance
of the very first elements of agriculture; and yet, as Professor
Johnston remarks, "we English farmers and teachers of agricultural
science, with all our skill, should probably, in the same
circumstances, do just the same, so long as land was plenty, labour
scarce and dear, and markets few and distant." Let no one suppose
that our wide-awake kinsman does not know perfectly well what he is
about. His apparently rude agricultural practice is regulated by a
maxim which some of our _Mechists_ at home would do well to bear in
mind--that high farming is bad farming if it is not remunerative.
He knows that to manure his land would be to insure the lodging
and destruction of his crops, and he therefore leaves his straw
to wither in the fields, and lives on in blessed ignorance of the
virtues and cost of guano. To plough deep furrows in a virgin soil,
saturated with organic matter, would be an idle waste of labour;
and the primitive Triptolemus of Michigan scatters the seed upon
the surface--or, raising a little mould on the point of a hoe,
drops in a few grains of maize, covers them over, and heeds them
no more till the golden pyramids are ripe for the knife. The first
three crops, thus easily obtained, generally repay to the settler
in the wilderness the expense of felling the timber, burning, and
cultivating. If he then abandon it, he is at least no loser; but
for eight or ten years the soil will still continue to produce crops
of natural hay; and then, having extracted from it all that its
spontaneous fertility will yield, he sells his possession for what
it may bring, and moves off westward to repeat the same exhaustive
process on a fresh portion of the forest, leaving to his successor
the task of reinvigorating the severely tested powers of the soil by
rest and restoratives.
This locust-like progress of the American settler--ever on the move
to new lands, and leaving comparative barrenness in his track--must
evidently place the case of America beyond the sphere of those
ordinary laws of political economy which are applicable in European
countries; and Professor Johnston seems to consider the fact of the
incessant exhaustion and abandonment of lands as the chief key to
a right understanding of the peculiar economical position of the
United States. The owner of land in the older and more populous
States, who has not learnt to apply a restorative system of culture,
derives little benefit from the comparative advantage of situation,
while the inhabitants of the towns and villages around him are fed
with the surplus spontaneous produce of the far off clearings in
Ohio or Missouri. But these in their turn become worn out--and as
cultivation travels on westward, the chief centres of agricultural
production are gradually receding farther and farther from the
chief centres of population and consumption; and this increasing
distance, and consequent cost of transport, is every year enhancing
the price of grain in the busy and crowded marts of the West--ever
filling up with the incessant stream of immigration from Europe.
Such is Mr Johnston's view of the present normal condition of the
Union in regard to the sustenance of her people; and he makes it
the ground-work, as we shall presently see, of certain rather
doubtful inferences, of some importance in their bearing on the
agriculture of this country. One consequence, however, of any
material increase in the price of food in the Eastern States of the
Union is very obvious--the proprietor of land in these districts
will gradually be enabled to apply, with profit to his exhausted
soil, the artificial aids and costlier system of culture followed
in Britain. Already this result is apparent in Professor Johnston's
account of the energetic spirit of agricultural improvement which is
rapidly spreading over most of the New England States. In the keen,
restless, and enterprising New Englander, our Old Country farmers
will undoubtedly find a more formidable competitor, for the honour
of the first place in agricultural advancement, than any they have
yet met on this side of the Atlantic. We have seen this year what
his invention can produce in mechanical contrivances for economising
the labour of the field; and, that he is not indifferent to the
aids which science can afford him, is sufficiently proved by the
occasion of that visit to America of which Professor Johnston has
here given so pleasant and instructive a record. The invitation was
not more creditable to the character of the Professor, than to the
discernment of the zealous and patriotic men who thus showed how
correctly they apprehend the true method of improving their fine
country. His engagement was fulfilled during the sitting of the
State Legislature at Albany in January 1850, when the hall of the
Assembly was given up to him as a lecture-room; the leading members
of the Assembly and of the State Agricultural Society were among
his auditors, and the greatest public interest was evinced in the
important subjects of his prelections.
It is apparent, from many passages of the _Notes_, that the author
has listened too confidingly to the flattering tale--the "_canor
mulcendas natus ad aures_" of the syren of Free Trade. He seems to
be gifted with a strong natural faith, and a patriotic confidence
in what British enterprise, and especially British agriculture, can
achieve in the way of surmounting difficulties. It is not perhaps
to be wondered at that one, whose professional pursuits naturally
lead him to place a high value upon the aids which science has in
store for the agriculturist, should encourage the farmer to think
lightly of his present difficulties, and keep up his spirits
with the hope of some paulo-post-future prosperity. It must be
allowed that the farmer, poor fellow, has not wanted abundance of
kind friends to comfort him in his adversity. Generally, however,
their consolations--like those of the sympathetic Mrs Gamp--have
been rather indefinite--vague moralisings upon his calamity, as if
it were some inevitable stroke of Providence, to be bowed to in
silent resignation, and hazy anticipations of good luck awaiting
him. Others, again--who have professed the greatest friendship for
him, and, like the Knight of Netherby, have come down to hearten
up the broken-down man by imparting to him some plan of theirs,
as sheep-pasturage or the like, for setting him on his legs
again--are mentally taking an inventory of his remaining chattels,
and calculating when to send the sheriff's officer. But Professor
Johnston belongs to neither of these classes of comforters. His
opinion, we know, is at least disinterested, and he brings it
before us in the shape of a distinct proposition--viz., that the
wheat-exporting capabilities of the United States are not so great
as have generally been supposed, and that, as they must diminish
rather than increase in future, the prospect of competition with
American produce need cause no alarm to the British farmer.
This opinion, coming from such an authority, claims a deliberate
examination; and the more so that, in the dearth of other
gratulatory topics, it has been eagerly laid hold of by the
_Edinburgh Review_, the _Economist_, and other Free-Trade organs,
and vaunted as a complete proof that protective duties are quite
unnecessary.
The reasons which Professor Johnston assigns for believing that the
_present_ wheat-exporting powers of the United States have been
exaggerated, may be passed over with very little comment. The Board
of Trade returns leave no room for doubt as to the quantity that has
actually reached this country, and it is therefore unnecessary for
us to follow him through his hypothetical estimate of the exportable
grain, grounded on what they _ought_ to have had to spare for us.
We may remark, however, that the data on which his calculations
proceed are far from satisfactory. He shows that all the _wheat_
produced in the United States, as given in the estimates of the
Patent Office, is inadequate to afford the eight bushels which in
England we reckon to be requisite for the annual supply of each
inhabitant--the population of the Union being about twenty-one
millions, and the produce of wheat one hundred and twenty-seven
millions of bushels. He does not overlook altogether the fact that
wheat is not in America, as it is with us, almost the sole cereal
food of the people; and he admits that a considerable allowance must
be made for the consumption of Indian corn instead of wheat. But how
much?--That is the question. The compilers of the State Papers at
Washington estimate that Indian corn, buckwheat, and other grain,
form so large a proportion of the food of the people, that they
require only _three_ bushels of wheat per head; and no doubt they
have good grounds for this calculation. Professor Johnston, however,
without indicating any reason whatever for his assumption, has set
down the consumption of each individual at _five_ bushels per annum;
and thus, by a stroke of his pen, he reduces the average exportable
surplus of the Union to _only_ three millions of quarters.
As to what may be expected in future--Professor Johnston anticipates
the gradual diminution of the supply, from the circumstance, already
adverted to, of the progressive exhaustion of the newer lands of the
Union, and the rapid increase of population in the old. If several
of the Western States, he argues, have even already ceased to raise
enough wheat for the supply of their present inhabitants, and are
compelled to draw largely on the produce of the remote States of
Illinois, Ohio, &c.--and if the productive power of these new lands
is annually becoming less, the virgin soils more distant, and the
transport of subsistence more difficult--if this is the state of
matters now, what will it be in 1860, when immigration and natural
increase will probably have raised the population of the Union to
some thirty-four millions? "It is very safe," he concludes, "to
say that in 1860 their wheat-exporting capability will have become
so small as to give our British farmers very little cause for
apprehension." It may perchance occur to these gentlemen, that the
consolation Professor Johnston here offers them is not very cheering
after all; and as long as they see the provision stores in every
market town piled up with the interloping flour barrels of New York,
and their own waggons returning home with their loads unsold, it is
not to be wondered at if they are not greatly exhilarated with the
prospect of what may possibly happen nine years hence. And slender
as is the hope deferred here held out to them, it rests, we fear, on
very questionable grounds.
Professor Johnston's opinion is founded on two suppositions: 1st,
That the exhaustion of the Western States, on which he dwells so
much, is proceeding so rapidly as already to affect the markets
of the eastern districts; 2d, That these older districts will be
unable to increase the quantity of produce raised within their own
boundaries, without so adding to its cost as to prevent its being
profitably exported.
As to the first supposition, it may be conceded that, in the course
of time, a period must necessarily come when the spontaneous
fertility of the newer-settled States will cease to yield grain with
the same bountiful abundance it has done hitherto. But, when may
that period be expected to arrive?--to what extent has exhaustion
already taken place?--and what is the rate of its progress? For a
reply, we have only to point to that vast territory, bounded by the
lakes on the north and Ohio on the south, comprising the five States
of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, and Wisconsin--a territory
eight times the size of England and Wales, with a population about
equal to that of Scotland, containing 180,000,000 acres of arable
land, a large portion of which is of surprising fertility--and
ask whether it is possible to believe that it has already reached
the turning point of its wheat-productiveness,[1] or can by any
possibility do so for centuries to come? Why, the extent of land
advertised in these five States for sale, (which forms only a
fraction of what still remains in the hands of government,) is
greater by a fourth than the whole area of England; and of the
territory that has been actually sold, it is estimated that
five-sevenths is still unreclaimed from the wilderness. Then look
at the means of transport provided for conveying the overflowing
abundance of those rich alluvial regions to the markets of the
East, by way of the two great outlets--the lakes on the north,
and the Mississippi on the south. The cost of such transport is
no doubt considerable; the conveyance of a quarter of wheat from
the centre of Illinois to Boston, by New Orleans, averages about
16s. 6d. But, nevertheless, so trifling is the original cost of
production, that immense quantities of corn do annually reach the
eastern seaboard by this route, a considerable portion of which is
re-shipped to Liverpool, and sold there at prices greatly below its
cost of production in this country. The annexed table[2] shows the
remarkable fact, that, of the whole quantity of grain exported
from the United States in the five years 1842-6, twelve-thirteenths
of the wheat, about one-half of the flour, and a large proportion
of the Indian corn, came from the two ports of New York and
Philadelphia alone. Now, as we know that these large supplies were
not grown within the confines of the Eastern States, and _must_ have
been brought from the westward, the inference is obvious that the
two causes insisted on by Professor Johnston--the distance of the
virgin soils, and the expense of transport--are as yet inoperative;
or at least that they have not prevented the transmission of grain
to the east in such vast quantities, as not only to meet the wants
of all the population of that part of the Union, but to afford an
average surplus for exportation to other countries equivalent to
the annual maintenance of a million and a half of men. We need
only mention one other fact, which seems in itself a sufficient
refutation of the theory Professor Johnston has taken up. The causes
which he thinks are so soon to dry up the supplies now derived
from the West are of no recent or sudden emergence. The process
of exhaustion on the new lands, and the rapid population of the
old, has been going on for many years. If, then, these causes are
so influential as he imagines, their effects should at least be
apparent in a gradual increase of the prices of bread-stuffs in
the Eastern States. Now, no such effect is to be found. On the
contrary, we find that, during the last twenty years, the price of
wheat, as well as of maize, in the chief marts of the east, has been
_steadily diminishing, instead of increasing_. We extract from the
returns published by the Board of Trade the annexed comparison[3]
of the prices of wheat flour at New York, during two periods, from
which it appears that, in the very State where the results of
Professor Johnston's hypothesis ought to have been most manifest,
the experience of twenty years shows a reduction of price instead
of an enhancement, notwithstanding that the latter period in the
comparison embraces the years of the potato failure. An examination
of similar returns from Baltimore and New Orleans establishes the
same fact, namely, that the tendency of prices for twenty years past
is _not upwards, but downwards_--a fact quite irreconcilable with
the supposed rapid exhaustion of the wheat soils of the interior.
[1] The estimated produce of wheat in these five States in the year
1847 was 38,400,000 bushels.
[2] Quantity of bread-stuffs exported from the whole of the United
States, and from the ports of New York and Philadelphia, in the
years 1842-46 inclusive:--
| Wheat | Flour | Indian Corn | Indian Corn
| (bushels.) |(barrels.) | (bushels.) |(Meal barrels.)
|------------+-----------+-------------+---------------
United States, | 2,691,711 | 7,048,356 | 4,764,450 | 1,199,255
|------------+-----------+-------------+---------------
New York, | 1,985,900 | 2,610,944 | 2,443,733 | 242,294
Philadelphia, | 474,788 | 1,055,382 | 677,530 | 565,682
|------------+-----------+-------------+---------------
Total of both ports, | 2,460,688 | 3,666,326 | 3,121,263 | 807,976
[3] Comparative statement of the prices, per barrel, of best wheat
flour at New York, (taken from the _Monthly Averages_) in 1829-33,
and 1844-48:--
FIRST PERIOD.
1829, Dr. 6.23
1830, 5.02
1831, 5.84
1832, 5.70
1833, 5.70
----
Average of five years, 5.69
SECOND PERIOD.
1844, Dr. 4.60
1845, 5.00
1846, 5.16
1847, 6.77
1848, 5.83
----
Average of five years, 5.47
It is much to be regretted that Professor Johnston was unable to
extend his tour to these granary States of the West. It would
have been satisfactory to have had from him an estimate of their
capabilities founded on actual survey and personal observation,
instead of indirect inference. We are quite ready to admit, that
many of the accounts of those regions which have reached us,
drawn up to suit the purposes of speculators in land, are of very
dubious authenticity, and, like the stage-coach in which Mr Dickens
travelled to Buffalo, have "a pretty loud smell of varnish." But,
on the other hand, we cannot discredit the official data supplied
by the State papers--without at least stronger grounds than those
inferences from general geological structure which Professor
Johnston has adduced to disprove the alleged fertility of the State
of Michigan. There can, of course, be no more valuable criterion of
the natural agricultural value of a country than is afforded by its
geology--provided the survey be sufficiently extensive and accurate.
But it is difficult to follow those enthusiasts in the science,
whom we occasionally find drawing the most startling deductions
from very narrow data--and prophesying the future history of the
territory, and even the character of its inhabitants, from a glance
at the bowels of the earth, as the Roman augur foretold the fate of
empires from the entrails of his chickens.
We find, for example, a writer of high standing in America
accounting for a remarkable diminution in the amount of _bastardy_
in Pennsylvania, some thirty years ago, by the fact--that the
settlers at that time _had got off the cold clays and on to the
limestone_! A Scottish geologist, with more apparent reason
perhaps, has founded an argument for an extensive emigration of the
Highlanders on the prevalence of the primitive rocks in the north
and west of Scotland. It is only from a complete and systematic
survey that we can venture to predicate anything with certainty of
the future agricultural powers of a country; and, in the absence of
such trustworthy data, we must be content to estimate the future
wheat-productiveness of Michigan, as well as of the other States
we have named along with it, from what we know of their present
fertility, and of the vast extent that is still uncleared.
As to New York and the other old-settled States of the Union, which
we are told do not now produce enough for their own consumption,
are we to take it for granted that they are always to continue
stationary, and to make no effort to keep pace with the growing
demands of an increasing population? Professor Johnston, we observe
in one passage, has qualified his opinion as to the prospective
dearth of grain by this curious condition--"_Provided no change
takes place in their agricultural system._" But what shadow of a
reason can be given for supposing it will not take place? The area
of New York State is only one-twelfth less than that of England, and
is, at least, no way inferior as to climate or quality of soil. As
far as material means go, it is quite capable of maintaining, under
an improved culture, at least four times its present population of
three millions. The only question is as to the will and ability
of her people to develop these means; and on this point Professor
Johnston's own work is full of multiplied proofs of the zealous and
intelligent spirit of improvement which is extending rapidly all
over the North-Eastern States. We find the central government of the
Confederation occupied in organising the plan of an Agricultural
Bureau on a scale worthy of a great and enlightened nation--a work
that contrasts in a very marked way with the studious neglect which
such subjects meet with from the government of this country.[4] We
find the several State legislatures anxiously encouraging every
species of improvement--that of New York, in particular, devoting
large grants to the support of exhibitions; preparing to found an
Agricultural College; distributing widely and gratuitously the
annual public reports on the state of agriculture; and, finally,
sending to Europe for a celebrated chemist to assist in maturing
their plans, and sitting--senators and great officers of state--at
the feet of a British Gamaliel, laying down the law to them on the
true principles of the all-important science of agriculture. Nor are
the owners of the land asleep. It is a strong indication of their
growing desire for information, that seven or eight agricultural
periodicals are published in the State of New York alone. Professor
Johnston found no less than fifty copies of such papers taken
regularly in a small town in Connecticut of some two thousand
inhabitants; and he had occasion to observe, in his intercourse with
the farmers of New York, their general acquaintance with the geology
of their country, and its relation to the management of their lands.
Their implement-makers, who had already taught us the use of the
horse-rake, the cradle-scythe, and the improved churn, have recently
outstripped us by the invention, or at least the great improvement,
of the reaping-machine, the advantages of which are so appreciated
in the country of its origin that at Chicago 1500 of M'Cormick's
machines were ordered in one year. In short, the proverbial energy,
perseverance, and sagacity that distinguish our Yankee friends,
seem now to be all directed towards effecting a change of system in
the management of land; and the true question is, not whether the
hitherto laggard progress of American agriculture is to be quickened
in future, but whether we shall be able to keep pace with it.
[4] Vol. ii. p. 389.
But then Professor Johnston tells us that improvement is expensive,
and that every process for reviving the dormant powers of the soil,
and preserving their activity, must necessarily be attended with
an addition to the price of the produce, which will thus prevent
its coming into competition with that of England. This view rests
upon a fallacy, which we are sure the author must have drawn from
his reading in political economy, and not from his experience as
an agriculturist. It is an off-shoot from the rent-theory, (the
pestilent root of so much error and confusion,) which, however, we
shall not notice at present, further than by affirming, in direct
contradiction to it, that improvements do _not_ necessarily, nor
generally, involve an increase of price. Even those which require
the greatest outlay--even a complete system of arterial drainage
all over the State of New York, instead of adding to the cost of
wheat, may very probably reduce it, as it has certainly done in
this country. But most of the improvements readily available in
the Eastern States involve scarcely any expenditure at all. The
most obvious and effectual is to save and apply the manure, which
is now wasted or thrown away; and when that proves insufficient,
abundant supplies of mineral manures are easily procurable. On the
exhausted wheat-lands of Virginia, a single dressing of lime or marl
generally doubles the first crop. Deposits of gypsum, and of the
valuable mineral phosphate of lime, seem to be abundant both in New
York and New Jersey. Again, in the former State, where the common
practice is to plough to a depth of _not more than four inches_, the
simple expedient of putting in the plough a few inches deeper would
of itself add one-half to the return of wheat over a very large
district.
On the whole, so far from seeing any reason to anticipate, with
Professor Johnston, a material reduction in the quantity of our
wheat imports from the States, we look rather to see it increased;
and, at all events, we have no hesitation in saying, that to
encourage our English farmers to expect a cessation of competition
from that quarter is to deceive them with very groundless hopes.
We have already dwelt at considerable length on this topic, both
because of the prominent place it occupies in Professor Johnston's
volumes, and of the notice which his speculations upon it have
attracted in this country.
It has been mentioned that a large proportion--probably not less
than one-half--of the cereal food consumed in the States consists
of maize and buckwheat. Mr Johnston always alludes to this fact,
as if the use of these grains were a matter of compulsion--as if
the Americans resorted to them from being unable to afford wheaten
bread. Now, according to the information we have from other sources,
the truth is just the reverse of this. We are told that in the
Eastern and Central States, as well as on the West frontier and
among the slave population, the various preparations of Indian
corn are becoming more relished every year; and that the extension
of its cultivation is to be attributed, not to the failure of the
wheat crops, but to a growing preference for it as an article of
food. In a less degree the use both of oats and buckwheat seems to
be spreading in the States, as well as in our own colonies of New
Brunswick and Canada East; and one can scarcely wonder at the taste
for the latter grain, after reading the appetising descriptions our
author gives of the crisp hot cakes, with their savoury adjuncts
of maple-honey, which so often formed his breakfast during his
wanderings. The general use of these three kinds of grain--maize,
oats, and buckwheat--has somehow come to be considered by political
economists as indicative of a low degree of social advancement.
And yet we know that, in the countries suited to their growth,
a given area of ground cultivated with any of them will return a
greater quantity of nutritious food, at a smaller expense and with
less risk of failure, than if it were cropped with wheat. We are
told that the great objection to them is, that their culture _is
too easy_. Professor Johnston touches upon this notion in some
remarks he makes on the disadvantage of buckwheat as a staple
article of food. The objections to it, he tells us, consist in the
ease with which it can be raised, the rapidity of its growth, and
the small quantity of seed it requires: it induces, he says, like
the potato, an indolent, slovenly, and exhausting culture; and "it
is the prelude of evil, when a kind of food that requires little
exertion to obtain it becomes the staple support of a people."[5]
It may be noticed in passing, that, in point of fact, the results
alleged are at least not universal; for, in regard to this very
grain, we find its cultivation prevalent in some of the best-managed
districts of the hard-working, provident, and intelligent Belgians.
But taking the axiom as it stands, we cannot help suspecting
that there is some fallacy lurking at the bottom of it. Misled
by what we have observed of the Irishman and his potato diet, we
have confounded the _cum hoc_ with the _propter hoc_, and come to
regard an easily-raised food as _the cause_ of that indolence of
which it is only the frequent indication. It were otherwise a most
inexplicable contrariety between the physical and the moral laws
which govern this world, that in every country there should be a
penalty of social wretchedness and degradation attached to the use
of that particular food which its climate and soil are best suited
to produce. Can it be supposed that the blessings of nature are
only a moral snare for us, and that, while she has given to the
American the maize plant--oats to the Scotch Highlander--rice to the
Hindoo--the banana to the inhabitant of Brazil--a regard for their
social well-being requires each of them to renounce these gifts, and
to spend their labour in extorting from the unwilling soil some less
congenial kind of subsistence? Virgil has warned the husbandman--
"Pater ipse colendi
Haud facilem esse viam voluit."
But it were surely a dire aggravation of the difficulties of his
task if his most plentiful harvest were also the most injurious to
his advancement and true happiness. We cannot now, however, examine
the grounds of a doctrine so paradoxical, and have adverted to it
only to remark that it seems destined to meet with a most direct
practical refutation in North America, where we find the habitual
use of what we choose to consider the coarser grains associated
with the highest intelligence and the most rapid development of
social progress. There can be no doubt that the nature of the food
generally used in any nation must exert an important influence
on its prosperity; but it is difficult to understand how that
prosperity should be promoted by the universal use of that variety
which costs most labour. At all events, it is certainly a subject of
very interesting inquiry, in reference to the increasing consumption
among ourselves of wheat--the dearest and most precarious species
of grain, much of it imported from other countries--and its gradual
abandonment in North America, what effect these opposite courses
may have on the future destinies of the two great branches of the
Anglo-Saxon race.
[5] Vol. i. p. 80.
Leaving this as a problem for political economists, let us now
follow him in his visit to the British side of the St Lawrence. His
brief three weeks' survey of the Canadas did not, of course, enable
him to form any very intimate acquaintance with the condition of
these provinces; and he prudently abstains from pronouncing any
judgment upon the vexed topics of Canadian politics. His presence
at the great exhibition, at Kingston, of the Agricultural Society
of Upper Canada, gave him a good opportunity of estimating the
progress that has been made in practical agriculture. The stock,
as well as the implements, there brought forward in competition
for the various premiums, amounting in all to £1000, gave most
satisfactory indications of improvement; while the large attendance,
and the interest taken in the proceedings, sufficiently showed
that the inhabitants of the Upper Province are now awake to the
necessity of agricultural improvement as the main source of their
future prosperity. In a country where eighty per cent of the
whole population are directly engaged in the cultivation of the
soil, the land interest is, or ought to be, predominant. But the
bitter animosity of political parties, and the abortive attempts
of government to soothe and reconcile them, have hitherto stood
much in the way of any combined effort towards the encouragement
of improved cultivation. The art of husbandry is not likely to
thrive in a country where every man is bent on proving himself a
Cincinnatus. Of late, however, public spirit has shown symptoms of
taking a more wholesome direction; and, notwithstanding occasional
ministerial crises and political explosions, which we on this
side the water are sometimes puzzled to understand, all parties
in the province seem now fully aware that the development of the
vast resources of their fertile soil is the only road to permanent
prosperity. The encouragement of local competitions, the provision
for systematic instruction in agriculture in the colleges--which
Professor Johnston tells us is in progress--and the introduction of
elementary lessons in the art as a regular branch of common school
learning, are all steps in the right direction. It is precisely in
such a community as that of Canada that the last-mentioned kind of
instruction is really of essential benefit. From the last census
of Upper Canada, it appears that there are sixty thousand owners
of land in the province, and only ten thousand labourers without
land. The great majority of the boys in the ordinary schools will
become proprietors, and, at the same time, cultivators; and, in such
circumstances, it is of the utmost importance that the youth should
acquire betimes a competent knowledge of the principles on which
his future practice is, or ought to be, founded--such knowledge as
will, at least, enable him to, shake off the traditional prejudices
and slovenly habits which his father may have imported with him from
Harris or the County Kerry.
The querulous and depreciatory tone which our Canadian
fellow-subjects are apt to employ in speaking of their country, and
its prospects, is remarked by Professor Johnston as contrasting
oddly with the unqualified adulation of everything--from the
national constitution to the navy button--which one constantly
hears from his republican neighbour. One consequence of this habit
is, the existence of a prevalent but very mistaken notion that,
in the march of social advancement, Canada has been completely
distanced by the United States. Professor Johnston has been at some
pains to demonstrate, and we think most successfully, that this
impression is entirely erroneous. Indeed, if we only recollect
the history of Canada for the last fifteen years--the disunion of
her own people, and the reckless commercial experiments to which
she has been subjected by the home government, the rapid strides
in improvement--of the Upper Province especially--are almost
marvellous. As a corroboration of what Professor Johnston has said
on the subject, we have thrown together in the subjoined table,
collected from the Government returns, some of the most striking
and decisive evidences of the recent progress of Upper Canada. In
certain particulars, no doubt, she is outstripped by some of those
districts of the States to which from time to time extraordinary
migrations of their unsettled and nomadic population have been
directed. But putting such exceptional cases out of view, the
inhabitants of Canada need fear no comparison with the Union in all
the chief elements of national advancement.
PROGRESS OF UPPER CANADA,--1837-47.
| | |Increase | |Increase
| 1837. | 1842. |per cent.| 1847. |per cent.
|-----------+-----------+---------+-----------+---------
| | | | |
Population, | 396,721 | 486,055 | 22 | 723,332 | 48
Number of cultivated| | | | |
acres assessed for | | | | |
local taxes, | 4,736,268 | 5,548,357 | 17 | 6,477,338 | 16
Number of houses | | | | |
assessed | | | | |
for ditto, | 22,057 | 31,638 | 43 | 42,937 | 35
Value of property | | | | |
assessed, |£4,431,098 |£6,913,341 | 56 |£8,567,001 | 23
Number of carriages | | | | |
kept for pleasure, | 1,627 | 2,188 | 34 | 4,685 | 114
Number of | | | | |
elementary | | | | |
schools, | -- | 927 | -- | 2,464 | 165
Number of scholars | | | | |
in ditto, | -- | 29,961 | -- | 80,461 | 170
Number of cattle, | -- | 504,963 | -- | 565,848 | 12
Number of horses, | -- | 113,675 | -- | 151,389 | 33
Number of sheep, | -- | 575,730 | -- | 833,869 | 45
In looking at the great sources of wealth possessed by these
provinces, our attention is at once arrested by the growing
importance of the St Lawrence as an outlet to the produce, not only
of the Canadas, but of a vast area of the States territory. With the
exception, perhaps, of the Mississippi, no river in the world opens
up so grand a highway for the industry of man as the St Lawrence,
with the chain of vast lakes and innumerable rivers that unite with
it in the two thousand miles of its majestic progress to the ocean.
Never was there an enterprise more worthy of a great nation than
that of surmounting the obstacles to its navigation, and completing
the channels of connection with its tributary waters; and nobly have
the people of Canada executed it. Taking into account the infancy
of their country, and the amount of its population and revenue,
it is not too much to say, with Mr Johnston, that their exertions
to secure water-communication have been greater than those of any
part of the Union, or any country of Europe. The improvements on
the St Lawrence itself, and the canals connected with it, have
already cost the colony two millions and a quarter sterling, in
addition to the expenditure of £800,000 by the home government on
the construction of the Rideau Canal. The results of this liberal
but judicious outlay are already showing themselves, not only by
the rapidly-increasing Canadian traffic on the St Lawrence, but
by its drawing into it, year after year, a larger share of the
commerce of the States. That the influx of trade from the south
must ere long vastly exceed its present amount, is evident from a
consideration of the gigantic projects already completed, or in
course of construction, for effecting an access between the lakes
and the fertile regions of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, &c., already
spoken of, and thus saving the longer and costlier transit by the
Mississippi. One of the Reports of the State of New York thus speaks
of them:--
"Three great canals, (one of them longer than the Erie Canal,)
embracing in their aggregate length about one thousand miles,
are to connect the Ohio with Lake Erie; while another deep and
capacious channel, excavated for nearly thirty miles through
solid rock, unites Lake Michigan with the navigable waters of
the Illinois. In addition to these broad avenues of trade,
they are constructing lines of railroads not less than fifteen
hundred miles in extent, in order to reach with more case and
speed the lakes through which they seek a conveyance to the
seaboard. The circumstance, moreover, is particularly important,
that the public works of each of these great communities
are arranged on a harmonious plan, each having a main line,
supported and enriched by lateral and tributary branches,
thereby bringing the industry of their people into prompt and
profitable action; while the systems themselves are again
united, on a grander scale, with Lake Erie as its common centre."
The various streams of the trade from the interior being thus
collected in the lakes--which form, as it were, the heart of
the system--there are two great channels for its redistribution
and dispersion through the markets of the world. These are the
St Lawrence, and the Erie Canal with the Hudson; and the vital
question as regards the prosperity of Canada is, by which of these
outlets will the concentrated traffic of the lakes find its way to
the ocean? Mr Johnston has devoted considerable attention to this
subject, and assigns two good reasons for believing that the St
Lawrence is destined immensely to increase the share which it has
already secured. In the first place, the American artery is already
surcharged and choked up;--notwithstanding all the efforts that have
been made to expedite the traffic on the Erie Canal, it has been
found wholly inadequate to accommodate the immense trade pouring in
from the west; and, secondly, the route of the St Lawrence, besides
being the more expeditious, is now found to be the cheaper one. In
a document issued by the Executive Council of Upper Canada, it is
mentioned that the Great Ohio Railway Company, having occasion to
import about 11,000 tons of railway iron from England, made special
inquiries as to the relative cost of transport by the St Lawrence
and New York routes, the result of which was the preference of
the former, the saving on the inland transport alone being 11,000
dollars. There seems good reason to expect that a considerable
portion of the Mississippi trade may be diverted into the Canadian
channel; but putting this out of view altogether, it is certain
that the navigation of this glorious river is every year becoming
of greater importance to the United States, as well as to Britain:
let us hope that it is destined ever to bear on its broad breast the
blessings of peace and mutual prosperity to both nations.
After a rapid glance at Lower Canada, Professor Johnston crossed
the St Lawrence, in order to complete the survey of New Brunswick,
which, before leaving England, he had been commissioned to make for
the Government of the colony. We have had no opportunity of seeing
the official Report, in which he has published the detailed results
of his observations; but the valuable information collected in these
volumes has strongly confirmed our previous impression, that the
resources and importance of this fine colony have never yet been
sufficiently appreciated at home. With an area as nearly as possible
equal to that of Scotland, it possesses a much larger surface
available for agriculture. The climate is healthy and invigorating;
it is traversed by numerous navigable rivers; its rocks contain
considerable mineral wealth; and the fisheries on its coasts are
inexhaustible. Imperfectly developed as its resources are, the trade
from the two ports of St John's and St Andrew's alone, exceeds that
of the whole of the three adjoining States of the Union--Maine,
Vermont, and New Hampshire--although its inhabitants do not number
one-sixth of the population of these States. As to the fertility of
the soil, Professor Johnston, by a comparison of authentic returns,
shows that the productive power of the land already cultivated in
the province considerably exceeds the averages of New York, of Ohio,
and of Upper Canada--countries which have hitherto been considered
more favoured both in soil and climate. By classifying the soils in
the several districts, he has estimated that the available land,
after deducting a reserve for fuel, is capable of maintaining in
abundance a population of 4,200,000; while its present number little
exceeds 200,000. In all the course of his travels, he met with but
a few rare instances in which the agricultural settlers did not
express their contentment with their circumstances; and although it
seems still questionable whether farming on a large scale, by the
employment of hired labour, can be made remunerative, the universal
opinion of the experienced persons he consulted testified that, with
ordinary prudence and industry, the poorest settler, who confines
his attention to the clearing and cultivation of land, is sure of
attaining a comfortable independence.
The question naturally occurs--How is it that, with all these
natural advantages and encouragements to colonisation, and with its
proximity to our shores, so very small a proportion--not more than
one in sixty or seventy of the emigrants from Great Britain--make
New Brunswick their destination? Professor Johnston, while he
maintains that, taking population into account, New Brunswick is in
this respect no worse off than Canada, adverts to several causes
of a special nature which may have retarded its settlement. But
the truth is, that the question above started leads us directly to
another of far greater compass and importance--What is the reason
that all our colonies taken together absorb so small a proportion of
our emigrants compared with the United States? What is the nature
of the inducements that annually impel so large a number of our
countrymen to forfeit the character of British subjects, and prefer
a domicile among those who are aliens in laws, interests, and system
of government?
We hardly know how to venture upon anything connected with the
ominous subject of emigration, at a moment when the crowds leaving
our shores, at the rate of nearly a thousand every day, are such
as to startle the most apathetic observer, and shake the faith of
the most dogmatic economist in the truth of his speculations. This
is not the place to inquire what strangely compulsive cause it may
be that has all at once swelled the ordinary stream of emigration
into a headlong torrent.[6] Mayhap it is neither distant, nor
doubtful, nor unforetold. But whatever it may be, there stands the
fact--which we can neither undo, nor, for aught that can be seen at
present, prevent its annual recurrence in future, or say how and
when the waves are to be stayed. "When the Exe runs up the streets
of Tiverton," says a certain noble prophet--whose vaticinations,
however, have not been very felicitous hitherto--"then, and not till
then, may we expect to see the reversal of the free-import system;"
and then, and not till then, we take leave to add, may we hope to
see the ebbing of that tide of British capital and British strength
which is now flowing strongly and steadily into the bay of New York.
[6] Total number of registered emigrants for the twenty-one years from 1825
to 1845 inclusive 1,349,476----Average, 64,260
Do. do. _for the five years_ 1846 _to_ 1850 inclusive,
1,216,557----Average, 243,311
PROPORTION OF BRITISH EMIGRATION TO THE COLONIES AND TO THE UNITED
STATES, 1846-50 INCLUSIVE.
| | | | | | | Quarter |
| Destination. | 1846. | 1847. | 1848. | 1849. | 1850. | ending Sept |
| | | | | | | 30, 1851. |
| +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------------+
| | | | | | | |
| United States | 45.1 | 31.8 | 57.3 | 73.3 | 79.4 | 80.5 |
| British America | 33.4 | 42.5 | 12.5 | 13.9 | 11.7 | 10.8 |
| All other places | 21.5 | 25.7 | 30.2 | 12.8 | 8.9 | 8.7 |
| +-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------------+
| Total | 100. | 100. | 100. | 100. | 100. | 100. |
The accompanying abstract, from the returns of the Emigration
Commissioners, exhibits two most remarkable results:--1st, The
proportion of emigration to British America and other destinations
is gradually falling off; 2d, That to the United States is steadily
and rapidly increasing, so that they now receive four out of every
five emigrants who leave our shores. Is this distribution to be
regarded as a matter of indifference in a political point of view?
Are we to understand that it is no concern to us who remain behind,
whether the labour and capital of those who leave us shall go to
fill up the vacuum of our own colonial empire, or to carry new
accessions of wealth and power to those in whose prosperity (to put
the matter mildly) we have only a secondary interest? This question
the consistent Free-Trader is bound to answer unhesitatingly in
the affirmative. In his cosmopolitan philosophy, the interests of
one country are no more to be considered than those of any other.
The theory of absolute freedom of exchange expunges altogether the
idea of nationalism, and regards man, not as a member of this or
that community, but as the denizen of a great universal republic.
Local and historical associations--ties of kindred and of birth--are
only so many obstructions in the way of human progress; and an
Englishman is nothing more than the subject of certain animal
wants and instincts, the gratification of which he must be left to
seek wherever he finds the materials most abundant. Such is Free
Trade in its true scope and ultimate tendency. What shall be said,
then, of the consistency or sincerity of those pseudo-apostles
of the doctrine, who, having been the most active in promoting
that nibbling and piecemeal legislation which they choose to call
freedom of trade--who have been loudest in proclaiming a universal
commercial fraternity, and in denouncing colonies as a wasteful
encumbrance--are now the first to take alarm at the natural and
inevitable result of their own measures, and to call out for a
better regulation of emigration; in other words, for legislative
interference with the free action of those of our countrymen who,
being thrust out of employment in the land of their birth, are so
literally following out the great maxim of buying in the cheapest
market and selling in the dearest?
The text is a tempting one, but we must refrain from wandering
further from the subject with which we started--namely, the
inducements which lead so many of our emigrants to select the United
States as their future home. One of the prevalent causes has been
very well stated by Professor Johnston--that which we may call the
capillary attraction of former emigration:--
"A letter from a connection or acquaintance determines the
choice of a place to go to, and, without further inquiry,
the emigrant starts. Thus for a while, emigration to a given
point, once begun, goes on progressively by a sort of innate
force. Those who go before urge those who follow by hasty and
inaccurate representations; so that, the more numerous the
settlers from a particular district, the more numerous also the
invitations for others to follow, till the fever of emigration
subsides. In other words, in proportion as the home-born
settlers in one of these countries increases, will the number of
home-born emigrants to that country increase--_but for a time
only, if the place have real disadvantages_."--(Vol. ii, p. 204.)
It is vain to shut our eyes to the fact that the government of the
United States offers to the emigrant many real, substantial, and
peculiar advantages. The first and most important aid that can be
given to the intending settler is a complete and accurate survey of
the country; and this has been accomplished by the States government
at great expense, but in so perfect a manner that a purchaser has no
difficulty in at once pointing out, on the official plan, any lot
he may have selected in the most remote corner of the wilderness.
The next point of importance to him is simplicity of conveyance and
security of title; and so effectual and satisfactory is the American
system that litigation in original land-titles is almost unknown.
Then as to the weighty consideration of price--which perhaps ought
to have been first mentioned--the uniform and very low rate in the
States of 5s. 3d. an acre saves infinite trouble, disputation,
and jealousy. Such are some of the temptations held out to the
intending purchaser of land; and it must be confessed that, in each
particular, they present a striking contrast to the difficulties
he has to meet in some of the British colonies--the arbitrary
changes of system, the vexatious delays, and the comparatively
exorbitant charges--which must appear to the settler as if they had
been contrived on purpose to discourage him. When we add to these
the prospects of ready employment in the States held out to other
classes of emigrants, and the stringent laws lately made for their
protection, both on the passage and on their arrival, we cannot be
at a loss to see that the direction which emigration has lately
taken is not the result of chance or caprice, but of a deliberate
comparison of advantages, which the most ignorant can easily
understand and appreciate.
The main object of Professor Johnston's visit being of a scientific
character, his remarks on the general topics of manners and politics
occur only incidentally; but it is impossible for any traveller
to keep clear of such subjects in writing of a country, the
peculiarities of which are pressed upon his notice at every hour of
the day, and at every corner of the street. Rabelais tells us of a
certain island, explored by the mighty Pantagruel, whose inhabitants
lived wholly upon _wind_--that is, being interpreted, on flattery;
and the visitor of the States who finds himself, as it were, pinned
to the wall, and compelled to yield up his admiration at discretion,
may be sometimes tempted to believe that he has made a similar
discovery, and that the flatulent diet of compliment is somehow
congenial to an American appetite. Professor Johnston seems to have
had his candour or his eulogistic powers sometimes severely tested,
if we may guess from his quiet hint, that "it is unpleasant to a
stranger to be always called on to admire and praise what he sees
in a foreign country; and it is a part of the perversity of human
nature to withhold, upon urgent request, what, if unasked, would
have been freely and spontaneously given." He is of course prepared
for the reception which any work, aiming at mere impartiality,
is sure to meet with among Transatlantic critics; and it will,
therefore, not surprise him to find that the above peccant sentence
has been already pounced upon by them as proving _malice prepense_,
and as affording a significant key to all his observations on the
institutions of the States.
The following extract explains the origin of two of those euphonious
party designations in which our neighbours delight, and which may
perchance have puzzled some of our readers:--
"In England, to be a _democrat_ still implies a position at
the very front of the movement party, and a desire to hasten
forward political changes, irrespective of season or expediency.
But among the American democrats there is a Conservative and
a Radical party. The former, who desire to restrain 'the
amazing violence of the popular spirit,' are nicknamed by their
democratic adversaries the '_Old Hunkers_;' the latter, who
profess to have in their hearts 'sworn eternal hostility against
every form of tyranny over the mind of man,' are stigmatised as
'_Barnburners_.' The _New York Tribune_, in reference to the
origin of the names themselves, says that the name 'Hunkers'
was intended to indicate that those on whom it was conferred
had an appetite for a large 'hunk' of the spoils; though we
never could discover that they were peculiar in _that_. On the
other hand, the 'Barnburners' were so named in allusion to
the story of an old Dutchman who relieved himself of rats by
burning his barns, which they infested, just like exterminating
all banks and corporations, to root out the abuses connected
therewith."--(Vol. i. p. 218.)
Equally mysterious is the term "log-rolling," though the thing
itself is not altogether unknown in legislatures nearer home.
"When the trees are felled and trimmed, rolling the logs to the
rivers or streams down which they are to be floated, as soon as
the spring freshets set in, remains to be done. This being the
hardest work of all, the men of several camps will unite, giving
their conjoined strength to the first party on Monday, to the
second on Tuesday, and so on. A like system in parliamentary
matters is called 'log-rolling.' You and your friends help me
in my railroad bill, and I and my friends help you with your
bank charter; or sometimes the Whigs and Democrats, when nearly
balanced, will get up a party log-rolling, agreeing that the
one shall be allowed to carry through a certain measure without
much opposition, provided a similar concession is granted to the
other."--(Vol. ii. p. 297.)
The _Notes_ convey to us the strong impression that Professor
Johnston's visit to the West has operated as a wholesome corrective
of a certain tendency in his political opinions. He seems to have
left home with a warm admiration of American institutions generally,
which, like Slender's love, "it pleased heaven to diminish on
further acquaintance." At all events, he could not avoid being
struck with some of the many perplexities and anomalies that
result from referring everything directly to the popular voice.
In England, whatever dissensions may arise about the enactment of
law, all are agreed in a sensitive jealousy as to the purity of its
administration. The most rampant Radical among us looks upon justice
as far too sacred a thing to be hazarded in the rude chance-medley
of popular election. The keenest partisan feels that, in the lofty
and unswerving integrity of our judges, he possesses a substantial
security and blessing, for the loss of which no place, power, or
parliamentary triumph, could compensate. To one accustomed to regard
with veneration the dignified independence of the judicial office
in Great Britain, nothing will appear more harshly repugnant to
sound policy than the system, lately introduced into some of the New
England States, of appointing all judges, high and low, by the votes
of the electors of the district over which they are to preside, and
for a limited term of years.
"It was deservedly considered a great triumph when the
appointment of judges for life liberated the English bench from
the influence of the Crown, and when public opinion became
strong enough to enforce the selection of the most learned
in the law for the highest judicial offices. Now, passing
over the objection which some will strongly urge, that the
popular electors are not the best judges of the qualifications
of those who aspire to the bench, and that the most popular
legal demagogue may expect to obtain from them the highest
legal appointment, it may be reasonably asked whether popular
influence in seasons of excitement, and on questions of great
moment, may not bias the minds of judges whose appointment is in
the hands of the people?--whether the fear of a coming election
may not deter them from unpopular decisions? The influence of a
popular majority may here as profoundly pollute the fountains
of justice as the influence of the Crown ever did among us at
home."--(Vol. i. p. 150.)
At first sight, it seems quite unaccountable that an enlightened
people should ever have devised or sanctioned a system which so
obviously exposes the bench to the risk of corruption; and one is
at a loss to reconcile a reverence for the law with an ordinance
that subjects her minister to the ordeal of canvassing and cajoling
all and sundry--perhaps the very men who may next day be in the
dock before him. But the root of the anomaly is not hard to find.
Into the purest of republics ambition and cupidity--the love of
office and the love of dollars--will force their way. But then,
under that form of constition, situations of trust and emolument
are necessarily few in comparison to the number of candidates for
them. The offices in the civil departments of the United States
governments are not numerous. The navy employs altogether some five
hundred officers above the rank of midshipman--exactly the number
of our post-captains; and the whole army of the Confederation, rank
and file, musicians and artificers included, is very little over
ten thousand men. There is little temptation to enter the medical
profession, in which learning and experience go for nothing, and a
Brodie is precisely on a level with a "Doctor Bokanky;"--nor the
Church, in which the pastor is hired by the twelvemonth, and is
thought handsomely paid with a wage of £100 a-year. What field,
then, remains for the aspiring spirit but the law?--and what
wonder if the sixteen thousand attorneys, who, we are told, find
a living in the States, and take a leading part in the management
of all public business, should vote "the higher honours of the
profession" far too few to be retained as perpetual incumbencies?
Hence has sprung the device of popular election to, and rotation
in, the sweets of office, which, by "passing it round," and giving
everyone a chance, is designed to render it as generally available
as possible. The constitution of the judiciary is not uniform, but
varies in almost every different state. In New York, the Judges of
Appeals, as well as those of the Supreme and Circuit Courts, are
elected by the people at large, and for a term of eight years,
each leaving office in rotation. In New Jersey they are appointed
for six years by the governor and senate; in Vermont, annually by
the legislature. In Connecticut nearly the same system prevails as
that in Vermont; while in Massachusetts the judges retain office
"during good behaviour." The salaries are not less various, in some
States the remuneration of judges of supreme courts being £500
a-year, which is about the highest rate; and in others so low as
£180. There are no retiring allowances in any case; and as they are
thus liable to be thrown out of office at an uncertain period, or
compelled to vacate it after a short term of years, it can scarcely
be expected that such remuneration will secure the highest grade of
legal acquirements, either for the bench itself, or for the inferior
offices of attorney-generalships and chief-clerkships, which are all
held by the same lax tenure of popular favour. Even if the system
has "worked well," as it is said to have done by American writers,
during the four or five years it has been in operation in New
York--even if it be true that the lawyers of the Empire State have,
by avoiding the snares thrown in their way, given proof individually
of the probity of Cato, and of a constancy worthy of Socrates, we
still say that the State does wrong in putting their virtues to such
a test. Mr Johnston supplies us with an example of the temptation
it holds out to a dangerous pliancy of principle. Most of our
readers must be aware of the existence of an active and noisy party
in the States, who, under the name of "Anti-renters," are seeking
to free themselves from payment of certain reserved _rents_, or
_feu-duties_, as they would be termed in Scotland, which form the
stipulated condition of land tenure in a certain district.
"The question has caused much excitement and considerable
disturbance in the State. It has been agitated in the
legislature and in the courts of law, and the supposed opinion
in regard to it of candidates for legal appointments, is said to
have formed an element which weighed with many in determining
which candidate they would support. During the last canvass
for the office of attorney-general, I met with the following
advertisement in the public journals of the State:--
"'I have repeatedly been applied to by individuals to know my
opinions with regard to the manorial titles, and what course I
intend to pursue, if elected, in relation to suits commenced,
and to be commenced, under the joint resolution of the Senate
and Assembly. I have uniformly replied to these inquiries, that
I regard the manor titles as a public curse which ought not
to exist in a free government, and that if they can be broken
up and invalidated by law, it will give me great pleasure;
and I shall prosecute the pending suits with as much vigour
and industry as I possess, and will commence others, if, on
examination, I shall be satisfied there is the least chance of
success. I regard these prosecutions as a matter of public duty,
and, in this instance, duty squares with my inclination and
wishes. 'L. S. CHATFIELD.'
"Mr Chatfield," adds Professor Johnston, "_is now
attorney-general_; and I was informed that the known opinions of
certain of the old judges on this exciting question was one of
the understood reasons why they were not re-elected by popular
suffrage, when, according to the new constitution, their term of
office had expired."--(Vol. ii. p. 291.)
Here, then, we see the highest law officer of the State openly
"bidding" for office--truckling to faction--and indecently
condescending to enact the part of a "soft-sawderer." That term,
we presume, is the proper American equivalent for the stinging
_soubriquet_ with which Persius stigmatises some Chatfield--some
supple attorney-general of his day--
"PALPO, quem ducit _hiantem_
Cretata ambitio."
When persons of the highest official position scruple not thus
undisguisedly to trim their course according to the "_popularis
aura_," one can scarcely help suspecting a want of firmness of
principle and genuine independence among the classes below them.
De Tocqueville's observations have taught us to doubt whether the
tree of liberty that grows under the shadow of a tyrant majority
can ever attain a healthy stability, however vigorous it may appear
externally. No one questions that the Americans enjoy, under
their institutions, very many of the blessings of a liberal and
cheaply-administered government. You have perfect liberty of speech
and action, so far as the government is concerned. The avowal of
one's opinion is not followed, as in Italy, or in the rival republic
of France, by a hint that your passport is ready, or by the polite
attendance on you, wherever you go, of a mysterious gentleman
in black; but you feel yourself, nevertheless, perpetually "_en
surveillance_," and constrained either to sail with the stream, or
to adopt a reserve and reticence which, to an Englishman, is almost
as irksome as the knowledge that there is a spy sitting at the same
dinner-table with him.
The spirit of Professor Johnston's strictures on such anomalies
will, of course, insure his being set down by his democratic friends
in America as an unmitigated "old hunker;" and he certainly shows
no great liking for practical republicanism. But to find fault with
our neighbours' arrangements, and to be contented with our own, are
two very different things; and, accordingly, our author takes many
opportunities, as he goes along, of showing that he is quite aware
of the innumerable rents in our own old battered tea-kettle of a
constitution, and of the infinite tinkering it will take to make it
hold water.
We should have held him unworthy of the character of a true Briton
if he had omitted the occasion of a grumble at our system of
taxation, though, of course, we differ with him entirely in the view
he takes of the evil. After an elaborate comparison of the taxation
in the United States with that of Great Britain, he sums up all with
the following somewhat sententious apophthegm:--
"The great contrast between the two sections of the Anglo-Saxon
race on the opposite sides of the Atlantic is this--_On the
one side the masses rule and property pays; on the other side
property rules and the masses pay_."--(Vol. ii. 254.)
The sentence sounds remarkably terse and epigrammatic. Most of
such brilliant and highly-condensed crystals of wisdom, however,
will be found on analysis to contain, along with some exaggerated
truth, a considerable residuum of nonsense; and this specimen
before us, we apprehend, forms no exception. Even if the fact so
broadly asserted were indisputable, we should still be inclined to
doubt, after what the author has himself told us, whether the "rule
of the masses" is always an unmixed blessing to a community. He
has seen enough of it to know at least that the preponderance of
popular sway is not incompatible with much social restraint--with
prejudice and narrow-mindedness--with what _he_ considers a false
commercial principle--with a disregard of public faith, and of the
rights of other nations; and lastly, with a contempt of the rights
of humanity itself, and a legalised traffic in our fellow men.
But, if we understand him rightly, he does not so much defend the
abstract excellence of the democratic principle as advocate a nearer
approach, on our part, to the American model of taxation. In the
States, he says, property pays--in England the masses pay;--that
is, if we strip the proposition of its antithetical obscurity, the
owners of property pay less here than they do in America--not only
_absolutely_ less, but less in proportion to the whole amount of
taxation. The calculations on which he founds this assertion are too
long and involved to be quoted at length, but we will endeavour to
abridge them so as to enable the reader to judge of their accuracy.
The taxes in the United States are of three classes: 1st,--the
_national_ taxes, amounting to about six millions a-year, which are
raised chiefly by customs duties on imports; 2d,--the _state_
taxes; 3d,--the _local_ taxes, for the service of the several
counties, cities, and townships. These two last classes are levied
chiefly in the form of an equal rate assessed upon the estimated
value of all property, real and personal.
In order to compare the incidence of the public burdens upon
property in the two countries, Professor Johnston selects the case
of New York State, in which the total taxable property (personal as
well as real) in 1849 was 666,000,000 of dollars, and the amount
of rates levied for state and local taxes 5,500,000 dollars, or
about 4/5 per cent on the gross valuation. Turning then to Great
Britain, (excluding Ireland,) he sets down the fee simple value of
the real property alone in estates above £150 a-year, as rated to
the income-tax, at £2,382,000,000.
"Four-fifths of a per cent (the rate levied in New York) on this
sum would realise £19,000,000 sterling; and were _all_ property,
real and _personal_, in this island below £150 a-year, and the
amount of property in Ireland rated in a similar way, and fairly
collected, our entire revenue of £50,000,000 would probably be
obtained as the revenue of the State of New York now is, by this
one property tax only."--(Vol. ii. p. 257.)
And he thus concludes that, as regards the _absolute_ amount of
taxation, property in Britain escapes for a smaller payment than
that in America.
Now, it must be remarked, on this branch of the comparison, that
before we can form any opinion as to its soundness, it is essential
that we should know on what principles the valuation of property
is conducted in New York. The whole question depends upon this. If
the system of valuation is different in the two countries, there
are no materials on which to build a conclusion. We know what
discrepancies may arise out of the mode of valuation, from the fact
that, while the annual value of _all_ real property in England and
Wales was assessed for the poor-rate, in 1841, at about £62,500,000,
_a portion_ of it only--that over £150 a-year--was valued two years
afterwards, for the income-tax, at nearly £86,000,000. We observe
that Professor Johnston has arrived at the amount of real property
in Britain, by assuming the fee-simple value to be twenty-seven
years' purchase of the income. But in New York, he tells us, the
value of income is calculated at _only sixteen and a half years'_
purchase. The terms of the comparison are, therefore, manifestly
faulty. And mark how this affects the result. The real income of
Great Britain, capitalised at sixteen and a half years' purchase,
would amount to only £1,447,000,000, and, if taxed at the same
rate as in New York, would yield, instead of £19,000,000 only,
£11,500,000, which, as it happens, _is three millions less than
it actually pays_, as may be plainly seen from the undernoted
statement:--
DIRECT AND LOCAL TAXATION OF REAL PROPERTY IN GREAT BRITAIN.
1. Land Tax, £1,164,000
2. Poor and County Rate, (England,) 6,847,205
3. Highway Rate, " 1,169,891
4. Church Rate, " 506,812
5. Proportion of Stamp Duties on deeds affecting real property, 1,200,000
6. Proportion of Legacy Duty affecting do., 300,000
7. Property Tax, 2,600,000
8. Poor Rate, (Scotland,) £577,000--say on real property, 500,000
9. Statute Labour, (Scotland,) 81,226
----------
Total, £14,369,134
_Note._--The first six items are taken from the Report of the
House of Lords on burdens affecting land, and some of them are
below the present amounts. The items affecting Scotland are
obviously defective.
To this extent at least, then, we are justified in correcting
Professor Johnston's calculations, and in affirming with certainty
that the owner of _real property in Britain surrenders a larger
portion of his wealth for the public service than in New York_, or
any other State of the Union. Whether the same can be said of the
British owner of _personal_ property is another question, which we
shall come to by-and-by.
So much for the _absolute_ comparison. But then Professor Johnston
aims also at proving, that while the rich man is better off here,
the poor man is worse--that the "masses" (_i. e._, we presume, those
who are dependent on the wages of labour) pay a larger share of
the public burdens than the same "masses" do in America. And this,
he thinks, is demonstrated by the fact, that the customs duties of
America amount to only a dollar a-head of the whole population,
whereas in Great Britain they are _three_ dollars--three times
heavier. Now, we venture to affirm that, as a contrast between the
position of the labouring man on this side of the Atlantic, and
that of his brother on the other, this statement is quite a nest
of fallacies. In the first place, it proceeds on the assumption (a
very common but erroneous one among our Free-Trade authorities) that
it is the labouring class who pay the bulk of the taxes drawn in
the shape of customs. As this error, however, may be held to affect
both sides of the comparison equally, we have next to notice that,
admitting it to be the case, the fact of the customs being three
dollars a-head in this country, and only one in the States, only
shows that the English labourer pays _absolutely_ more than the
Yankee, which no one ever doubted. It amounts only to this--that
in an old country which has to uphold numerous public institutions
unknown in America, and with a public debt to provide for of some
£800,000,000 sterling, the burden of this, as well as of all other
branches of taxation, is heavier than in the youthful republic,
with a national debt of only £13,000,000. In order to draw a fair
parallel between the cases as regards the poorer classes of both
countries, we must put the question in a different way, and inquire,
what proportion does the amount of customs (assumed as representing
the poor man's share of taxation) bear _to the whole public burdens_
in the two countries respectively? The contrasted account would
then show the matter in a very different aspect from that in which
Professor Johnston has represented it, and would stand thus:--
| GREAT BRITAIN. | UNITED STATES. |
| | |
| National taxes, £50,000,000 | National taxes, £6,000,000 |
| Local ditto,[7] 14,000,000 | Local ditto,[8] 5,680,000 |
| ----------- | ----------- |
| Total, £64,000,000 | Total, £11,680,000 |
| Whereof the poor man's | Whereof the poor man's |
| share, or customs, is £20,000,000 | share, or customs, is £6,000,000 |
| or 32½ per cent. | or 52 per cent. |
| | |
[7] We give this amount as it is usually estimated, although it is
certainly far below the truth.
[8] _The American Almanac_ for 1851.
Even if we were to throw into the scale a large portion of the
excise duties levied in Britain, which Professor Johnston may be
entitled to claim as a peculiar burden on "the masses"--at least
as much as the customs--it would still be apparent, that, if such
payments are to be taken as a fair criterion, _the people's burdens
are not relatively heavier here than in America_. We shall only
add further on this subject, that while many of the less opulent
class of our fellow-citizens have undoubted real grievances
to complain of, and while writers, with worse intentions than
Professor Johnston, are ever ready to exaggerate them, and to foster
discontent, it becomes one of his high character to guard against
allowing a somewhat undisciplined taste for statistics to betray
him into rash general allegations, calculated to produce error and
irritation.
The parallel he has drawn, however, is very instructive on one
point, although he has failed to notice it. He has taken some pains
to prove that, tried by the American standard, our poor men pay too
much, and our owners of real property too little, in both which
conclusions we have shown his grounds to be fallacious; but he takes
no notice of a far more obvious anomaly, the glaring injustice of
which is every day attracting more public comment--the comparative
_immunity of the owners of personal property_ in this country. The
local taxation of the States, it has been seen, is levied by an
equal assessment on property _of all kinds_; and although, from
the character of a great part of the country, the real property
much exceeds the movable in amount, the rate upon both is a uniform
one. No description of possessions is favoured with an invidious
exemption. We will take the assessment of one State as an example,
and copy the following "Items of the valuation of the taxable
property for the State of Iowa, according to the assessor's returns
for 1849." They are as follows:--
"Acres of land--Improvements on land--Town lots and
improvements--_Capital employed in merchandise_--Mills,
manufactories, distilleries, carding machines and tan-yards,
_with the stock employed_--Horses, cattle, sheep, &c.--Pleasure
carriages, watches, pianofortes--_Capital stocks and profits
in any company incorporated or unincorporated_--Property
in boats and vessels--Gold and silver coin, and bank-notes
in actual possession--_Claims for money, or other
consideration--Annuities--Amount of notes, mortgages, &c. All
other personal property over 100 dollars._"
All these descriptions of property contribute alike, dollar
for dollar, towards the expenses of the State, which--be it
remarked--embrace not only the general charges for interest of
debt, and for the support of the legislative, executive, and
judiciary departments, but include also payments for prisons,
asylums, the militia, the public roads, and several other branches
of expenditure, which in this country are saddled either upon real
property or upon the land alone. Let any one look at the items of
the above list printed in italics, and say what portion of such
wealth passes through the national exchequer, or goes to uphold the
public institutions, of Great Britain. The whole annual incomes
above £50 a-year in Great Britain are estimated, on the best
attainable data,[9] to amount to upwards of £352,000,000 sterling,
of which the taxed real income is £86,000,000, or one-fourth part
only. Is there any one with a conscience so elastic as to maintain
that the owners of the other three-fourths contribute fairly to
the support of the State, in proportion to the revenue they enjoy
under its protection? From the investigations of Mr Smee, to whom
we have referred, it appears that while the number of those who
pay the direct taxes is about five hundred thousand, _there are
upwards of one million eight hundred thousand persons in Great
Britain enjoying incomes of above £50 a-year, who do not contribute
one farthing to them_. What is this but a system of iniquitous
exemption of the one class, and of virtual confiscation as to the
other? But the whole subject occupies far too prominent a place in
the public mind to be treated thus incidentally. For the present
then we leave it, thoroughly persuaded that, under a form of
government which acknowledges no distinctions between classes and
interests, so shameless a violation of the plainest principles of
equity cannot long be permitted to continue, and cordially joining
in the wish that no object of less momentous interest--no schemes of
impracticable retrenchment--no wily bait of extended suffrage--no
flourishing of the old red rag of reform, may be suffered to
distract the attention of the public, from the one great paramount
practical reform--A READJUSTMENT OF TAXATION.
[9] See Mr Smee's pamphlet on the Income-Tax.
We owe an apology to Professor Johnston for having deviated somewhat
from the ordinary course of a review. His work has already been so
much and so flatteringly noticed, that to have limited ourselves
to mere abridgment and quotation from the _Notes_ would have
led us over the same ground that has been already exhausted by
other critics. We have therefore preferred discussing some of the
questions of greatest public interest which his observations have
suggested; and if, on some of these, we have been led to dissent
from his opinions, we have done so in no unfriendly spirit, which
indeed would have been impossible in judging of an author whose own
views are always expressed with perfect candour and moderation.
There can be no doubt that, under the unpretending title which he
has chosen to adopt, he has contrived to bring together a larger
mass of varied and valuable information on the present condition of
North America than is to be found in any work yet published.
THE ANSAYRII.
_The Ansayrii (or Assassins;) with Travels in the Further East._
By the Hon. FREDERIC WALPOLE, R.N., Author of _Four Years in the
Pacific_. London: Bentley, 1851.
Hail to the bright East, with all its mysteries, its mighty past,
its pregnant future, its inexhaustible sources of airiest amusement
and most solemn interest! We welcome with pleasure the original and
truly Oriental book before us. It harmonises rather with the poetic
than the historic character of Eastern lands; but in its wild and
dreamy narrative there are to be found vivid and faithful pictures,
such as those that lighted up the charmed reveries of DeQuincey. For
the present we will lay aside the critic's task: we will postpone
all such considerations, and invite the reader to accompany us in a
rapid tour over the varied regions which Mr Walpole has recalled to
our memory and imagination. Let us turn for a little from the "world
that is too much with us," and, ranging away from chilly mists and
gloomy skies, sun our fancy in the lands where Paradise was planted.
Egypt and Palestine appear familiar to us all; they are of common
interest to the whole Christian world--classic lands to every old
villager who can read his Bible, as well as to the profound scholar.
In them, sacred and profane history are so intimately blended
that the latter assumes almost the authenticity of the former.
Herodotus and his followers have actually a people still in the
flesh (if flesh the mummy may be called) to refer to: subterranean
Egypt is still inhabited by the undecayed bodies of the very men
who associated with the Israelites, and forms that were beautiful
and loved three thousand years ago. Imperishable as their old
inhabitants, their temples and their monuments still stand above
them, and will there remain unparalleled, until their long-buried
architects shall rise again.
Passing on to Palestine, we find, memories and associations still
stronger and more striking; for here nature is invested with the
sentiment that in Egypt is awakened by art. Palestine belongs not to
time only, but to eternity; with which, by types and illustrations,
its earthly history is so beautifully blended and aggrandised. Its
literature is inspired truth, its annals are prophecies fulfilled,
and the very face of the land itself vindicates the beauty it _once_
wore, through all the sorrow and desolation that have fallen on it
since. Owing to the metaphorical style of Oriental composition,
every object in nature was used to illustrate or impress by its
analogy; and hence not only the holy mountains, the sacred rivers,
and the battle plains have memories for us, but the very "hyssop
on the wall," the blasted fig-tree, the cedar, the "high rock in
the thirsty land;" every vale, and hill, and lake, and city, is
consecrated by some association with the men who spoke the words of
God--with the time that witnessed His presence in the flesh.
The remorseless Jews were swept from the Promised Land, as their
ancestor was from Eden, for the irreparable sin; and the sword of
the Roman waved over the ruined walls of Jerusalem, forbidding all
return. The Saracen and the Crusader succeeding, add another element
of interest--an English association--to long-tried and suffering
Judea. The Crusaders were rather a warlike emigration than invasion;
they were the angry overflow of discontented Europe, which sought
to vent its spleen and dogmas upon the Infidel. Their ebbing tide
bore back to us the arts and sciences and chivalry of Arabia;
and thus Palestine became the channel for all our best temporal
acquirements, as it had long since furnished us with our eternal
hope.
All this, and more--much more--invests Syria with undying and
exhaustless interest to the student and the traveller; but we
will not linger on such impressions now. We have a lighter task
to fulfil, though we are about to visit the land of Nimrod, of
Abraham's nativity, and of the empire of Semiramis. The pleasant
company in which we travel will speed us on; and, in the old
troubadour fashion, lay and legend will beguile the way. But before
we enter fairly on our pilgrimage to "Ur of the Chaldees" and the
tomb of Nineveh, we shall pause to make some practical observations
on the route which, in its present aspect, may be new to some of our
readers.
EGYPT MAY SOON BE REACHED IN TEN DAYS.[10] This is almost
incredible; still more so, when we add that it may be accomplished
without fatigue, hardship, or self-denial. The traveller even now
embarks at Southampton in one of the Oriental Company's magnificent
steamers, and finds himself landed at Alexandria in fifteen days,
having visited Gibraltar and Malta, besides having travelled three
thousand miles in as much comfort as he would have enjoyed at
Brighton, with far more advantage to his health and spirits, and but
trifling additional expense. For our own parts, we believe that,
before long, sea voyages, instead of sea shores, will be resorted
to, not only by the invalid, but by the epicurean and the idler.
The floating hotels of our ocean steamers afford as comfortable
quarters as any of their more stationary rivals, with the additional
advantage of presenting a change of air and of scenery every morning
that the "lodger" rises.
[10] By the leviathan steamers now building for the Peninsular and
Oriental Steam Company. They are calculated to make from sixteen to
eighteen miles an hour, which would reduce the sea-going part of the
voyage to eight days two hours.
The autumn--the later the _better_--is the _best_ period for
visiting Egypt. October is, on the whole, the best month for
beginning the ascent of the Nile. We will suppose the traveller
landed at Alexandria: he achieves the lions of that suddenly-created
city (except Aboukir Bay) in a few hours, and is ready to start
for Cairo in the mail steamer, with the India-bound passengers who
accompanied him from England. The country in which he now finds
himself, by so sudden a transition, is full of apparent paradoxes;
amongst others, he may be surprised to find that the canal on which
he travels to Atfeh winds considerably, though no engineering
obstacles whatever oppose themselves to a straight course. The
reason of this sinuosity was thus explained to us by Mehemet Ali
himself:--"You ask why my canal is not straight: Ya, Wallah! it is
owing to a bit of bigotry. The dog who made it was a true Believer,
and something more. He said to himself, 'Ya, Seedee, thou art about
to make what Giaours call a canal, and Giaours in their impiety make
such things straight. Now, a canal is made after the fashion of a
river--(Allah pardon us for imitating his works!)--and all rivers
wind: Allah forbid that my canal should be better than His river; it
shall wind too.'"
And so it does.
Landed at Cairo, the traveller of the present day will find a
steamer once a fortnight ready to take him up to the first cataract
and back again, as fast as Young Rapid, or any other son of a
tailor, could desire. But even the rational tourist will be tempted
to send on his Kandjiah, (the old-fashioned Nile boat,) well
found and provisioned, a fortnight or three weeks before him, and
overtake her in the steamer. The Kandjiah voyage up stream is often
wearisome, downward never--as in the descent you are borne softly
along at from three to six miles an hour, even when you sleep. From
the first cataract to the second is only about two hundred miles,
and occupies about three weeks; but to those who can find pleasure
in what is most wild and dreamy and unearthly in scenery and art,
the desert view from Mount Abousir, the temples of Guerf, Hassan,
and Ipsamboul, are worth all the rest of the Nile voyage, except
Thebes and exquisite Philæ.[11] Returned to Alexandria, as we will
suppose, in March, the traveller will be quite early enough for
Syria, whose winter (considering the tented life he is compelled to
lead) is not to be despised. A steamer transports him to Beyrout in
thirty hours; and there our true travel begins.[12]
[11] The mere physical pleasure of the upper voyage has been
thus described--"No words can convey an idea of the beauty and
delightfulness of tropical weather, at least while any breeze
from the north is blowing. There is a pleasure in the very act of
breathing--a voluptuous consciousness that existence is a blessed
thing: the pulse beats high, but calmly; the eye feels expanded;
the chest heaves pleasureably, as if air was a delicious draught
to thirsty lungs; and the mind takes its colouring and character
from sensation. No thought of melancholy ever darkens over us--no
painful sense of isolation or of loneliness, as day after day we
pass on through silent deserts, upon the silent and solemn river.
One seems, as it were, removed into another state of existence; and
all the strifes and struggles of that from which we have emerged
seem to fade, softened into indistinctness. This is what Homer and
Alfred Tennyson knew that the lotus-eaters felt when they tasted
of the mysterious tree of this country, and became weary of their
wanderings:--
'----To him the gushing of the wave
Far, far away, did seem to mourn and rave
On alien shores: and, if his fellow spake,
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave!
And deep asleep he seemed, yet all awake,
And music in his ears his beating heart did make.'
If the day, with all the tyranny of its sunshine and its innumerable
insects, be enjoyable in the tropics, the night is still more so.
The stars shine out with diamond brilliancy, and appear as large as
if seen through a telescope. Their changing colours, the wake of
light they cast upon the water, the distinctness of the milky way,
and the splendour, above all, of the evening star, give one the
impression of being under a different firmament from that to which
we have been accustomed; then the cool delicious airs, with all the
strange and stilly sounds they bear from the desert and the forest;
the delicate scents they scatter, and the languid breathings with
which they make our large white sails appear to pant, as they heave
and languish softly over the water."--(_The Crescent and the Cross_,
vol. i. p. 210.)
[12] The journey from Cairo across the desert by Suez, or at least
thence by Gaza or Sinai to Jerusalem, is performed in the same
manner as it was in the days when Eothen, Dr Robinson, and Lord
Castlereagh described it. The only difference occurs in the route
between Cairo and Suez, which is now performed on wheels in about
twelve hours, and, in the course of eighteen months, is expected to
be easily accomplished in two hours and a half by railway.
Thus, (omitting the somewhat important episode of Egypt,) we find
ourselves transported, in little more than a fortnight, from
the murky fogs and leafless trees of England, to the delicious
temperature and tropical verdure that surrounds the most beautiful
town of the Levant. As every improvement in steam-navigation lessens
its distance from Christendom, Beyrout increases and expands. Nor
must we omit an honest tribute to the iron but even-handed justice
of Ibrahim Pasha, which first rendered it safely accessible to
Europeans. Before his conquest of Syria, the Frank was wont to
skulk anxiously through the town, exposed to insult and unpunished
violence: without the walls, the robber enjoyed as much impunity
as the bigot did within; and, between both, Beyrout became, or
continued to be, a miserable village. Its environs were wild
wastes, where the gipsy alone ventured to pitch his tent, and the
wild dog prowled. Now, pleasant gardens and picturesque kiosks,
or summer-houses, replace the wilderness; the town expands, grows
clean, doubles its population, and welcomes a crowd of shipping to
its port. A more delightful residence, as a refuge from winter, can
scarcely be conceived. An infinite variety of excursions may be made
from hence; and every time the traveller mounts his horse, whether
he be historically, picturesquely, controversially, botanically,
or geologically given, he may return to his flat-roofed home with
some valuable acquisition to his note-book. The views are everywhere
magnificent, and the warm breezes from the bluest of oceans are
tempered by the snowy neighbourhood of the loveliest of mountains.
Five roads of leading interest (besides many a cheering byway
among the hills) branch out from the walls of Beyrout. Damascus is
about eighteen hours off; Jerusalem six days; Djouni, the romantic
residence and burial-place of Lady Hester Stanhope, ten hours;
Baalbec, the flower of all Eastern ruins, eighteen hours, and
Latakia, whither _we_ are bound, five days. These distances may be
accomplished in less time; they are here given at the calculation
of a walking pace, as the roads, or rather paths, are for the most
part steep and difficult; and the baggage-horses, at all events,
can seldom advance more rapidly. One word more of dry detail, and
we shall put ourselves _en route_ for the mountains of the Ansayrii
and the further East. Notwithstanding the advance of civilisation at
Beyrout, where a European consulocracy has established a more than
European equality of privileges between Turks and Christians, the
interior of the country is daily becoming more dangerous to travel
in. Eight years ago, when the stern rule of Ibrahim Pasha had still
left its beneficent traces, the writer of this article wandered over
the length and breadth of the land, attended by a single servant
and a muleteer. Since our Government, for inscrutable reasons,
has restored Syria to the embroilment of its native factions, all
security for the traveller, and indeed for the native, has ceased.
To reach Jerusalem, or even Damascus, in safety, a considerable
escort is now necessary; though the Vale of Baalbec may still be
reached in less warlike fashion from Latakia or Tripoli, if the
traveller is endowed with liberality, courage, and courtesy--the
leading virtues of his profession.
Before we proceed on our travels, let us introduce our guide.
Mr Walpole is a young naval officer, and there is in most of
his narrative a dashing impetuous style, which savours of his
profession. In this there is a certain charm, imparting as it does
an air of frank and fearless confidence in his reader's quick
perception and favourable construction. There is in his writings
what we would also hope is professional--a chivalrous feeling and
generous sentiment, that is never obscured by a sordid thought or
unworthy imputation. As he sees clearly, of course he also sees
faults in men, and minds, and manners; but such discoveries are
made in a tone of regret rather than of triumph; or thrown off in
a strain of good-humoured satire that could not offend even its
objects. His descriptive powers are graphic, and often very vivid;
his humour is very original, being generally tinged with melancholy,
in such sort as that of a philanthropic Jacques might be: finally,
he does not fear to display a profound and manly reverence for
holy things and sacred places. On the other hand, to set against
all these high merits, we must confess that many faults afford
some drawback to his book. It is often incoherent, and deficient
in arrangement. The first volume is rather the groundwork than
the accomplishment of what an author with Mr Walpole's powers and
material should have effected. Most of these faults, however,
may find their excuse in the circumstances under which they were
composed. They smack of the tent, the boat, and the bivouac, as old
wine does of the _borachio_. Whatever they may be, this work is one
that will be widely read; and wherever it is read with appreciation,
it will direct the interest not only to its subject, but its author:
his individuality, unostentatiously and unconsciously, is impressed
on every page; and his genius, however erratic, is unquestionable.
The cockpit, and even the gun-room of a man-of-war, are little
favourable to intellectual effort, or the habit or the love of
learning which it can alone accomplish. We can therefore make
greater allowances for errors in composition, and concede greater
credit for the attainments in languages and general knowledge which
our young author has achieved. This is perhaps still more striking
in a work written by Mr Walpole three years ago, entitled _Four
Years in the Pacific_, which, though written in a midshipman's
berth, abounds in passages of beauty, and in his peculiar and
original humour. Having said so much in his praise and dispraise,
and only premising, in addition, that he speaks Arabic and Turkish,
so as to interpret for himself the quaint unusual thoughts of the
people among whom he lives, we enter upon a survey of what he saw.
We have unwillingly passed over the whole of our author's outward
voyage, which is graphically, and almost dramatically, described.
We shall only refer to one or two passages respecting the Levant.
The following sentence may dispel some fanciful visions of the sunny
climate of Stamboul:--
"Snow, 'thick and deep' enveloped the city; cupola, dome,
and cypress were burdened with icicles; above, was an angry
winter sky with a keenly piercing wind.... English fires and
English coals were the best things we saw--we were actually
blockaded by the weather.... At length we embarked: the crew
were shovelling the deep snow-drift off the deck, so we rushed
below into a cabin whose bulkheads were beautifully varnished,
sofas perfect, skylights closed, the whole atmosphere tobacco.
We were off, gliding past the Seraglio Point, which was swathed
in snow, and looking like a man in summer clothes caught in a
wintry storm.... Masses animate and inanimate encumbered the
deck; the former for the most part consisting of the Sultan's
subjects; among the latter our baggage, which was thrown into
the general heap, and kicked about until it found quiet in the
hold.... The numbers thus congregated were principally pilgrims,
on their way to Jerusalem and to the Jordan; though others, on
more worldly journey bent, were mingled with the rest. Each
family had taken a spot on the deck, and there, piled over with
coverings, and surrounded with their goods, they remained during
the voyage: one side of the after-deck was alone kept clear for
the first-class passengers, and even this was often invaded by
others, who wisely remarked that _we_ had cabins below.
"Each family forms a scene in itself; and an epitome of life
in the East is found by a glance around. Four merchants, on
their return from a trading tour, have bivouacked between the
skylights; and they sing and are sick; call _kief_[13] and
smoke, with true Moslem indifference. On the starboard quarter,
our notions of Eastern domesticity are sadly put out, for there
a Moslem husband is mercilessly bullied by a shrill-voiced
Houri. It is curious to observe her perseverance in covering
her face, even during the agonies of sea-sickness. Their black
servant has taken us into the number of licensed ones, and her
veil now hangs over her neck like a loosened neck-cloth.
[13] _Kief_: a word difficult to translate, but expressing
perfect abandonment to repose; a _dolce far niente_ which only
Orientals can thoroughly achieve.
"On the other side, a Greek family in three generations lies
along the deck, fortified by a stout man-servant across their
legs, whose attentions to the girls during his own heart-rending
ailments is very pretty. The huge grandmother was set on fire
and smouldered away most stoically, until her foot began to
burn, when, while others put her out, she sank blubbering to
sleep again. The pretty granddaughters find the long prostration
more irksome; but send their flashing eyes about with careless
movement, and so the mass goes on. Here one appears to be
offering up _nazam_, but nearer inspection shows that his shoe
is only receiving the offering to the heaving waves....
"Our steamer had passed sad hours of toil, and pitched and
tossed us all out of temper before we entered the calm waters to
leeward of Rhodes, and at last, passing the low points covered
with detached houses and windmills, we shot round in front of
the harbour. Our view of the intervening coast had been too
vague to form a judgment upon it; but here and there a peak
towered up above the mists, all else being veiled by the cloudy
sky.... No place it has ever been my fortune to visit, more, by
its appearance, justifies its character than Rhodes. Around the
harbour's shore, one continued line of high castellated wall,
unbroken save by flanking towers or frowning portals; from the
wave on either side, dovetailed to the rock, rise the knightly
buildings; and as the eye reaches round, no dissonant work mars
the effect, save that one lofty palm rears its tropic head--but
it adds to, rather than lessens, the effect. Above the walls, a
mosque with its domed roof or minaret appears; and the fragile
building speaks, how truly! in its contrast to the massive walls
and ponderous works of former rulers, that the battle is not
always to the strong."
In speaking of the sister island-fortress, Malta, our author remarks
(in a former page) the immediate contrast presented by these
luxurious arsenals:--
"The Eastern reclines on the cushioned divan, the embodiment
of repose; the softest carpets, the freshest flowers, surround
him--soft women attend the slightest motion of his eye--all
breathes of indolence, abandonment, and ease; yet his girdle
bristles with arms--his gates are locked and guarded. So at
Malta, the bower is a bastion, the saloon a casemate, the
serenade the call of martial music, the draperies war-flags, the
ornaments shot in ready proximity."
Proceeding to Tarsus, we pass on to Alexandretta, "a wretched
collection of hovels. The harbour is splendid; the ruins of the old,
the skeleton of the new town, standing on the beach. Behind it, in
every direction, stretches a fetid and swampy plain, which only
requires drainage to be rendered fertile and wholesome." This is the
seaport of Aleppo, on the road to which lies the town of Beilau,
and the village of Mortawan, where Pagan rites, especially those of
Venus, are still said to be maintained. But again we reimbark--
"Again the vessel cuts the wave. The mountains become a feeble
bleached outline, save Cassius on the north, who frowns on his
unrecorded fame. Yes, noble hill! though not so high as Strabo
tells, though not lofty and imposing; though dark thy path
now--unnoticed, solitary. There blazed up the last effort of the
flame of pagan civilisation: there Julian the Great--whatever
other title men may bestow upon him--offered his solemn
sacrifice to Jupiter the Avenger, previous to his last campaign,
when the eagles were to wave over Mesopotamia.
"The Sabbath dawned fresh, unclouded, and beautiful, as we
anchored in the pretty little port of Latakia, the ancient
Laodicea. The town of Latakia, built by Seleucus Nicator, in
honour of his mother, is comprehended in the Pashalic of Saida,
or Beyrout. It stands on a spur of the Ansayrii Mountains. About
half a mile inland, the spur falls into the sea, and forms Cape
Zairet; the town stands on its southern slope, and is joined,
by gardens and a port, to the sea. The port is small and well
sheltered; but time, Turks, and ruins, are filling it up. The
buildings on the shore, having their backs to the sea, present
the appearance of a fortification. On a reef of rock that
shelters the harbour stands a pile of building of different
eras. It seems to be castle, mosque, and church. Along the beach
lie hundreds of shafts of columns, and many are built into the
walls, of whose remains you catch a glimpse on the southern
side."
Here we must pause, though our traveller proceeds to Beyrout, of
which he gives a charming account, which our limits forbid us
to quote. We reserve our space for more novel scenes, and must
pass over a chapter on Damascus, which is rich in legends and
graphic pictures. Thence, _en route_ to Homs, by the way of the
desert, eastward of the Anti-Lebanon, we have a sketch that is too
characteristic of Eastern travel to pass over:--
"North, south and east, dead plain; west, a low range of hills,
and beyond, the fair Anti-Lebanon in all its snowy beauty.
Desert all around us, but no dreary waste. Here and there were
loose stones and rocks; the rest a carpet of green, fresh, dewy
grass, filled with every hue of wild-flowers--the poppy in its
gorgeous red, the hyacinth, the simple daisy and others, thick
as they could struggle up, all freshened with a breeze heavy
with the scents of thyme. The lark sent forth its thrill of
joy in welcome to the coming day; before us the pennon of the
spearmen gleamed as they wound along the plain. We passed the
site of an Arab encampment strewn with fire-blackened stones,
bones, and well picked carcasses. Storks and painted quails
sauntered slowly away at our approach, or perched and looked as
if they questioned our right to pass. At eight o'clock halted
at a khan called Hasiah also. The population consisting of
robust, wild-looking fellows; and very pretty women poured out
to sell hard-boiled eggs, leban, bread, and milk: they were all
Mussulmans....
"We were soon disturbed by a multitude of sick, which recalled
to one's mind how in this land, of old, the same style of faces,
probably in the same costumes, crowded to Him who healed. The
lame, carried by the healthy; feeble mothers with sickly babes;
hale men showing wounds long self-healed; others with or without
complaints."
Arrived at Homs, we have--
"Fish for dinner, from the Lake of Kades, whose blue waters we
saw in the distance to-day. The Lebanon opens behind that lake,
and you may pass to the sea, on the plain, without a hill.
This plain, but rarely visited, is among the most interesting
portions of Syria, containing numerous convents, castles, and
ruins, and its people are still but little known. Maszyad, the
principal seat of the sect called Ismayly: the Ansayrii also,
and Koords, besides Turks, Christians, and gipsys, may be found
among its varied population. The ancient castle of El Hoshn,
supposed, by the lions over its gates, to have been built by
the Count of Thoulouse, is well worth a visit. The Orontes,
taking its rise in a rock, from whence it gushes just west of
the Tel of Khroumee,--(true bearing from Homs from south 60°
32' east,)--flows through the Lake of Kades, and passes about
2° to the west of Homs: it is called Nahr El Aazzy, or "the
rebel river," some say because of its running north, while all
the other rivers run south; more probably, however, on account
of its rapidity and strength of current. It is an historical
stream; on its banks were altars, and the country it waters is
almost unmatched for beauty--
'Oh, sacred stream! whose dust
Is the fragments of the altars of idolatry.'"
It was at Homs--the ancient Emessa--that Zenobia was brought as a
captive into the presence of Aurelian.
"Why did she not there fall? why add the remaining lustreless
years to her else glorious life? why, in the words of Gibbon,
sink insensibly into the Roman matron? Zenobia fat, dowdy, and
contented--profanation! Zimmerman, however, invests the close
of her career with graceful philosophy: at Tivoli, in happy
tranquillity, she fed the greatness of her soul with the noble
images of Homer, and the exalted precepts of Plato; supported
the adversity of her fortunes with fortitude and resignation,
and learnt that the anxieties attendant on ambition are happily
exchanged for the enjoyments of ease and the comforts of
philosophy."
From Homs we reach Aleppo in four days.
"It was a spring morning, and a gentle keenness, wafted from
snow-clad mountains, rendered the climate delightful. The town
lay beneath me, and each terrace, court, serai, and leewan
lay open to my view. I saw Aleppo was built in a hollow, from
which ran plains north and west, surrounded by mountains. To
the north, Djebel Ma Hash and his range, untouched by the soft
smiles of the young spring, lay deep in the snow; the flat
connected grass-grown roofs and well-watered sparkling courts,
with their carefully-tended trees, relieving the glare of the
houses, while all around the town lay belted in its garden. The
scene was pretty and pleasing; here and there the forests of
tomb-stones, the perfect minaret, the Eastern dome swelling up
from the mob of flat roofs,--these formed a sight that told I
was in the East, in the cradle of mankind--the home of
history."...
"And here, though sorely pressed for time, we must stop for a
picnic, which E---- and myself were told it would be right to
give. We provided carpets, nargillehs, horse-loads of sundries,
cushions, a cargo of lettuces; and thus equipped, we sallied
out, a very numerous party. The first thing to select was a
garden, a point on which our own choice, and not the owner's
will, seemed alone to be consulted. Let not the reader fancy
an Eastern garden is what a warm Western fancy would paint
it--wild with luxuriant but weedless verdure, heavy with the
scent of roses and jessamine, thrilling with the songs of the
bulbul and the nightingale, where fair women with plaited
tresses touch the soulful lute in graceful attitudes. No; it
is a piece of ground enclosed by high walls, varying in size.
A wretched gate, invariably badly made, probably ruined,
admits you to the interior. Some enclose a house with two or
three rooms--windowless, white-washed places. Before this
is a reservoir of dirty, stagnant water, turned up from a
neighbouring well by an apparatus as rude as it is ungainly and
laborious: this is used to irrigate the ground, which therefore
is alternately mud and dust. Fruit trees or mulberries are
planted in rows, and the ground beneath, being ploughed up,
is productive of vegetables or corn. One or two trees, for
ornament, may be planted in the first row, but nothing more; and
weeds, uncut, undestroyed, spring up in every direction. Such,
without exaggeration, is the _Bistan zareff quiess!_--the Lovely
Garden.
"We selected one that belonged to the Mollah. Oh, true believer!
in thy pot we boiled a ham; on thy divan we ate the forbidden
beast; thy gardener, for base reward, assisting to cook--who
knows, but also to eat the same? We chose a spot shaded by a
noble walnut tree, and spread carpets and cushions. Fire was
lighted, nargillehs bubbled, and kief began."
On the 2d of May we start for the Euphrates, and follow for some
time nearly the route recommended by Colonel Chesney for the great
Indian railway to Bussora, on the Persian Gulph. The distance is
little more than 800 miles--scarcely thirty steam-winged hours--the
level surpassingly uniform. Truly those who desire to find either
solitude, or what our author calls _kief_, in the East, must
repair thither quickly, for the iron of the engineer has already
entered into its soul. Already the blue and white rivers of the
Nile are more easily attainable than were the Tiber and the Po to
our grandfathers. Beyrout and Latakia will soon be fashionable
watering-places; Baalbec as well known as Melrose Abbey; and the
excavated ruins of Nimroud will come under the range of "return
tickets." The grim Arab will look out from any quiet spot that the
all-searching Cockney may have spared him; and he will gaze with
wonder on the awful processions of the "devil-goaded" tourists, as
they rush with magic speed across his wilderness--only to retrace
their steps. The Turk, at the utmost bounds of the Othman Empire,
will marvel at this new freak of _kismet_ (destiny;) with a sigh
he will abandon his beloved _bockra_ (the "to-morrow" in which he
loves to live;) and commending himself to Islam, or resignation in
its most trying form, he will "jump in" like the mere Giaours, and
be hurled along with the rest across the desert behind the Afreet
stoker.
But at present the wilderness knows nothing of all this, and we have
before us the scenery of other days as Abram beheld it. We now cross
the Chalus River, and enter upon a series of vast plains, varied by
mysterious _tels_ or mounds, rising up from the level surface like
bubbles on a pool. On, or among these, the ever restless Turkomans
pitch their tents, and welcome the traveller kindly to their
wandering homes. On the third day from Aleppo we reach Aintab, on
the river Sadschur, "which, fresh and young, danced brightly on, as
if eager to join the Euphrates and see the wide world beyond."
"At Aintab, among other visitors was Doctor Smith, an American
missionary. He was a well-bred, sensible man, a clever linguist,
and, from all I ever heard, an earnest and zealous servant of
his heavenly Master. His mission already shows results which
must indeed be a source of peace to his heart, and proves that
some are allowed even in this world to reap the fruits of their
toil for the Lord. In that very town, whence a few years ago he
was insulted and abused, a faithful flock now join in humble
prayers to God; and surely they pray for him, the instrument of
their salvation. I was much pleased at the plain unexaggerating
way in which he told the history of his mission.... The good
work has progressed, and he now has from one hundred and fifty
to three hundred pupils in his school, many the children of
non-converted parents. And in this year's enrolment--great
glory to our ambassador at Constantinople!--the Protestants are
enrolled as a separate religious community: the males are two
hundred and odd here.
"All sects recognised by the Porte are enrolled separately, as
their taxes, &c., are apportioned by their own heads (chiefs.)"
Many of the Armenians here have been converted to the Church of
England, and this has proved to be a most advantageous change for
their women.
"They are now emancipated from the bondage they have so long
been held in--I do not mean personal bondage, for perhaps there
is less of it in the East than in the West--but their whole
moral position has undergone a vast change. The man is now first
taught that the woman is his best friend; his firmest, truest
companion; his equal in the social scale, as God made her--a
help meet for him, not a mere piece of household furniture. The
woman is also taught to reverence the man as her head; thus
imparting that beautiful lesson, 'He for God only, she for
God through him.' She is also taught perhaps a harder lesson,
a more painful task--to relinquish all her costly ornaments,
when such may be more usefully employed in trade and traffic;
to consider necessaries more beautiful than costly clothes or
embroidered suits. Gradually she is allowed to unite with the
man in prayers, which is permitted by no other sect in the East,
women always having a portion of the church set apart for them,
and the Moslems praying at different times. May it please Him
who gives and dispenses all things, to prosper this and all
other good and holy works!... On leaving Aintab, we passed over
the hills that environ the town, and entered a pretty valley,
through which the Sadschur river accompanies us. Here, at a
small village called Naringa, we chose a pretty spot under some
trees, and pitched our tents. The horses browsed at our door,
the stream jumped by before us as we took our evening's repose.
And repose it is to sit thus at the close of a day of travel, to
enjoy the view of the lovely regions given man to dwell in; to
see the various changes time, circumstances, and religion have
wrought in the family of Adam, or, as the Arabs say, in the Beni
Adam. It was a lovely evening; and as I reclined apart from my
more gregarious fellow-travellers, I felt
'That the night was filled with music,
And the cares that infested the day
Had folded their tents, like the Arab,
And as silently stolen away.'"
From Naringa our route lies eastward over low undulated hills,
still marked by frequent _tels_, generally surmounted by a village.
"Are these mounds natural, or does man still fondly cling to the
ruined home of his fathers?" Crossing the river Kirsan, we arrive at
Nezeeb, lying among vineyards and plantations of figs, pistachios,
and olives, interspersed with fields of wheat. At this village the
Sultan's forces, 70,000 strong, were defeated by Ibrahim Pasha with
45,000 men--a bootless victory, soon neutralised by a few lines
from our "Foreign Office." On the 6th day after leaving Aleppo, we
find ourselves on the Euphrates, the _Mourad Shai_, or "Water of
desire."[14]
[14] The Moslems being water-drinkers, are as curious about their
streams as _bons vivans_ are about their cellars. One of the Caliphs
sent to weigh all the waters in his wide kingdom, and found that of
the Euphrates was the lightest.
"In all its majesty, it glides beneath our gaze. It is needless
to tell the history of this river, renowned in the earliest
traditions. Watering the Paradise of earth, it has been mingled
with the fables of heaven; the Lord gave it in his covenants
unto Abram; Moses, inspired, preached it in his sermon to the
people. In its waters are bound the four angels, and, at the
emptying of the sixth vial, its waters will dry up, that the
'way of the kings of the East may be prepared.' In every age
it has formed a prominent feature in the diorama of history,
flashing with sunshine, or sluggish and turbid with blood; and
here, on its bank, its name unchanged, all now is solitude and
quiet.
"Descending amidst wide burial-grounds, where here and there
a _kubbé_ sheltered some clay more revered than the rest, we
reached its shores, and patiently took up our quarters beneath
the shade of a tree, till a boat should arrive to carry us over.
The redoubt, Fort William, as it was called, of the Euphrates
expedition still remains. In ancient times four shallows existed
where there were bridges over the Euphrates: the northernmost at
Samosata, now unused; Rum Kalaat, further south, being the route
frequented; Bir, the khan and eastern bank of which is called
Zeugma, or the Bridge, to this day; and the fourth at Thapsacus,
the modern Thapsaish, where Cyrus, Alexander, and Crassus passed
into Mesopotamia. The Arabs now generally pass here, or else by
fords known only to themselves. Julian crossed at a place called
Menbidjy, which was probably abreast of Hierapolis.
"But what avails to recount individual cases?--the whole land is
history. Near us is Racca, once the favourite residence of Aaron
the Just. Here he delighted to spend his leisure--
'Entranced with that place and time,
So worthy of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.'"
We cross the Euphrates to the town of Bir, and proceed still
eastward, along a flat desert, strewn with a small-bladed scanty
grass, aromatic flowers, and wormwood. "One small gleam, like a
polished shield or a dark sward, is all we see of the mighty river
that flows around us. Every hour of the day changes the aspect of
the desert: now it is wild and gloomy, as scudding clouds pass over
the sun; now smiling with maiden sweetness, as the sun shines out
again." Often we pass by the tented homes of the desert tribes, with
their flocks and herds tended by busy maidens, now screaming wildly
after their restless charge--now singing songs as wild, but sweeter
far. Then comes sunset with its massed clouds of purple, blue, and
gold; the air is full of bleatings as the flocks all tamely follow
their shepherds home. On the tenth day after leaving Aleppo, we
descend into a plain covered with some dusty olive-trees: we come
to a hill with a low wall, and a castle on its summit. "And this is
the Ur of the Chaldees, the Edessa of the Romans, the Orfa of the
Arabs. Here God spake to Abram." From this city, very fruitful in
legends, we reach Haran in six hours; travelling over a plain strewn
with _tels_ and encampments of the Koords.
"Perhaps by this very route Abraham of old and those with him
travelled; nor is it extravagance to say, the family we now meet
may exhibit the exact appearance that the patriarchs did four
thousand years ago--the tents and pots piled on the camels;
the young children in one saddle-bag balancing the kids in
the other; the matron astride on the ass; the maid following
modestly behind; the boys now here, now there; the patriarch
himself on his useful mare, following and directing the march.
As we pass, he lays his hand on his heart, and says, 'Peace be
with you; where are you going?--Depart in peace.'"
Haran appears to be, without doubt, the ancient city of Nahor, where
Laban lived, and where Jacob served for Leah and Rachel. Here,
too, is Rebekah's well, and here our traveller beheld the very
counterpart of the scene that Eleazar saw when he sought a bride
for his master's son. By this time our author had so far identified
himself with the desert tribes, their language, their interests,
their enjoyment of the desert life, and their love of horses,
that he seems to feel, and almost to speak, in the Arab style. We
have never seen that interesting people so happily described and
so vividly illustrated. If we had not so much before us still to
investigate, we would gladly dwell upon the desert journey from
Haran to Tel Bagdad, and on the raft voyage thence down the Tigris
to Mosul. One graphic sketch of an Arab sheik must serve for many:
his characteristic speech contains volumes of his people's history.
"The young sheik was not, probably, more than seventeen or
eighteen years of age; handsome, but with that peculiarly
girlish effeminate appearance I have before mentioned as so
frequently found among the younger aristocracy of the desert,
and so strangely belied by their character and deeds. He now
held my horse, and, apologising for his father's temporary
absence, welcomed us. The tent was large and well made. We
remained here smoking and drinking coffee till the sheik
Dahhal arrived. He was fully dressed in silk--a fine figure of
a man with light clear eyes. Wounds, received long ago, have
incapacitated him from the free use of his hands, but report
says he can still grasp the rich dagger at his girdle with a
fatal strength when passion urges him. Though every feeling
was subdued, there showed through all his mildness the baffled
tiger, whose vengeance would be fearful--he resembled a netted
animal, vainly with all its cunning seeking to break the meshes
that encompassed him on all sides.
"He received us with a hospitality that seemed natural; his
words were more sonorous, grand, and flowing than those of any
Arab I had before seen. They reminded me of the pleasure I had
felt in South America in listening to the language of a true
Spaniard, heard amidst the harsh gutturals of a provincial
jargon; strings of highflown compliments, uttered with an open,
noble mien, that, while it must please those to whom it is used,
seems but a worthy condescension in him.
'He was a man of war and woes;
Yet on his lineaments ye cannot trace,
While gentleness her milder radiance throws
Along that aged venerable face,
The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace.'
"If report speaks true, never did there breathe a truer son of
Hagar than Sheik Dahhal. During his whole life his hand has
been against every man, and every man's against him. Gaining
his social position with his dagger, he openly endeavoured
to enlarge it by every exercise of force or fraud. The whole
frontier of Mardin, Nisibis, Mosul, Bagdad, &c., are his deadly
enemies, made so by his acts. It must be sad in declining years
to see the wreck of a youth thus spent; already the punishment
and repayment are hard at hand.
"Successful violence brings temporary rewards--power, rule,
dominion; but for this he has bartered honour, fame, youth,
conscience: every stake, every ruse, has been used, and he gains
but defeat, disgrace, and contempt. It must be hard, very hard,
for the proud man to live on thus. I pitied him, and could feel
for him as he fondled his young son, a lovely little naked
savage, who lay crouching at his side. He had two or three other
children, all strikingly handsome....
"We were ultimately obliged to refuse his escort. 'It is
well,' said he, 'whether you go or stay, all Dahhal has, all
his enemies have left him, is yours.' We asked him if he saw
any change in the Arab since he remembered: he looked quietly
round at his tents, at his camels now crowded round them, the
flocks lowing to their homes; his dress, his arms, and then
said, 'No: since the time of the Prophets--since time was,
we are unchanged; perhaps poorer, perhaps less hospitable in
consequence; but otherwise unchanged.' He made a very just
remark afterwards: 'Our habits are the only ones adapted to the
country we live in; they cannot change unless we change our
country: no other life can be lived here.'"
Our travellers, sending their horses and servants along the banks of
the Tigris, themselves embarked on board a raft composed of inflated
skins; and their voyage, after many incidents, terminated in the
following scene:--
"At last the pious true-believing eye of the boatman detected
the minarets of Mosul over the low land on the right. On our
left was a large temporary village, built of dried grass,
roughly and coarsely framed; low peaked mountains ahead broke
the steel line of the sky. No sooner did our boatman detect the
minarets, than he continued his prayers, confiding the oars
to one of the servants. Poor fellow! it was sad work; for the
raft, as if in revenge for the way he had pulled her about,
kept pertinaciously turning, and as it bore his Mecca--turned
front to the north, east, or west--he had to stop his pious
invocations, that otherwise would have been wafted to some
useless bourne; and then, as in the swing she turned him to the
black stone, he had to hurry on, like sportsmen anxious for some
passing game. Often he rose, but seemed not satisfied, and again
he knelt, and bowing prayed his Caaba-directing prayers. This
man had not prayed before during the voyage.
"At last, over the land appeared a mud fort hardly
distinguishable from the hill; before it a white-washed dome,
a few straggling buildings--it was Mosul. Presently an angle
is turned, and the broken ruinous wall of an Eastern town lies
before us."
Mosul is only sixteen days' journey from Aleppo. Although now
invested with a lasting interest by its connection with Mr Layard's
magnificent discoveries, it is one of the least attractive cities
of the East. Its neighbourhood, with the grand exception of buried
Nineveh, and some curious naphtha springs, is equally devoid of
interest. The huge mound called Koyunjik, "coverer of cities," lies
on the opposite side of the Tigris, about two miles from the river.
Tel Nimroud, where the first successful excavations were made, is
about eighteen miles lower down. It will be remembered that Mr Rich,
a merchant of Bagdad, first directed attention to these subterranean
treasures nearly twenty years ago: M. Botta, more recently, made
some energetic attempts to discover them; but it remained for our
gallant countryman, Mr Layard, to render his name illustrious by
unveiling the mysteries of ages, and restoring to light the wonders
of the ancient capital of the Assyrians. His renown, and still
more his success itself, must be its own reward; but we fear that
in all other respects the nation is still deeply in his debt. The
capricious liberalities of our Government with respect to art are
very singular; the financial dispositions of the British Museum are
still more difficult to explain. The former does not hesitate to
bestow £2500 on transporting a pillar from the sea-shore of Egypt to
London, while it only places at Mr Layard's disposal £3000 for the
excavation of Nineveh and its surrounding suburbs, eighteen miles
in extent--together with the support and pay of a numerous staff of
artists and others during eighteen months. On the other hand, the
trustees of the British Museum, knowing themselves already to be
deeply in Mr Layard's debt, refuse to further his great efforts,
except by the paltry (and refused) pittance of £12 a-month; and, at
the same time, they furnish Colonel Rawlinson with the sum of £2000
to proceed with excavations at Koyunjik, (three hundred miles from
his residence,) and at Susa, which is one-third of the distance.
In the approaching session of Parliament, we hope that Mr Layard's
services to England and to art will be more generously appreciated
than they have hitherto been; and that, at all events, we shall
not be left to labour under the disgrace of pecuniary debt to that
enterprising gentleman.
We have now reached our traveller's goal, and must make brief
work of his returning tour, in order to spare some columns to the
consideration of the Ansayrii, the most important matter in the work.
After a residence of some weeks at Mosul, and at the several
neighbouring excavations, Mr Walpole accompanied Mr Layard in a tour
through the fastnesses of Koordistan: and here we must find space
for one or two glimpses at those unknown regions, and the life that
awaits the traveller there.
Before we begin to ascend the hill country, we look back:
"On either side, the mountain falls away with jut and crag
almost perpendicularly to the plain; at the foot, hills rise
above hills in irregular and petulant ranges, like a stormy sea
when the wind is gone, and nothing save its memory remains,
lashing the waves with restless motion. Westward lies the vast
plain, its surface broken by the mounds of imperial cities long
passed away.
"One moment the eye rests on the Tigris as it glides its vast
volume by; then, out upon the plain, the desert broken by the
range of Singar, again on to distance where earth and air mingle
imperceptibly together. To the south, over a varied land, is
Mosul, the white glare of its mosque glistening in the sun; to
the south and east, a sea of hills, wave after wave, low and
irregular. The Zab, forcing its way, takes a tortuous course
to its companion; farther on, they join their waters, and run
together to the vast worlds of the south. Beyond are Arbela and
the Obeid. Kara Chout and its crags shut out the view, passing
many a spot graven on the pages of the younger world.
"What a blank in history is there around those vast cities, now
brought to light! A few vague traditions, a few names whose
fabulous actions throw discredit on their existence, are all
that research has discovered. Even the nations following after
these we know but dimly--tradition, garlanded by poetry, our
only guide.
'Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom passed away;
He in the balance weighed,
Is light and worthless clay.
The shroud his robe of state;
His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate,
The Persian on his throne.'
"Fancy conjures up to the south a small and compact body of
Greeks: around them, at a distance, like vultures round a
struggling carcase, hover bands of cavalry. Now, as a gap opens,
they rush on; now, as the ranks close up, they melt away,
shooting arrows as they fly, vengeful in their cowardice--it
is the retreat of Xenophon and his gallant band. They encamp
at Nimroud--as in his yesterday, so in our to-day, a mound
smothering its own renown.
"Northward again comes a mighty band: with careful haste they
cross the rivers, and with confident step traverse the plain
south. On the south-east plain, a legion of nations, golden,
glittering, yet timorous, await their approach. Alexander, the
hero, scatters dismay: assured of conquest ere he met the foe,
he esteems the pursuit the only difficulty. On the one side,
Asia musters her nations--Indians, Syrians, Albanians, and
Bactrians--the hardiest population of her empire. Elephants and
war-chariots are of no avail: the result was fore-written, and
Darius foremost flies along the plain.
"Faint, afar, we can see in the north-west Lucullus; and the
arms of Rome float over the walls of Nisibis, (B.C. 68.) We may
almost see the glorious array of Julian; hear him subduing his
mortal pain; hear him pronounce, with well-modulated tones, one
of the finest orations the world can record. We may see the
timid Jovian skulking in his purple from the field he dared not
defend in his armour. But again rise up the legions and the
Labarum: Heraclius throws aside his lethargy; the earth drinks
deep of gore, and Khosroo[15] is vanquished under our eyes.
[15] He was subsequently murdered, A. D. 62.
"The white and the black banners now gleam upon the field; the
crescent flaunts on either side. One God, one faith--they fight
for nought. Hell for the coward, paradise for the brave. Abou
Moslem and Merwan. The earth, on the spot which had last drunk
the red life-blood of Greek and Persian, now slakes its fill.
Merwan flies with wondrous steps, but the avenger follows fast.
He first loses his army on the Tigris; himself dies on the banks
of the Nile: there perished the rule of the Ommiades.
"The hordes of Timour now approach: their war-song ought to be
the chorus of the spirits of destiny in _Manfred_--
'Our hands contain the hearts of men,
Our footsteps are their graves;
We only give to take again
The spirits of our slaves.'
"What a different aspect must this plain have presented when
those sun-burnt mysterious mounds were living, teeming, sinning
cities; irrigated, cultivated, protected, safe; fruitful and
productive! And these were barbarous times; and now, in this
our day, peace-congresses, civilisation, one vast federal
union, liberty, equality;--a few villages fortified as castles,
a population flying without a hope of even a death-spot in
peace--fearful alike of robbers and rulers, robbed alike by
protectors and enemies, planting the harvest they may not reap;
a government seizing what the roving Arabs choose to leave;
law known but as oppression; authority a license to plunder;
government a resident extortioner.
"Too long have we lingered on the scene. Again the plain is
naked, bare, and lifeless; the sun hovers on the horizon--he
gilds the desert, licks the river; the desert breaks his
glorious disc. Slowly, like the light troops covering a retreat,
he collects his rays; with fondness lights up each hill; warms
with his smile, lighting with unnumbered tints each peak and
crag of hold desert-throned Singar. Reluctantly he hovers for a
moment on the horizon's verge, large, fearful, red; then
'The sun's rim dips, the stars rush out;
At one stride comes the dark.'
"Near the convent is a dripping well; a rough path leads us to
it, and its entrance is shaded by a gigantic tree. The water
is very cold and sweet; the moisture shed a coolness around,
that made an exquisite retreat. Near it is a cave which in days
of persecution sheltered securely many of the poor fugitive
Christians. The destruction of most of the convents about these
mountains and on this plain is imputed to Tamerlane; but in our
own time Sheik Mattie was attacked by the Koords; its fathers
were slain, beaten, and dispersed; and the dust of long ages of
bishops scattered to the winds. They still show in the church
the tombs of Mar Halveus and Abou Faraf, which they say escaped
the observation of the destroyer. The inscription of one we
were able to decipher; but another resisted even the efforts of
the scholar then resident at the convent. We in vain tried many
learned men, but the inscription defies all investigation.
'Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood,
Untold and mystic still.'
"We now made straight for Sheik Mattie, whose green gorge we
could discover high up the face of the mountain. The plain was
a succession of low hills all brown with the summer; here and
there a Koord village with its cultivated fields, cucumbers,
and cool melons. The villages west of the river are nearly all
Christian, but on to-day's ride we passed two Koordish ones. At
one we halted, and regaled ourselves and horses on the fruit
they pressed on us.
"The old sheik came out, followed by two men with felts; these
were spread in the cool, and we made kief. He begged the loan
of Zea, (my Albanian greyhound,) whom he praised beyond measure
for his extreme beauty, to kill hares. To hear him talk, his
complaints of game, of fields, hares destroyed, &c., I could
have believed myself once more in England, but that he closed
each sentence with "It is God's will; His will be done," and
such like holy words. His long, wide, graceful robes also
brought one back to the East, to poetry and to romance."
And here we find less happy accidents in a traveller's life, which
must not pass unremembered.
"At first, one of the greatest privations I experienced in
Eastern travel, and one that half did away with the pleasure
derived from it, was the want of privacy; and one can fully
understand (as probably centuries have produced but little
change in their habits) the expression in the Bible, of our
Saviour retiring apart to pray; for, in the East, privacy is
a word unknown. Families live in one room; men, women, sons,
daughters, sons' wives, &c., and may be said never to be alone.
This at first annoyed me, but habit is second nature. As soon
as the traveller arrives he has visits; all the world crowd to
see him; the thousand nameless things one likes to do after a
tedious hot journey must be done in public. Before you are up
they are there; meals, all, there they are; and there is nothing
for it but to proceed just as if the privacy was complete....
"FRIDAY, 12th--I rose as well as usual: on one side of the tent
lay the Doctor, dead beat; under one flap which constitutes
a separate room, Abdallah perfectly insensible: the cook lay
behind on a heap of horse-cloths, equally stricken. I sat down
to write in the air: finding the flies annoyed me, I read, fell
asleep, and remember nothing save a great sensation of pain and
weariness for two days. It seemed as if a noise awoke me; it
was early morning, and Mr Layard stood before me. Poor fellow!
he had learned how to treat the fever by bitter, almost fatal,
personal experience; and now he dosed us and starved us, till
all but Abdallah were out of danger, at all events.
"It is curious how soon people of warm climates,--or, in fact,
I may say,--all uneducated people, succumb to sickness. Hardy
fellows, apparently as strong as iron: when attacked they lie
down, wrap a coat or cloak around them, and resign themselves
to suffer. It would seem that the mind is alone able to rise
superior to disease: their minds, uncultivated, by disuse weak,
or in perfect alliance with the body, cease to exist when its
companion falls. In intellectual man the mind is the last
to succumb: long after the poor weak body has yielded, the
mind holds out like a well-garrisoned citadel: it refuses all
surrender, and, though the town is taken, fights bravely till
the last."
And now one glimpse at Koordistan and the beautiful and mysterious
Lake Van, which lies hidden in its deepest recesses.
"We now journeyed on through strange regions, where Frank had
never wandered. We saw the Koords as they are best seen, free
in their own magnificent mountains;--not "the ass," as the Turk
calls him, "of the plains." Mahomet Pasha, son of the little
standard-bearer, and Pasha of Mosul was requested to provide for
its defence by the consuls, and to attempt by better rule the
civilisation of the Arabs. He replied:--
'Erkekler Densige
Allar genisig
Kurytar Donsig
Devekler Yoolarsig.'
"'What can I do with people whose men have no religion, whose
women are without drawers, their horses without bits, and their
camels without halters?'
"Thus we wandered over many miles, plains spreading between
their fat mountains, splendid in their grandeur; now amidst
pleasant valleys anon over giant passes--
----'Dim retreat,
For fear and melancholy meet;
Where rocks were rudely heaped and rent,
As by a spirit turbulent;
Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild,
And everything unreconciled.'
"My health after this gradually got worse: repeated attacks of
fever, brought on probably by my own carelessness, weakened me
so much that I could scarcely keep up with the party. Riding was
an agony, and, by the carelessness of my servant, my horses were
ruined. One evening an Abyssinian, one of my attendants, went so
far as to present a pistol at my head. My poor dear dog, too,
was lost, which perhaps afflicted me more than most ills which
could happen to myself. At last we passed over a ridge, and Lake
Van lay before us. We had, perhaps, been the first Europeans
who had performed the journey. The last and only other of which
we have any record was poor Professor Schultz, who was murdered
by order of Khan Mahmoud for the baggage he unfortunately
displayed. The Khan received him kindly, entertained him with
hospitality, and despatched him on his road with a guard who had
their instructions to murder him on the way. He was an accurate
and capable traveller, a native of Hesse, and travelling for the
French government.
"The morning of the 3d of August saw us passing up a most
lovely valley, the Vale of Sweet Waters. We had encamped in
it the night before. Leaving its pretty verdure, we mounted a
long range of sun-burnt hills covered with sun-dried grass and
_immortelles_, whose immortality must have been sorely tried on
that sun-exposed place. Achieving a pass, we gained our view of
Van. The scene was worthy of Stanfield in his best mood. Before
us, on the north-east, brown, quaintly-shaped hills, variegated
with many tints, filled the view of the far horizon. From this
a plain led to the lake; around it were noble mountains, snow
and cloud clad--their beauty enhanced by the supervening water.
Saphan Dagh, with a wreath of mist and cap of spotless snow,
seen across the sea was imposing--I might say, perfect.
"The plain on the eastern coast spread out broad and fair:
here verdant meadows, there masses of fruit-laden trees; while
between the mass wandered the mountain streams, hastening on
to their homes in the fair bosom of the lake. Van itself swept
round its castle, which stands on a curious rock that rises
abruptly from the plain; but the lake, indeed, was the queen
of the view--blue as the far depth of ocean, yet unlike the
ocean--so soft, so sweet, so calm was its surface. On its near
coast, bounded by silver sands, soft and brilliant; while its
far west formed the foot of Nimrod Dagh, on whose lofty crest
are said to be a lake and a castle....
"The waters of the lake have lately been analysed, so the
curious substance found floating on its surface, and used as
soap, will be accounted for: it is sold in the bazaars. At
present there are but three small boats or launches on the lake,
and even these can hardly find trade enough to remunerate them.
Their principal occupation is carrying passengers to the towns
on the coast."
Mr Layard remained at Lake Van in order to copy some inscriptions;
but Mr Walpole was induced to penetrate northward as far as
Patnos, where no European had yet been seen. Here his enterprise
was rewarded by the view of some magnificent scenery, and the
more important discovery of some cuneiform, and many ancient
Armenian inscriptions. These were forwarded by our traveller to
Mr Layard, and will doubtless appear in his forthcoming work.[16]
But we must now leave Koordistan, recommending the perusal of
Mr Walpole's chapter on the Christians of Lake Van, and their
beautiful and mysterious inland sea, to all who love to picture to
themselves strange lands and wild adventure. We return by way of
Erzeroum, Trebizond, the shores of the Black Sea, and Sansoun, to
Constantinople; thence to Latakia; and here we find ourselves within
view of the mountains of the mysterious Ansayrii and Ismaylis.
[16] We must here notice the generosity with which Mr Walpole
forbears to enlarge upon any subject in which he might anticipate
the works of other travellers. For this reason he passes lightly
over this interesting tour in the mountains of Koordistan, and
only (to our regret) alludes _en passant_ to a tribe of _pastoral_
Jews, whom he and Mr Layard met on these mountains, following the
spring (as the snows receding left fresh herbage for their flocks)
up the mountains. When we consider how rarely pastoral Jews are met
with, and that this was the very land wherein the lost ten tribes
disappeared, and, moreover, that the elders of these people spoke
the Chaldean tongue, we are much disappointed to hear no more of
them.
In the title of this work is revived a subject of very ancient
interest. The Ansayrii, or Nassairi, or Assassins, are a singularly
surviving relic of the followers of the Old Man of the Mountain,
so celebrated in the history of the Crusades.[17] Historians have
fallen into a great mistake in supposing this Order to have been
a hereditary dynasty, or to have embraced a nation. Originally
it was simply an Order, like that of the Templars. Like them
the members wore white garments set off with crimson, typifying
innocence and blood. The policy of both was to obtain possession
of strong places, and by terror to keep the surrounding nations in
subjection. The Assassins succeeded in this object so far as to
dictate their will to several Sultans, many Viziers, and innumerable
minor authorities. When the Sultan of the Seljuks sent an ambassador
to the Old Man of the Mountain, demanding his submission, the
following well-known circumstance took place:--"The chief said to
one of his followers, 'Stab thyself!' To another he said, 'Throw
thyself from the battlements!' Before he had ceased to speak his
disciples had obeyed him, and lay dead, not only willing but eager
martyrs to their faith. The chief then turning to the envoy, said,
'Take what thou hast seen for thine answer. I am obeyed by seventy
thousand such men as these.'" The founder of this terrible sect
was Hassan Ben Sahab. He was a "Dai," or master-missionary, from
the Secret Lodge established at Cairo, (about 1004 A.D.), in order
to sap and overthrow the Caliphat of Abbas, and establish that
of the Fatimites. Hassan gave promise of greatness in his youth,
became a favourite of the Melekshah, was banished from court by
the intrigues of a rival, and took refuge at Ispahan. Here he
became initiated in the voluptuous and atheistical doctrines of
the Ismailis, and was sent to Egypt, to the Caliph Mostansur, as a
preacher and promulgator of that atrocious creed. He was banished
from the Egyptian court also, and cast ashore in Syria. After a
variety of adventures in the course of his travels from Aleppo
through Persia, he at length obtained possession of the fortress of
Alamūt,[18] near Khaswin. Here he remained for the remainder of
his life, never leaving the castle, and only twice moving from his
own apartment to the terrace during a period of thirty-eight years.
Here he perfected, in mystery and deep seclusion, his diabolical
doctrines, and soon sent "Dais," or missionaries, of his own into
all lands. The secret society of which he was the head contained
several grades, embracing the initiated, the aspirant, and the
devoted--mere executioners or tools of higher intelligences.[19]
The grand-master was called Sidna (Sidney) "our lord;" and more
commonly Sheik el Djebel, the Sheik or Old Man of the Mountain,
because the Order always possessed themselves of the castles in
mountainous regions in Irak, Kuhistan, and Syria. The Old Man,
robed in white, resided always in the mountain fort of Alamūt.
There he maintained himself against all the power of the Sultan,
until at length the daggers of his Fedavie, or devoted followers,
freed him from his most active enemies, and appalled the others
into quiescence. Alamūt was now called "the abode of Fortune,"
and all the neighbouring strongholds submitted to the Ancient
of the Mountain. The Assassins were proscribed in all civilised
communities, and the dagger and the sword found constant work on
their own professors. The Assassins, however, like the Indian Thugs,
depraved all societies, in all sorts of disguises. At one time the
courtiers of a Caliph being solemnly invoked, with a promise of
pardon and impunity, five chamberlains stepped forward, and each
showed the dagger, which only waited an order from the Old Man to
plunge into the heart of any human being it could reach. By such
agency Hassan kept entire empires in a state of revolution and
carnage. From his remote fortress he made his influence felt and
feared to the extreme confines of Khorassan and Syria. And thence,
too, he propagated the still more infernal engines of his authority,
his catechisms of atheism and licentiousness--"Nothing is true; all
things are permitted to the initiated." Such was the foundation of
his creed.
[17] The mystery relating to this community is so great that the
laborious Müller, in his twenty-four books, has not attempted to
penetrate it. And Gibbon, notwithstanding his acknowledged pleasure
in painting scenes of blood, has treated the Order of Assassins
very superficially. Marco Polo is, as usual, the most entertaining
of authorities, as far as he goes; but it remained for Joseph Von
Hammer to explore the faint vestiges of their strange story with
vast and patient research. He has thrown together the results of his
labours in a small volume, of great interest.
[18] The Vulture's Nest.
[19] Dais, Refik, and Fedavie.
This villain died tranquilly in his bed, having survived to the
age of ninety. His spiritual and temporal power was continued with
various vicissitudes through a long succession of impostors, the
dagger still maintaining its mysterious and inevitable agency.
The list of the best, and some of the most powerful, of Oriental
potentates who perished by it, swells, as the history of the
Order proceeds, to an incredible extent. During all this time
the fundamental maxim of the creed, which separates the secret
doctrines of the initiated from the public tenets of the people, was
preserved. These last were (and now are, according to Mr Walpole)
held to the strictest injunctions of Mahometanism. The East did not
detect the motive power of the Assassins' chief: they only saw the
poniard strike those who had offended the envoy of the invisible
Imam, who was soon to arrive in power and glory, and to assert his
dominion over earth. In the Crusades, the hand of the Assassins is
traced in the fate of Raymond of Tripoli--perhaps in that of the
Marquis of Montferrat--and in many meaner instances. At that period
the numbers of people openly professing the creed is stated by
William of Tyre at sixty thousand; and by James, Bishop of Alla, at
forty thousand. At this day Mr Walpole estimates the number of the
Ansayrii at forty thousand fighting men, including Ismaylis. These
numbers are to be understood, however, in former times, as well
as in the present, to comprise the whole sect, and not merely the
executioners, who always formed a very small proportion, and are now
probably extinct. The Old Man is no longer recognised, so far as can
be ascertained, among the mountains, (where, as usual in other parts
of Syria, the patriarchal form prevails;) and the strange creed
that their ancestors held, together with a singular recklessness of
life, alone remains to mark their descent. Concerning this creed
we are referred by Mr Walpole to some discoveries which he intends
to publish in a future volume. We must confess to considerable
disappointment in the meagre information that is here afforded to us
on the subject, especially after our expectations have been raised
by such a preface as the following:--
"Alone, without means, without powers to buy or bribe, I have
penetrated a secret, the enigma of ages--have dared alone to
venture where none have been--where the government, with five
hundred soldiers, could not follow; and, better than all, I have
gained esteem among the race condemned as savages, and feared as
robbers and ASSASSINS."
Nevertheless, our author has told us a good deal that is new and
interesting about the Ansayrii, as will be seen from our extracts.
The Ismaylis, concerning whose woman-worship and peculiar habits
such strange stories have been whispered, live among the southern
mountains of the Ansayrii. They amount only to five thousand souls,
and appear to be a different tribe, (probably Arab,) grafted upon
them, and gradually, by superior vigour, possessing themselves of
the strongest places in the mountains. These people hold a creed
quite distinct from the Ansayrii, among whom they dwell; and the
extraordinary prayer, or address used by them seems fully to bear
out the long-questioned assertion of their aphrodisial worship.
Marco Polo[20] was the first to furnish some curious accounts of
the Ansayrii, and of the discipline and catechism of the Fedavie:
we hope that Mr Walpole, in his promised volume, will add to the
many vindications which that brave old traveller has received
from time to time. But at the sack of Alamūt, in 1257, all
the Assassins' books (except the Koran) were burned as impious;
and all that now remains of their doctrines must be traditional.
We have dwelt thus long on the Ansayrii in order to display the
interest that belongs to that secluded and mysterious people, and
the importance of any novel intelligence respecting them. Before
we proceed to illustrate their country from Mr Walpole's volumes,
we must find space for some account of the manner in which the
initiation of the Assassins is said to have been performed. The
two great strongholds of the Order were the castle of Alamūt
in Irak, and that of Massiat near Latakia in the Lebanon. These
fortresses, stern and impregnable in themselves, are said to have
been surrounded with exquisite gardens, enclosed from all vulgar
gaze by walls of immense height. These gardens were filled with the
most delicate flowers and delicious fruits. Streams flowed, and
fountains sparkled brightly, through the grateful gloom of luxuriant
foliage. Bowers of roses, and porcelain-paved kiosks, and carpets
from the richest looms of Persia, invited to repose the senses heavy
with luxury. Circassian girls, bright as the houris of Paradise,
served the happy guests with golden goblets of Schiraz wine, and
glances yet more intoxicating. The music of harps, and women's
sweetest voices, sent fascination through the ear as well as eyes.
Everything breathed rapture and sensuality, intensified by seclusion
and deep calm. The youth, where energy and courage seemed to qualify
him for the office of _fedavie_, was invited to the table of the
grand-master, (at Irak,) or the grand-prior, (at Massiat.) He was
there intoxicated with the maddening, yet delightful _hashishe_.
In his insensible state he was transported to the garden, which,
he was told, was Paradise, and which he was too ready to take for
the scene of eternal delight, as he revelled in all the pleasure
that Eastern voluptuousness could devise. He was there lulled into
sleep once more, and then transported back to the grand-master's
side. As he awoke, numbers of uninitiated youths were admitted to
hear his account of the Paradise which the power of the Old Man had
permitted him to taste. And thus tools were found and formed for
the execution of the wildest projects. That glimpse of Paradise for
ever haunted the inflamed imagination of the novices, and any death
appeared welcome that could restore them to such joys.
[20] _De Regionibus Orient._, lib. i. c. 28.
Such is the theory of this singular people, as maintained by Von
Hammer, which it remains for future discoveries--now that Mr Walpole
has opened the way for them--to vindicate or refute. There are also
some remnants of the Persian tribes of this people, an account of
which, by Mr Badger, we are informed, is soon to appear: the Syrians
scarcely know of their existence. The Syrian Ansayrii amount, as
we have said, including Ismaylis, to about forty thousand souls:
they have always preserved their seclusion inviolate; setting at
nought the various tyrannies that have harassed the neighbouring
states, denying the authority of the Sultan, and blaspheming the
Prophet, while they outwardly conform to his rites. They occupy the
northernmost range of the Lebanon, from Tortosa and Latakia, as far
as Adana.
Notwithstanding Von Hammer's elaborate and ingenious theory, many
(amongst whom is our author) have seemed disposed to treat the whole
story of the Assassins, and the Old Man of the Mountain himself,
as myths. It was, they say, the sort of romance that the Crusaders
would have lent a ready ear to, and that their troubadours would
have made the most of. They deny the existence of the powerful hill
fortresses surrounded by the intoxicating gardens; they point to the
renowned Syrian castle of El Massiat, whose ruins occupy a space of
only one hundred yards square, and in whose vaulted stables there is
an inscription purporting that the castle was "the work of Roostan
the Mameluke."
Mr Walpole, however, does not enter into any controversy respecting
this strange people. Of the little that he has confided in his
present two volumes to the public, the following extracts must be
taken as an instalment:--
"The Ansayrii nation--for such it is--being capable of mustering
forty thousand warriors able to bear arms, is divided into two
classes--sheiks and people; the sheiks again into two--Sheiks or
Chiefs of Religion, Sheik el Maalem, and the temporal Sheiks,
or Sheiks of Government; these being generally called Sheik el
Zullom, or Sheiks of Oppression. These latter, though some of
them are of good families, are not so generally: having gained
favour with government, they have received the appointment.
Others there are, however, whose families have held it for many
generations--such as Shemseen Sultan, Sheik Succor, &c. The
sheiks of religion are held as almost infallible, and the people
pay them the greatest respect. With regard to the succession,
there seems to be no fixed rule: the elder brother has, however,
rule over the rest; but then I have seen the son the head of the
family while the father was living.
"The sheik of religion enjoys great privileges: as a boy he is
taught to read and write; he is marked from his fellows from
very earliest childhood, by a white handkerchief round his
head. Early as his sense will admit, he is initiated into the
principles of his faith: in this he is schooled and perfected.
Early he is taught that death, martyrdom, is a glorious reward;
and that, sooner than divulge one word of his creed, he is to
suffer the case in which his soul is enshrined to be mangled
or tortured in any way. Frequent instances have been known
where they have defied the Turks, who have threatened them with
death if they would not divulge, saying, 'Try me; cut my heart
out, and see if anything is within there.' During his manhood
he is strictly to conform to his faith: this forbids him not
only eating certain things at any time, but eating at all with
any but chiefs of religion; or eating anything purchased with
unclean money;--and the higher sheiks carry this to such an
extent that they will only eat of the produce of their own
grounds; they will not even touch water, except such as they
deem pure and clean. Then the sheik must exercise the most
unbounded hospitality; and, after death, the people will build
him a tomb, (a square place, with a dome on the top,) and he
will be revered as a saint.
"The lower classes are initiated into the principles of their
religion, but not into its more mystical or higher parts: they
are taught to obey their chiefs without question, without
hesitation, and to give to them abundantly at feasts and
religious ceremonies: above all, even the uninitiated is to die
a thousand deaths sooner than betray his faith.
"In their houses, which, as I have before said, are poor,
dirty, and wretched, they place two small windows over the door.
This is in order that, if a birth and death occur at the same
moment, the coming and the parting spirit may not meet. In rooms
dedicated to hospitality several square holes are left, so that
each spirit may come or depart without meeting another.
"Like the Mahometans, they practise the rite of circumcision,
performing it at various ages, according to the precocity of
the child. The ceremony is celebrated, as among the Turks, with
feasting and music. This, they say, is not a necessary rite,
but a custom derived from ancient times, and they should be
Christians if they did not do it. This is the same among the
Mahometans, who are not enjoined by their prophet to do so, but
received the rite from of old.[21]
[21] We do not yet know if any ceremony exists at the naming of
the child.
"When a candidate is pronounced ready for initiation, his
tarboosh is removed, and a white cloth wrapped round his
head. He is then conducted into the presence of the sheiks of
religion. The chief proceeds to deliver a lecture, cautioning
him against ever divulging their great and solemn secret. 'If
you are under the sword, the rope, or the torture, die, and
smile--you are blessed.' He then kisses the earth three times
before the chief, who continues telling him the articles of
their faith. On rising, he teaches him a sign, and delivers
three words to him. This completes the first lesson.
"At death, the body is washed with warm soap and water, wrapped
in white cloths, and laid in the tomb. Each person takes a
handful of earth, which is placed on the body; then upright
stones, one at the feet, one at the head, one in the middle,
are placed. The one in the middle is necessary. They have the
blood-feud--the Huck el Dum. In war, blood is not reckoned; but
if one man kills another of a different tribe, all the tribe of
the slayer pay an equal sum to the tribe of the slain--generally
one thousand six hundred piastres, (L.15.)
"In marriage, a certain price is agreed on. One portion goes to
the father, another to supply dress and things necessary for
the maiden. This will vary much, according to the wealth of the
bridegroom and the beauty or rank of the bride. It is generally
from two hundred to seven hundred or a thousand piastres (L.1,
15s. 6d. to L.9, 10s.) Sometimes a mare, a cow, or a donkey,
merely, is given for her. The bridegroom has then to solicit the
consent of the _hirce_, or owner of the bride's village, who
will generally extort five hundred piastres, or more, before he
will give a permission of marriage.
"The price being settled, and security given for its payment,
the friends of the bridegroom mount on the top of the house
armed with sticks. The girl's friends pass her in hastily to
avoid their blows. The bridegroom enters, and beats her with a
stick or back of a sword, so that she cries: these cries must be
heard without. All then retire, and the marriage is concluded.
"They are allowed four wives. The marriage ceremony is simple,
and divorce not permitted. If one of these four wives die, they
are permitted to take another. Generally, they have little
affection for their wives--treating them rather as useful
cattle than as rational creatures. They never teach women the
smallest portion of their faith. They are jealously excluded
from all religious ceremonies; and, in fact, are utterly denied
creed, prayers, or soul. Many here have told me that the women
themselves believe in this; and do not, as one would fancy,
murmur at such an exclusive belief.
"The Ansayrii are honest in their dealings, and none can accuse
them of repudiation or denying a sum they owe.... They regard
Mahomet el Hamyd as the prophet of God, and thus use the
Mussulman confession--'La illa ill Allah, Mahomet el Hamyd,
Resoul e nebbi Allah;' but they omit all this when before
Mahometans, saying merely, 'There is no God but God, and Mahomet
is the prophet of God.' Otherwise, they say, 'There is no God
but Ali, and Mahomet el Hamyd, the Beloved, is the prophet of
God.'
"I do not intend here to enter into their belief more fully;
but it is a most confused medley--a unity, a trinity, a deity.
'These are five; these five are three; these three are two;
these two, these three, these five--one.'
"They believe in the transmigration of souls. Those who in this
life do well, are hospitable, and follow their faith, become
stars; the souls of others return to the earth, and become
Ansayrii again, until, purified, they fly to rest. The souls of
bad men become Jews, Christians, and Turks; while the souls of
those who believe not, become pigs and other beasts. One eve,
sitting with a dear old man, a high sheik--his boys were round
him--I said, 'Speak: where are the sons of your youth? these
are the children of your old age.'--'My son,' he said, looking
up, 'is there: nightly he smiles on me, and invites me to come.'
"They pray five times a day, saying several prayers each time,
turning this way or that, having no keblah. If a Christian or
Turk sees them at their devotions, the prayers are of no avail.
At their feasts, they pray in a room closed and guarded from the
sight or ingress of the uninitiated.
"This will give a general outline of the faith and customs
of the Ansayrii. My intercourse with them was on the most
friendly footing, and daily a little was added to my stock
of information. Let me, however, warn the traveller against
entering into argument with them, or avowing, through the
dragoman, any knowledge of their creed. They are as ready and
prompt to avenge as they are generous and hospitable to protect.
To destroy one who deceives them on this point is an imperative
duty; and I firmly believe they would do it though you took
shelter on the divan of the Sultan. For myself, the risk is
passed: I have gone through the ordeal, and owe my life several
times to perfect accident."
To this long extract we shall only add, that a good deal of
additional light is indirectly thrown upon this singular people
throughout the whole of the third volume of Mr Walpole's work. It is
the best written, as well as the most important, of the series; it
abounds in humour, anecdote, originality, and in no small degree of
curious research.
And now, it only remains for us to bid our entertaining
fellow-traveller heartily farewell. Although, especially in the
first volume, we have felt disposed to quarrel with his style
occasionally, we have found his good-humour, his thoughtful
sentiment, and his reckless wit, at last irresistible. His
very imperfections often prove his fidelity, and his apparent
contradictions his innate truthfulness. We commend to him a little
more study of the art of composition, and a good deal more care;
but we shall consider ourselves fortunate when we meet with another
author of as many faults, if they are atoned for by as many merits.
THE CHAMPIONS OF THE RAIL.
_A History of the English Railway: its Social Relations and
Revelations._ By JOHN FRANCIS. 2 vols. London.
A good many years ago, a late correspondent and writer in this
Magazine, Dr M'Nish of Glasgow, published a work entitled _The
Anatomy of Drunkenness_. The book was an excellent one: most perfect
in its portraiture of the different phenomena which accompany and
succeed a debauch; and in the hands of a regular tee-totaller, it
was undeniably worth some reams of vapid sermons. The preacher,
who never, we are bound to believe, had experienced the vinous or
spirituous excitement in his own person, was enabled from it to hold
forth, with all the unction of reality, to his terrified audience,
upon the awful effects of intemperance. Old ladies, who rarely in
their lives had transgressed beyond a second glass of weak negus
at some belated party, when whist or commerce had been suggested
to while away the weary hours, listened to the warnings of the
gifted apostle of temperance, and hied them home in the tremendous
conviction that they had only escaped, by the merest miracle, the
horrors of _delirium tremens_. Dyspeptic gentlemen were rendered
wretched, as they reflected that, for years past, they had been
accustomed to wash down their evening Finnan haddock, or moderate
board of oysters, with a pint of Younger's prime ale, or, mayhap, a
screeching tumbler. The enormity of their offence became visible to
their eyes, and they incontinently conceived amendment.
But we doubt very much whether the _Anatomy_ would have been
pleasant reading to a gentleman who overnight had imbibed "not
wisely but too well." How could he bear to be told, not only of the
sensations of the previous evening, minutely traced through the
gradations of each consecutive decanter, but of the state of thirst
and unnatural discomfort to which he was presently a victim? Would
it relieve his headach to assure him that, after swallowing three
bottles of claret, most men are apt to be out of sorts? Could he,
the sufferer, derive any assuagement of his pains by knowing--if he
did not know it already--that unlimited brandy and water, however
agreeable during consumption, was clearly prejudicial to the nerves?
Sermons may come too soon. The sufferer ought to be allowed at least
a day or two to recover, before his offence is laid before him in
all its huge deformity. Give him time to be ashamed of himself.
A man's own conscience is his best accuser; and, unless the vice
be absolutely inherent, or totally beyond the hope of remedy, his
own misery will be more likely to effect a cure than any amount of
philosophical dissertations upon its nature.
These thoughts have been irresistibly suggested to us by a perusal
of the two ponderous tomes of Mr Francis, entitled, _A History of
the English Railway: its Social Relations and Revelations_. A more
unfortunate kind of apocalypse could hardly have been hazarded at
the present time. Most people are tolerably well aware, without
the aid of Mr Francis, of the changes in social relations which
have been worked by the British railway; and as for revelations, a
good many would give a trifle to have these entirely suppressed.
We have not yet arrived at the time when the history of the "'45"
of this century can be calmly or dispassionately written. Too many
of us, still remanent here, have burned our fingers, and too many
of our kith and kin have been sent to exile, in consequence of
that notable enterprise. Since the standard was last unfurled in
the vale of Glenmutchkin, a considerable number of the population
have been bitten by the sod, if they did not literally bite it.
That system of turning over turfs, by the aid of silver spades and
mahogany wheelbarrows, was more fatal to the peace of families than
the accumulation of any number of Celtic bagpipers whatever. It
was a grand interment of capital. Who has forgotten the misery of
those times, when letters of railway calls arrived punctually once
a quarter? Two pound ten per share might be a moderate instalment;
but if you were the unfortunate holder of a hundred shares, you had
better have been boarded with a vampire. Repudiation, though a clear
Christian duty to yourself and your family, was utterly impossible.
It mattered not that the majority of the original committeemen and
directors had bolted; you, the subscriber, were tied to the stake.
The work was begun, the contracts opened, and money must be had
at all hazards and sacrifices. You found yourself in the pitiable
situation of an involuntary philanthropist. Threescore hulking
Irish navvies were daily fed, liquored, and lodged at your expense.
Your dwindling resources were torn from you, to make the fortunes
of engineers and contractors. So long as you had a penny, or a
convertible equivalent, you were forced to surrender it. Your case
was precisely similar to that of the Jew incarcerated in the vaults
beneath the royal treasury of King John. One by one all your teeth
were drawn. If you managed to survive the extraction of the last
grinder, and to behold the opening of the line, your position was
not one whit improved. Dividend of course there was none. That awful
and mysterious item of charge, "working expenses," engulfed nearly
the whole revenue. What was over went to pay interest on preference
debentures. That gallant body of men, the directors, laid before
you, with the utmost candour, a state of the affairs of the company;
from which it appeared that they had exceeded their borrowing
powers by perhaps a brace of millions, and had raised the money by
interposing their own individual security. These obligations you
were, of course, expected to redeem; and an appeal was made to your
finer feelings, urging you to consent to a further issue of stock!
It is no great consolation to the men who have suffered more woes
from the railways, than fell to the lot of the much-enduring Ulysses
from the relentless anger of the deities, to know that they have
rendered perfect a vast chain of internal communication throughout
the country. We doubt whether the Israelites, who built them, took
any especial pride in surveying the pile of the pyramids. The
gentleman in embarrassed circumstances, who is pondering over the
memory of his perished capital, is not likely to feel his heart
expand with enthusiasm at the thought that through his agency, and
that of his fellows, thousands of bagmen are daily being whirled
along the rails with the velocity of lightning. He may even be
pardoned if, in the sadness and despondency of his soul, he should
seriously ask himself what, after all, is the use of this confounded
hurry? Is a man's life prolonged because he can get along at the
rate of forty or fifty miles an hour? Is existence to be measured
by locomotion? In that case Chifney, who passed the best part of
his life in the saddle, ought to have been considered as a rival
to Methuselah, and a stoker on the Great Western lives in one week
far longer than the venerable Parr! Is enjoyment multiplied? That,
too, will admit of a serious doubt. In a railway carriage you have
no fair view of the fresh aspect of nature: you dash through the
landscape--supposing that there is one--before its leading features
are impressed upon your mind. There is no time for details, or even
for reflection. You must accommodate your thought to your pace,
otherwise you are left behind, and see nothing whatever for at least
a couple of stations. But for the most part your way lies between
embankments and cuttings, representing either sections of whinstone,
or bare banks of turf, dotted over with brown patches, where the
engine has effected arson. Even furze will not willingly flourish
in such an uncomfortable locality. Then you roar through tunnels,
the passage of which makes your flesh creep--for you cannot divest
yourself of a horrid idea that you may possibly be encountered in
the centre of the darkness by an opposing engine, and be pounded
into paste by the shock of that terrific tilt; or that a keystone of
the arch may give way, and the whole train be buried in the centre
of the excavated mountain. Sensual gratification there is none.
If you do not condescend to the iniquity of carrying sandwiches
along with you--in which case your habiliments are certain to be
grievously defiled with buttered crumbs--you are driven by the
pangs of sheer hunger into the refreshment-room at some station,
and find yourself at the bar of an inferior gin-palace. Very bad
is the pork-pie, for which you are charged an exorbitant ransom.
Call ye this sherry, my masters? If it be so, commend us for the
future to Bucellas. The oranges look well outside, but the moment
you have penetrated the rind, you find that they have been boiled
and are fozy. Do not indulge in the vain hope that you may venture
on a glass of anything hot. Hot enough you will find it with a
vengeance; for, the instant that you receive the rummer, the bell
is sure to ring, and you must either scald your throat by gulping
down two mouthfuls of mahogany-water raised to a temperature which
would melt solder, or consign the prepaid potion to the leisure
of the attendant Hebe. Smoking is strictly prohibited. Even if
you are alone in a carriage, you cannot indulge in that luxury
without rendering yourself liable to a fine; and, if your appetite
should overcome your prudence, and you should venture to set the
law at defiance, before you have inhaled two whiffs, a railway
guard appears as if by magic at the window--for those fellows have
the scent of the vulture, and can race along the foot-boards as
nimbly as a cat along a gutter--and you are ordered to abandon your
Havanna. Under such circumstances, literature is a poor resource.
You read the _Times_ twice over, advertisements and all, and then
sink into a feverish slumber, from which you are awakened by a
demand from a ruffian in blue livery, with a glazed leather belt
across his shoulder, for the exhibition of your ticket. Talk of
the inconvenience of passports abroad! The Continental system is
paradisaical compared with ours. At length, after fingering your
watch with an insane desire to accelerate its movement, you run into
the ribs of something, which resembles the skeleton of a whale--the
train stops--and you know that your journey is at an end. You select
your luggage, after having undergone the scrutiny of a member of the
police force, who evidently thinks that he has seen you before under
circumstances of considerable peculiarity, ensconce yourself in a
cab, and drive off, being favoured at the gate of the station by a
shower of diminutive pamphlets, purporting to be poetical tributes
to the merits of Messrs Moses and Hyams. You have done the distance
in twelve hours, but pleasure you have had none.
Mr Francis, who is gifted with no more imagination than an ordinary
tortoise, though he asserts the superiority of the hare, begins his
book with an exceedingly stupid dissertation upon the difficulties
of ancient travel. Broken bridges, impassable quagmires, and
ferocious highwaymen constitute leading features in his picture;
and, as you read him, you marvel, between your fits of yawning, what
manner of men our ancestors must have been to brave so many dangers.
Sheer drivel all of it! The old roads were uncommonly good, and the
bridges kept in splendid repair from the time they were built by
the Romans. Who ever heard of a quagmire on a turnpike? As for a
casual encounter with Turpin, Duval, or any other of the minions of
the moon, we are decidedly of opinion that such incidents must have
added much to the excitement of the journey. A stout fellow, well
mounted, usually carried about him both pops and a cutlass, and, if
he was cool and collected, might very easily square accounts with
the most ardent clerk of St Nicholas. Does Mr Francis really suppose
that the author of _Jack Sheppard_ likes railway travelling? Not
he. Dearer to his soul is a prancing prad upon Hounslow Heath than
all the engines that ever whistled along a line. Mount him upon
Black Bess, arm him with a brace of barkers, and in the twinkling
of an eye there would be daylight through the carcase of the Golden
Farmer. Is adventure nothing? Had the road no joys? Are we to
consider the whole universe worthless, except those black dots which
in the maps represent cities? Was nature made in vain, in order that
men might hasten from town to town, at the tail of a shrieking
engine, regardless of all the glorious scenery which intervenes?
To our taste, the old mode of travelling--nay, the oldest--was
infinitely superior to the present sickening system. You rose by
times in the morning; took a substantial breakfast of beef and
ale--none of your miserable slops--and mounted your horse between
your saddle-bags, in time to hear the lark carolling on his earliest
flight to heaven. Your way ran through dingle and thicket, along the
banks of rivers, skirting magnificent parks, rich in the possession
of primeval oaks, under which the deer lay tranquilly and still.
You entered a village, stopped at the door of the public-house,
and cooled your brow in the foam of the wholesome home-brewed. You
dined at mid-day, in some town where the execrable inventions of
Arkwright and Watt were unknown; where you encountered only honest,
healthy, rosy-cheeked Christians, who went regularly once a-week to
church, and identified the devil with the first dissenter--instead
of meeting gangs of hollow-eyed lean mechanics, talking radicalism,
and discussing the fundamental points of the Charter. You moved
through merry England as a man ought to do, who is both content
with his own lot and can enjoy the happiness of others. As you saw
the sun rising, so you saw him set. The clouds reddened in the
west--you heard the sweet carol of the thrush from the coppice, and
lingered to catch the melody. The shades of evening grew deeper.
The glow-worms lit their tiny lanterns on the bank, the owl flitted
past with noiseless wing, the village candles began to appear in the
distance; and as you dismounted at the door of your humble inn, and
surrendered your weary beast to the hands of the careful hostler,
you felt that you were the richer by a day spent in the fresh air
and gladsome sunshine, and made happy by all the sounds and sights
which are dear to the heart of man.
But this was solitary travelling, and might not suit every one.
Well--if you were a little fellow, deficient in pluck, and sorely
afraid of robbers, you might have company for the asking. At every
large inn on the road there were at least a dozen travellers who,
for the sake of security, agreed to journey in company. Was that no
fun? Have you anything like it in your modern railways? Just compare
your own experiences of a rocket-flight along the Great Western with
Chaucer's delineation of his Canterbury pilgrimage, and you will
see what you have lost. Nice sort of tales you would elicit either
from that beetle-browed Bradford Free-Trader, evidently a dealer in
devil's-dust, who is your _vis-à-vis_ in the railway carriage; or
from that singular specimen of a nun who is ogling you deliberately
on the left! Can you associate the story of Palamon and Arcite--can
you connect anything which is noble, lofty, inspiriting, humane, or
gentle, with a journey made in an express train? If not, so much
the worse for the present times. Doubtless you may hear something
about Thompson or Bright, but we may be excused if we prefer the
mention of the earlier heroes. Also, you may pick up information
touching the price of calicoes, or the value of stocks, or the
amount of exports of cotton twist--and we wish you much good of all
that you get. But, O dear, is that travelling? Would you like to go
from London to Ispahan in such company? How long do you think you
could stand it? And yet this is the improved system of locomotion
for which we are told to be thankful, and in honour of which such
weariful volumes as those of Mr Francis are written.
"But, mercy on us!" we hear Mr Francis or some of his backers
exclaim--"is it nothing that commercial gentlemen can now make four
trips a-day between Manchester and Liverpool, and do a stroke of
business on each occasion?" We reply, that it would be better for
the said commercial gentlemen, both here and hereafter, if they
would content themselves with a more moderate pursuit of Mammon.
Happiness in this life does not depend upon the amount of sales
effected. The assistant in the London grocer's shop, who daily
ties up a thousand packages of tea and sugar, is not greatly to be
envied beyond his brother in the country, who twists the twine
around fifty. We have an intense respect for work while kept within
wholesome limits; but we cannot regard the man whose sole pursuit
is grubbing after gold as otherwise than an ignominious slave. The
railways are in one sense excellent things. You can get from point
to point, if necessity requires it, much sooner than before, at less
cost, and perhaps with less inconvenience. But there the advantage
ends. There is no pleasure in them; and, compared with former
methods of locomotion, they are decidedly less healthy and less
instructive. We decry them not. We only wish to stop the babbling
of the blockheads who would have us to believe that, until the
steam-engine was invented, this earth was an unendurable waste, a
wilderness of barbarians, and an unfit residence for civilised and
enlightened man. Would the genius either of Shakspeare or Newton
have been greater had they known of the rails? Would the splendour
of the reign of Elizabeth have been heightened had Stephenson then
existed?
The admiration of Mr Francis for the railway system is so intense
as to be purely ludicrous. He considers every man connected with
its development--whether as engineer, contractor, or director--as a
positive public hero; and this work of his seems intended as a kind
of Iliad, to chronicle their several achievements. Since we last
met, Mr Francis has been hard at work upon his style. Formerly he
went along, pleasantly enough, without any great effort: now he is
not satisfied unless he can eclipse Mr Macaulay. He has read the
_History of England_ to some purpose. Fascinated by the brilliancy
of the sketches which the accomplished historian has drawn of the
statesmen of the age of William of Orange, Mr Francis thinks he
will not do justice to his subject unless he adopts a similar mode
of handling. Unfortunately he has no statesmen to celebrate. But
he can do quite as well. There are surveyors and contractors by
the score, whose portraits in his eyes are just as interesting.
Accordingly, we have a repetition of the old scene in the play. A
voice without is heard calling, "Francis!" To which summons Francis
incontinently replieth, "Anon, anon, sir!" and then--"Enter Poins,
Peto, Gadshill, and the rest." No loftier apparition ever comes
upon the stage; but we are warned that, in surveying these, we look
upon individuals destined in all coming time to occupy a lofty
niche in British history. Thus, to quote at random from the index,
we have the following entries--"Richard Creed ... his services and
character." "Who may this Mr Richard Creed be?" says the unconscious
reader; "we never heard of him before!" "Fool!" quoth Francis, "he
was THE SECRETARY OF THE LONDON AND BIRMINGHAM LINE! 'On his honesty
and integrity,' said Mr Glyn on one occasion emphatically, 'I pin my
faith, and you may pin yours also!'" And he adds, referring to an
occasion which must have been exceedingly gratifying to the feelings
of the recipient--"The testimonial to this gentleman, in 1844, was
worthy the munificence of the givers. It is not often that a cheque
for two thousand one hundred guineas accompanies an expression of
opinion, or that the rich man's praise fructifies into a service of
plate." As we contemplate our unadorned sideboard, we acknowledge
the truth of this remark; still, we hesitate to exalt Mr Creed
to the rank of a hero. Then we light on "Undertakings of Thomas
Brassey.... Anecdote concerning him." Mr Brassey is a contractor,
eminent no doubt; but so, in his own age, must have been the Roman
gentleman who undertook the construction of the Cloaca Maxima,
though his name has unfortunately perished. Then appears "Henry
Booth.... His services." We trust they were properly acknowledged.
Then, "Personal sketches of Mr Locke and Mr Chaplin." We are greatly
edified by the _silhouettes_. "Personal sketch of Samuel Morton
Peto." We shall try, if possible, not to forget him. Much as Mr
Francis has done to perpetuate the memory of these great men, it
is plain that his powers have been cramped with the space of two
thick octavo volumes. In order to make his Iliad perfect, we ought
to have had a catalogue of the chiefs of the navvies. But we must
rest satisfied with the acute remark of Herder, that "the burden
of the song is infinite, but the powers of the human voice are
finite." Mr Francis has done what he can. Creed and Brassey--Brunel
and Locke--Chaplin, Peto, and Vignolles, live within his inspired
volumes; and we beg to congratulate them on account of that assured
immortalisation. They are the salt of the earth. The compilers
of traffic-tables have disappeared--the old standing witnesses
before committees of the House of Commons are dumb--the young
engineering gentlemen, who could do anything they pleased in the
way of levelling mountains, are amusing themselves in California or
elsewhere--even the mighty counsel, the holders of a hundred briefs,
for which, for the most part, they rendered but indifferent service,
are unsung. But the others live. In the British Valhalla they are
assured of an adequate niche, thanks to Mr Francis, who, as Captain
Dangerfield says, is ready to stake his reputation that they are the
only men worthy of record in such an enlightened age as our own.
No--we are wrong. The man of all others to be deeply venerated is
"George Carr Glyn, Esq., Chairman of the London and North-Western
Railway," to whom these volumes are respectfully dedicated. Of Mr
Glyn's career as a statesman we know absolutely nothing. We are
not even aware to what section of politicians he belongs, so utter
is our ignorance of his fame. As we read the pages of Francis, and
encountered the continual eulogiums heaped upon this gentleman, we
felt remarkably uncomfortable. We could not divest ourselves of the
notion that we had been asleep for some quarter of a century, and
had therefore missed the opportunity of witnessing the appearance
of a new and most brilliant star in the political horizon. About
Mr Glyn, Francis has no manner of doubt. He is not only the most
sagacious, but the most clever personage extant, for every purpose
which can smooth railway difficulties. He is the Ulysses of his
line, and can rap Thersites on the sconce, if that cynical fiend
should insist upon an awkward question. We really and unaffectedly
ask pardon of Mr Glyn, if we mistake him through his eulogist. We
have no other means of knowing him; and therefore he must settle the
correctness of the following sketch with Mr Francis, who appears
as the voluntary artist. If the drawing is to the mind of Mr Glyn,
and if it meets his ideas of ethics, we have nothing in the world
to say against it, having no interest whatever in the line over
which he presides. Hear Francis: "The proper place to see Mr Glyn
is as chairman in that noble room, where, with an earnest multitude
around him, with the representative of every class and caste before
him--with Jew and Gentile ready to carp at and criticise his
statements--he yet moves them at his pleasure, and leads them at
his will. And perhaps the ascendency of one man over many is seldom
_more agreeably seen_ than when, standing before a huge expectant
audience, he enlivens the platitudes of one with some light
epigrammatic touch, answers another with a clear tabular statement,
_or replies to a third with some fallacy so like a fact_ that the
recipient sits contentedly down, about as wise as he was before."
This is, to say the least of it, an equivocal sort of panegyric. We
all know what is implied by the term "fallacies" in railway matters,
and some of us have suffered in consequence. According to our view,
this interchange of fallacies between directors and shareholders is
a custom by no means laudable, or to be held in especial repute. In
pure matters of business, the less frequently fallacies are resorted
to, the better. They are apt, in the long run, to find their way
into the balance-sheet--until, as we have seen in some notorious
instances, the assumed fact of a clear balance, to be applied by way
of dividend, turns out also to be a fallacy. In the case before us,
we are willing to believe that Mr Francis is altogether mistaken,
and that the statements of Mr Glyn, made in his official capacity,
which appeared to the blundering reporter to be fallacies, were in
reality stern truths. But what sort of estimate must we form of Mr
Francis' moral perception, when we find him selecting such a trait
as the subject of especial commendation? He has, however, like
most other great men, large sympathies. He does battle in behalf of
Mr Hudson with considerable energy; though, after all, taking his
conclusions as legitimate, his defence simply resolves itself into
this--that Mr Hudson's conduct was not more blamable than that of
others. So be it. We never joined in the wholesale censure directed
against the quondam railway monarch, because we knew that the whole
tone of the morals of society had been poisoned by the villanous
system engendered by railway speculation; and because we saw that
many of his accusers, if their own conduct had been sifted, might
have been arraigned equally with him at the bar of public opinion.
Therefore we have no desire to interfere with the operations of Mr
Francis, when he appears with his pot of whitewash. Nay, we wish
that the implement were more roomy than it is, and the contents
of less questionable purity--for assuredly he has a large surface
of wall to cover, if he sets himself seriously to the task of
obliterating the traces of past iniquity.
The reader, however, must not suppose that Mr Francis sees nothing
to condemn, or that he has not at command thunderbolts of wrath to
launch at the heads of offenders. According to him, the most painful
feature of the railway system was the rapacity of the owners of the
soil in driving hard bargains for their land. As this is a charge
which has often been made by men more competent to form an opinion
upon any subject than the gentleman whose work we are now reviewing,
we shall condescend to notice it. Let us premise however, that, in
this matter, the howl is distinctly traceable to the harpies who
inveigled the public to join their nefarious schemes, and to advance
their capital on the assurance of enormous dividends.
After referring to the negotiations made with landowners by the
promoters of the London and Birmingham line, Mr Francis comments as
follows:--
"These things are written with pain, for they display a low
tone of moral feeling in that class which, by virtue of
inheritance, of birth, and blood, should possess a high and
chivalrous sense of honour. The writer is far from wishing to
blame those who honestly opposed the rail. The conscientious
feeling which prompts a man, even in an unwise action, if
mistaken, is at least respectable. There is much to palliate the
honest opposition of the landowner. Scenes and spots which are
replete with associations of great men and great deeds cannot be
pecuniarily paid for. Sites which bear memories more selfish,
yet not less real, have no market value. Homes in which boyhood,
manhood, and age have been passed, carry recollections which
are almost hallowed. Such places cannot be bought and sold; nor
are the various prejudices which cling to the country to be
overlooked. If the nobleman disliked the destruction of his fine
old English park, the yeoman deplored the desecration of his
homestead. The one bore its splendid remembrances, the other its
affectionate recollections. If the peer hallowed the former for
the sake of its royal visits, the farmer cherished the latter
for the sake of those who had tilled the land before him. There
are fancy spots in this our beautiful England which it would
pain the most indifferent to destroy; what then must be the
feelings of those who have lived, and only wish to die there?
"It is the trafficker in sympathies, it is the dealer in haunts
and homes, at whom the finger of scorn should be pointed. It
is the trader in touching recollections, only to be soothed
by gold, that should be denounced. It is the peer who made
the historic memories of his mansion a plea for replenishing
an impoverished estate; it is the farmer who made the sacred
associations of home an excuse for receiving treble its value;
it is the country gentleman who made his opposition the lever
by which he procured the money from the proprietors' pockets,
who should be shamed. And a double portion of ignominy must rest
upon these, when it is remembered that the money thus immorally
obtained is a constant tax on the pleasures of the artisan, on
the work of the manufacturer, and on the wages of the railway
official."
Mr Francis, it is evident, is fighting hard for his service of
plate; but we doubt much whether he will get it. He evidently
considers the foregoing passage as a specimen of splendid writing.
He is mistaken. It is nothing better than unadulterated drivel.
Let us try to extricate, if we can, his argument from this heap of
verbiage.
He admits that associations ought to be respected, but he denies
that they ought to have been paid for. What does he mean by this? By
whom were the said associations to be respected? By the projectors
of the railway companies? Hardly: for those very sympathising
gentlemen were precisely the persons who insisted upon running their
rails right through park and cottage, and who would have prostrated
without remorse the Temple of Jerusalem or the Coliseum, had either
edifice stood in their way. What, then, was the value of that
respect? Precisely the worth of the tear which stood in the eye of
the tender-hearted surveyor. What was the operation of that respect?
Not to spare, but if possible to destroy.
In a word, Mr Francis maintains that the railway companies ought to
have had their own way in everything, and to have got possession of
the land at the lowest conceivable prices. He thinks that, because
gentlemen whose property was threatened with invasion, whose privacy
it was purposed to destroy, and whose homes were to be rendered
untenantable, demanded a high price from the joint-stock trading
companies, as an equivalent for the surrender of such privileges,
they manifested a "low tone of moral feeling." In fact, so far as
we can gather from his language, he puts no value whatever, in
a pecuniary sense, upon the associations which he admits to be
entitled to respect; and hardly any, if any, upon the score of
amenity. He is anything but an Evelyn. An oak, in his eyes, is
merely a piece of standing timber to be measured, valued, and paid
for according to the current price in the dockyards. The land--no
matter of what kind--is to be estimated according to the amount
of its yearly return, and handed over without farther question
to the enterprising company which demands it. Perhaps Mr Francis
may remember a certain passage in sacred history, narrating the
particulars of a proposed transfer of ground--the parties being
King Ahab on the one hand, and Naboth the Jezreelite on the other?
If not, we recommend it to his attention, assuring him that he will
find it to contain a very important lesson touching the rights of
property. His present argument, if it is worth anything, would go
far to vindicate Ahab. He wanted the other man's vineyard because it
lay contiguous to his house, and he offered to give him in exchange
a better vineyard for it, or an equivalent in money. According to
the view maintained by Mr Francis, Naboth was not justified in
refusing the offer.
But let us look into this matter a little more closely. On the one
hand there is the owner of a property which has been transmitted
through a long line of ancestors, and which is now to be intersected
and cut up by a projected line of railway. On the other hand there
is the company, which cannot progress a step until they have
possession of the land. Now let us see what is the nature, and what
are the objects of this company. It will not do for Mr Francis
or any one else to babble about public advantages, arising from
more direct communication between cities or towns of importance.
Public advantage may be taken for granted as a result, but upon
pure considerations of public advantage no railway whatever
was undertaken. It is the commercial speculation of a private
company. No man ever took a share in any railway from motives of
disinterested philanthropy. He took them because he expected to make
a profit by them, to hold them as a safe investment, or finally to
sell them for a larger sum than he paid. A condition, and the main
one, of the existence of the railway is the possession of the land,
and at this point proprietors and speculators join issue. The former
do not want the railway. Their wish is to preserve their property
undissevered, and to be spared from the spectacle of engines roaring
by at all hours of the day and night close to the bottom of the
lawn. They very naturally think it a monstrous hardship that the
rights of private property should be invaded by private individuals,
even though acting upon an incorporated semblance, who are simply
seeking their own profit; and they argue that, if the railway was
required for public purposes, the government was the proper party
to have undertaken its construction. But as, under the existing
law, they are liable to be dragged, session after session, into
a ruinous expense to oppose the demands of the capitalists, they
wisely determine to make the best arrangement they can, and at all
events to secure a full remuneration for the sacrifice. So the
Squire, finding that the law is so conceived and modified that any
one individual who is possessed of landed property may be compelled
to surrender it at the demand of a hundred leagued capitalists,
makes a virtue of necessity, and demands a sum corresponding in
some degree to the extent of the extorted sacrifice: whereupon the
promoters of the railway instantly raise such a howl that you would
think somebody was trying to rob _them_, or to take _their_ property
by force--the case being notoriously the reverse.
Undoubtedly the Squire demands more from the railway company, as
compensation for his land, than he could calculate on receiving
from a neighbouring proprietor at an ordinary sale. And on what
principle, in the majority of cases, does he base his calculation
of value? Strictly upon that adopted by the projectors of the line.
For instance, a prospectus of a railway is put out, announcing that,
after the most careful consideration of district traffic, &c., the
clear dividend, after clearing all expenses, must be fifteen per
cent per annum to the proprietors. That is the statement of the
projectors. Well, then, if such are the prospects of the concern,
is it unreasonable that the land, which must be taken for its
construction, and which is, in fact, to form the railway, should be
valued, less on account of its productiveness, than on account of
its adaptation for the peculiar purpose for which it is required?
Why is an acre in the centre of a town a hundred times more valuable
than an acre in a rural district? Simply because it is required for
building, and the value of the land rises in just correspondence
to the demand. The subsequent failure or diminution of the railway
dividends cannot be made a just article of dittay against the landed
proprietors. Fifteen per cent, or ten, as the case might be, was
the amount of dividend which the promoters undertook to prove, to
the satisfaction of Parliament and the public, as their reasonable
expectation. It was part of their case always, and very often the
most important part; and if they chose so to commit themselves,
they were bound to pay accordingly. Just conceive a body of men
addressing an urban proprietor of land, upon which no houses were
yet built, in the following terms:--"Sir, we perceive you have an
acre and a half of land which would be very convenient for our
purpose. We propose to build a street of houses upon it, and a
hotel, from the rents of which we expect to draw fifteen per cent
yearly. At present your land yields you little or nothing, and
therefore we wish you to dispose of it at its present value. Let us
say that just now it is worth to you five pounds a-year: we shall
buy it from you at five-and-twenty years' purchase!" We leave to the
imagination of the reader the exact terms in which the proprietor
would assuredly reply to the propounders of this reasonable request.
And yet, where is the difference between the cases? The railway
projector tells the landed proprietor that he desires to have his
property for the purpose of securing fifteen per cent for his own
money: the landed proprietor tells him that he may have the property
at a rate corresponding to the advantage which he anticipates. Can
anything be fairer? If Mr Francis understood even the simplest
elements of political economy--an amount of mental comprehension of
which we believe him to be wholly incapable--he ought to know that
demand and supply are the leading conditions of price. If there
is only one salmon in the London market, it will sell, as it has
done before now, at the rate of a-guinea per pound, and it would be
obviously unfair to charge the fishmonger with being actuated by "a
low tone of moral feeling." He coerces no customer: he simply states
his price, and if no one chooses to buy, no one has a right to
complain. Our friend Francis seems to labour under the hallucination
that everything required for a railway ought to be furnished at
prime cost. That the promoters expect fifteen percent is nothing.
Nay, even the free-trading rule of selling in the dearest and
buying in the cheapest market is to be suspended for their behoof.
The seller is to have no option: he must be cheap to them, else
he is a moral monster. If, however, the judicious panegyrist of
Mr Carr Glyn does not carry his principles quite so far, he lays
himself open to the charge of most monstrous inconsistency. During
the prevalence of the railway mania, all commodities requisite for
their construction rose greatly in value. From iron to railway
sleepers--in wood, metal, and everything connected with the making
of the lines--there was an enormous enhancement of price. And
why? On account of the demand. Was the soil on which that iron
and wood was to be laid--the absolute foundation of the railway
itself--to be paid for at a meaner rate? Mr Francis seems to think
so; and we cannot help honouring him for the candid expression of
his opinions, even while we regret the conglomeration of ideas
which gave them birth. We are afraid that he has been talked over
by some of his acute acquaintances. It is the fashion at railway
meetings to attribute all disasters to some other cause than the
mismanagement of the directors; and we daresay that Mr Francis has
been fully indoctrinated with such opinions. It is not agreeable
to meet shareholders with a confession of dwindled dividend. But
when imperious circumstances render such a course inevitable, it
is convenient to be prepared with some "fallacy" which may help
to account for the fact, and to stifle too curious investigation.
The readiest scapegoat is the landowner. All accounting with him
is past and gone, yet he still can be made to bear the blame for a
vast amount of reckless prodigality. He is not there to speak for
himself--he has no connection with the company. Therefore, whenever
failure must be acknowledged, the onus is cast upon him. Railway
orators and railway writers alike conceal the real cause of the
disaster, and combine to cast discredit and aspersion upon the
gentry of England.
The truth is, that the system of railway management in this country
has been, from the beginning to the end, decidedly bad. Each line,
as it came into existence, was fostered by quackery and falsehood.
The most extravagant representations were used to secure the
adhesion of shareholders, and to procure the public support. Rival
lines fought each other before the committees with a desperation
worthy of the cats of Kilkenny, and enormous expenses and law
charges were incurred at the very commencement. No economy whatever
was used in the engineering, and no check placed on the engineers.
In those days, indeed, an engineer of established reputation was a
kind of demigod, whose doctrine, or, at all events, whose charges,
it was sinful to challenge. But engineers have their ambition.
They like viaducts which will be talked of and admired as splendid
achievements of mechanical skill; and the most virtuous of the tribe
cannot resist the temptation of a tunnel. Such tastes are natural,
but they are fearfully expensive in their indulgence, as the
shareholders know to their cost. The remuneration of these gentlemen
was monstrous. In the course of a few years most of them realised
large fortunes, which is more than can be said for the majority of
the men who paid them. So was it with the contractors. Mr Francis
tells us of many, "who, beginning life as navigators, have become
contractors; who, having saved money, have become 'gangers,'
realised capital and formed contracts, first for thousands, and then
for hundreds of thousands. These are almost a caste by themselves.
They make fortunes, and purchase landed estates. Many a fine
property has passed from some improvident possessor to a railway
labourer; and some of the most beautiful country seats in England
belong to men who trundled the barrow, who delved with the spade,
who smote with the pick-axe, and blasted the rock." With such
statements before us, it is not difficult to see how the money went.
Alas for the shareholders! Poor geese! they little thought how many
were to have a pluck at their pinions.
Industry, we freely admit, ought to have its reward; but rewards
such as these are beyond the reach of pure industry, as we used
formerly to understand the term. These revelations may, however,
be of use as indicating the direction in which a great part of the
money has gone. We accept them as such, and as illustrations of
that profound economy which was practised by the different boards
of railway direction throughout the kingdom. Mr Francis, in his
laudatory sketches of his favourite heroes, usually takes care
to tell us that they are "sprung from the ranks of the people."
Of course they are. Where else were they to spring from? Does Mr
Francis suppose it to be a popular article of belief that they
emerged from the bowels of a steam-engine? What he means, however,
is plain enough. Judging from the whole tenor of his book, we
take him to be one of those jaundiced persons who, without any
intelligible reason beyond class prejudice, are filled with bile
and rancour against the aristocracy, and who worship at the shrine
of money. He grudges every farthing that the railway companies were
compelled to pay for land; he bows down in reverence before the
princely fortunes of the contractors. Every man to his own taste. We
cannot truthfully assert that we admire the selection of his idols.
But what is this? We have just lighted upon a passage which compels
us, in spite of ourselves, to suspect that our Francis is, at least,
a bit of a repudiator, and that he would regard with no unfavourable
eye another pluck at the shareholders. Here it is:--
"The assertion that land and compensation on the line to
which Mr Robert Stephenson was engineer, which was estimated
at £250,000, amounted to £750,000, appears to call for some
additional remark; _and the question which is now proposed is,
how far the right is with the railroads to demand, and the
passengers to pay an increased fare, in consequence of bargains
which, unjust in principle, ought never to have been allowed?_
It is now a historic fact that every line in England has cost
more than it ought. That in some--where, too, the directors were
business men--large sums were improperly paid for land, for
compensation, for consequential damages, for fancy prospects,
and other unjust demands under various names. These sums being
immorally obtained, _is it right that the public should pay
the interest on them_? Is it just that the working man should
forego his trifling luxury to meet them? Is it fair that the
artisan should be deprived of his occasional trip, or that the
frequenter of the rail should pay an additional tax?"
Is it fair that anybody should pay anything at all for travelling
on the railways? That is the question which must finally be
considered, if Mr Francis' preliminary questions are to be
entertained. Because some part of the capital of the shareholders
may have been needlessly expended, they ought in this view to
receive a less amount of interest for the remainder! The silliness
of the above passage is so supreme--the ignorance which it displays
of the first rules of law and equity, regarding property, is so
profound, that it is hardly worth while exposing it. It betrays an
obliquity of intellect of which we had not previously suspected
even Mr Francis. Pray observe the exquisite serenity with which
this important personage opens his case: "The question which is now
proposed!" Proposed--and for whose consideration? Not surely for
that of the Legislature, for the Legislature has already pronounced
judgment. Are the public to take the matter in hand, and decide
on the tables of rates? It would seem so. In that case, we might
indeed calculate upon travelling cheap, provided the rails were not
shut up. But the whole of his remarks are as practically absurd
as they are mischievous in doctrine. What right has Jack, Tom, or
Harry to question the cost of his conveyance? Are there not, in
all conscience, competing lines enough, independent altogether
of Parliamentary regulations, to secure the public against being
overcharged on the railways? On what authority does Mr Francis
assume that a single acre of the land was paid for at an unjust
rate? Mr Robert Stephenson's estimate, we take it, has not the
authority of gospel. No engineer's estimate has. Their margin is
always a large one; and it almost never happens that, when the
works are completed, their actual cost is found to correspond with
the hypothetical calculation. But the truth is, that the value
paid for the land taken by railways is the only item of expense
which cannot be justly challenged. The reason is plain. A railway
company has in the first instance to prove the preamble of its
bill--that is, it must show to the satisfaction of the Legislature
that the construction of the work will be attended with public and
local advantages. The settlement of the money question, regarding
the value of the land, is reserved for the legal tribunals of the
country. To complain of the verdicts given is to impugn the course
of justice, and to cast discredit on the system of jury trial.
Very wisely was it determined that such questions should be so
adjudicated, because no reasonable ground of complaint can be left
to either party. The decision as to the value of the land, and the
amount of compensation which is due, is taken from the hands both
of Ahab and Naboth, and their respective engineers and valuators,
and intrusted to neutral parties, whose duty it is to see fair play
between them.
We have done with this book. It has greatly disappointed us in every
respect. As a repertory of facts, or as a history of the railways,
it is ill-arranged, meagre, and stupid; and the sketches which it
contains are so absurdly conceived, and so clumsily executed, that
they entirely fail to enliven the general dulness of the volumes. At
the very point which might have been rendered most interesting in
the hands of an able and well-instructed writer--the period of the
great mania--Mr Francis fails. His pen is not adequate to the task
of depicting the rapid occurrences of the day, or the fearful whirl
which then agitated the public mind. In short, he is insufferably
prosy throughout the first four acts of his drama, and makes a
lamentable break-down at the catastrophe. His work will fail to
please any portion of the public, except the heroes whose praises
he has sung. He has given them sugar, indeed; but, after all, it is
a sanded article. We hope they will combine to buy up the edition,
and thus fulfil the prophecy of Shakspeare--"Nay, but hark you,
Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me--'twas a pennyworth, was't
not?" "O Lord, sir! I would it had been two." "I will give thee for
it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it."
"Anon, anon, sir!"
INDEX TO VOL. LXX.
Abdallah, a dragoman, sketch of, 448 _et seq._
Aborigines, general characteristics of, 416.
Abrantes, the marquis of, 354.
Achmet Bascha, a campaign in Taka under, 251 _et seq._
Achmet Effendi, sketch of, 453.
Acre, sketches at, 459.
Administration, system of, in Russia, 164 ET SEQ.
Adolphe the clairvoyant, performances of, 70.
Africa, recent travels in, 251.
Agricultural depression, amount of, in Ireland, 136
--reaction of it on other classes of the community, 303.
Agricultural interest, experienced results of free trade to
the, 133
--Lord John Russell on its state, 489.
Agricultural Relief Associations, proceedings and demands of
the, 616.
Agriculture, Huskisson on protection to, 632
--state of, &c. in the United States, 699 _et seq._
--relations of geology to, 703
--improvements in, in New York, &c., 704
--its state, &c., in Canada, 707.
Agriculturists, effects of the depression of the, on the home
trade, 109
--lowering of the wages of the, 496.
Albany, Professor Johnston's Lectures in, 700.
Alchemy, origin of chemistry with, &c., 564.
Aleppo, town of, 725.
Alexandretta, town of, 463, 724.
Alexandria, a voyage from, to Syria, 451.
Alexis the clairvoyant, 77.
Ali-Beg, the pass of, 100.
Amadeus I. of Savoy, 414.
American lakes, the, 708, 709.
American slavery, on, 385.
Americans in California, character, &c. of the, 478.
Amiens, sketches at, 199.
ANSAYRII, THE, 719
--their tenets, numbers, &c., 733.
Apes, shooting of, at Hassela, 270.
Arab Scheik, an, 728.
Arable culture, expense of, 1790, 1803, and 1813, 620.
Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile, the, 319.
Arches, the triumphal, of Paris, 320.
Arkwright, sir R., origin of the discoveries of, 566.
Army, the French, feeling in, toward Louis Napoleon, 547.
ARNABOLL, THE RAID OF, chap. I., 220
--chap. II., 225
--chap. III., 230
--chap. IV., 236.
Artesian well, the, at Paris, 317.
Aspre, general d', notices of, during the campaign in Italy, 29 ET
SEQ. PASSIM
--his march on Verona, 442.
ASSASSINS or Ansayrii, the, 719
--their tenets, &c., 733.
Atbara river, the, 257 _et seq. passim_.
Atoi, a New Zealand chief, 417.
Auber's opera of Zerline, on, 311.
Aumale, the duke d', the duke of Orleans on, 555.
Australia, character of the aborigines of, 416
--a voyage to California from, 471.
Austria, sketches of the war between her and Piedmont, 25 _et seq._
--her intervention in the Papal States in 1830, 432
--her long possession of Lombardy and acquisition of Venice, 433
--her administration of the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom, 434.
AUSTRIAN AIDE-DE-CAMP, the campaigns of an, 25.
AUTUMN POLITICS, 607.
Bacon, Friar, the prophecy of, 562.
Bagdad, sketches of, 97.
Ballet-dancing, Fanny Lewald on, 217.
Baranken, fur called, 172.
Bassora, a voyage to, 96.
Bears, the, in the Jardin des Plantes, 314
--sketches of, in North America, 672, 677.
Beautiful, Ruskin's theory of the, examined, 333.
Belgian Revolution, Stahr on the, 544.
Benares, sketches by Madame Pfeiffer at, 93.
Berchthold, count, fellow-traveller of Madame Pfeiffer, 87 _et seq.
passim_.
Bethmeria, village of, in Lebanon, 456.
Beyrout, sketches at, 454, 721.
Blane, Louis, account of, by Fanny Lewald, 214.
Bombay, a voyage from Bassora to, 96.
BOROUGHS, DISFRANCHISEMENT OF THE, 296.
Boroughs, apparent secession of the, from the free-trade cause, 299.
Boulevard of Paris, the, 200.
Boulogne, difficulties of the invasion of England from, 197
--sketches in, 198.
Bradford, present state of manufactures at, 643.
Brazil, sketches in the interior of, 87.
Bread-stuffs, the exports of, from the United States, 702.
Brett, Messrs, the inventors of the submarine telegraph, 567.
Bribery, parliamentary, on, 303.
Bright, John, on the reduction of wages, 634.
British empire, statistics regarding population of the, 1801 to
1851, 127.
British shipping, influence of free trade on, 138.
Browne, sir Thomas, testimony of, concerning witchcraft, 81.
Buckwheat, use of, in North America, 705.
Buffon, superintendence of the Jardin des Plantes by, 315.
Buonaparte, Napoleon, restoration of the Jardin des Plantes by, 315
--the monument to, in the Hôtel des Invalides, 317
--measures of, regarding the drama, 324.
Buonaparte, Napoleon, son of Jerome, 206.
Burdon, captain, British resident at Kottah, 94.
Burke, E., proposal by, to gild the dome of St Paul's, 316.
Burning forest, a, in Brazil, 88.
Cagliostro, supposed mesmeric power of, 77.
Cairo, sketches of life, &c. at, 449.
California, sketches in, 470 _et seq._
Camino theatre, the, at St Petersburg, 168.
CAMPAIGN IN TAKA, a, 251.
CAMPAIGNS OF AN AUSTRIAN AIDE-DE-CAMP, the, 25.
Canadas, sketches by Professor Johnston in the, 706
--statistics of their progress, 708.
Cancrin, finance minister of Russia, 166.
Cannibalism of New Zealand, the, 415.
Caravan journey to Mossul, a, 98.
Cards, playing, consumption of, in Russia, 169.
Carey's Harmony of Interests, &c., extracts from, 640.
Carlists, fall of the, in Spain, 356.
Carré, Michel, French translation of Goethe's Faust by, 556.
Carrousel, the arch of the, 320.
Cash payments, influence of the suspension of, 619
--and that of their resumption, 622.
Catamount, adventure with a, 677.
Cavalry, the Russian, 165.
Caxton, Pisistratus, My Novel by,
--Part XI. Book VI. chapters I. to XII. 1
--Part XII. Book VI. chapters XIII. to XXV. 173
--Part XIII. Book VII. chapters I. to XV. 275
--Part XIV. Book VII. chapters XVI. to XXII. 392
--Part XV. Book VIII. chapters I. to VI. 573
--Part XVI. Book VIII. chapters VII. to XIV. 681.
CENSUS AND FREE TRADE, the, 123.
CHAMPIONS OF THE RAIL, the, 739.
Charles Albert, King of Sardinia, sketches of, 30 _et seq. passim_
--his conduct with regard to Lombardy, 437
--hostilities begun by him, 440
--sketch of his previous career, 442
--the campaign under him, 444
--his last defeat, abdication, and death, 446.
Chartum, the town of, 251.
Cheapness, examination of the question of, 638.
Chemistry, alchemy the parent of, 564.
Cherbourg, the harbour of, 197.
China, sketches in, by Madame Pfeiffer, 92.
Chinese junk, voyage in a, 93.
Church, Mr Phelps on the, 388.
Churches, Ruskin on, 327.
"Claims of Labour," remarks on the, 380.
Clairvoyance, examination of the claims of, 70 _et seq._
Clam, General Count, 33.
Clergy, influence of free trade on the, 500.
Clouds, Ruskin on, 330.
Coal gas, how first discovered, 569.
Colonisation, two sonnets, 606.
Column, on the, as the monument, 319.
"Companions of my solitude," review of, 386.
Concorde, the Place and Pont de la, in Paris, 202, 203, 312.
CONGRESS AND THE AGAPEDOME, the, chap. I. 359
--chap. II. 365
--chap. III. 370
--chap. IV. 375.
Conjurors, Indian, 94.
"Conquerors of the New World, the," remarks on, 380.
Conscription, the, in France, 323.
Constable the painter, the trees of, 332.
Constantinople, winter aspect of, 723.
Constituencies, large, the _Times_ on, 301.
Continent, revolutionary tendencies the, and their causes, 431.
Cook, Captain, on the cannibalism of New Zealand, 416.
Corn laws, causes which brought about the repeal of the, 115
--separation between landlord and tenant induced by their
repeal, 610
--circumstances which originated them. &c., 621
--Huskisson in favour of the, 632
--effects of their repeal on prices, 637.
Cornu, Madame, letters of Louis Napoleon to, 547.
Costazza, defeat of Charles Albert at, 445.
Cotton manufacture, wheat used for starch in the, 497.
Counties, decrease of population in, 1841 to 1851, 129.
Country, immigration of population into the towns from the, 307.
Country districts, first failure of population in the, 125.
Crime, increase of, under the free-trade system, 139
--increase of it in the towns, 307.
Croats, the troops called, 443.
Crusades, increase of population during the, 124.
CRYSTAL PALACE, VOLTAIRE IN THE, 142.
Currency reform, necessity for, 111.
Currency system, the new, the monetary crisis due to, 132
--relation of it to the free-trade question, 618.
Custine, M. de, his book on Russia, 160.
Cuvier, superintendence of the Jardin des Plantes by, 316.
Daun, Marshal, the victory of, at Kolin, 26.
DAY-DREAMS OF AN EXILE. Longings
--I. To ----, 465
--II. Where summer is, 467
--III. Earth is the realm of death, 469
--IV. Stand by the ocean, _ib._
--V. Sigh thou not for a happier lot, 604
--VI. To ----, 605
--VII. Oft in a night of April, _ib._
--VIII. Dream on, 606
--IX. Colonisation, two sonnets, _ib._
Defalla, an African chief, 259.
Delta, The Lament of Selim, by, 103
--his death, and sketch of his life, &c., 249.
Dembinski, General, in the Hungarian war, 37.
Depression, the present, its universality, 630.
Derby, the Earl of, on protection, 613.
Digby, Sir Kenelm, supposed acquaintance of, with mesmerism, 77.
DIGGINGS, A VOICE FROM THE, 470.
DISFRANCHISEMENT OF THE BOROUGHS, the, 296.
Disraeli, Mr, new policy proposed by, against free trade, 612 _et
seq. passim_.
Domestic tyranny, Mr Helps on, 381.
Doubleday, Mr, on the effects of Peel's currency system, 622.
DOWNWARD TENDENCIES, 106.
Drama, sketch of the rise and history of the, in France, 323
--its present state there, 324.
"Dream on, ye souls who slumber here," 606.
Druses, sketches of the, 456.
Dumas, Alexander, sketches of, by Professor Stahr, and account of
the duke of Orleans by him, 547, 554.
Dunshunner, A. R., letter to R. M'Corkindale by--"Downward
tendencies," 106.
Dunstan the monk, on the character of, 513.
Duprat, M., speech of, on the National Guard, 207.
Durando, general, defence of Vicenza, by, 35.
Earle, Mr, account of cannibalism in New Zealand by, 417.
"Earth is the realm of death, who reigns," 469.
East, interest of the, 719.
Eastlake's Good Samaritan, on, 212.
Eating-houses in San Francisco, 472.
Edinburgh Review, the, on protection, 306.
Education, Mr Helps on, 383.
Edwin the Fair, review of, 513.
Egypt, interest of, 719
--sketches in, 720 _et seq._
Electric telegraph, laying down of the, from England to France, 568.
Elliotson, Dr, Phreno-mesmeric exhibition by, 74.
Elora, visit to, by Madame Pfeiffer, 95.
Emigration, increase of, from Great Britain, 113
--rapidity of it in a declining state, 126
--amounts of it from Great Britain, 1841 to 1850, 128 _note_
--amount of it from Ireland, 131
--influence of free trade on it, 139, 503
--the _Times_ on the increased, 626
--encouragements to, to the United States, 710, 711.
Employers, on the relation between, and employed, 381.
Employment, influence of, on population, 123.
England and France, laying down of the submarine electric telegraph
between, 568.
English travellers, contrast between, and French, 447
--follies, &c. of, 454
--how regarded in the East, 461.
Esperon, Dr, 453.
"Essays written in intervals of business," remarks on, 380.
Etoile, the Arc de l', 319.
Euphrates, the, 727.
Europe, the advances of population in, 123
--tendencies to revolution in, 431.
Eve of the Conquest, Taylor's, remarks on, 520.
Exhibition of paintings, Fanny Lewald on the, 211.
Exile, day-dreams of an, see Day-dreams.
EXPERIMENT, the, 488.
Exports, increase of, under free trade, 140.
Eye, alleged power of charm in the, 79.
Farmers, loss at present sustaining by the, 492
--their right to relief, 614, 615.
See also Agriculturists.
Faucher, M., speech of, in the Legislative Assembly, 207.
Faust, French translation of, the, 556.
Finances, influence of free trade on the, 137.
Financial system, relations of the, to the free-trade question, 618.
Flour, falling price of, in New York, 703.
Folkstone, sketches of, 197.
Foreign shipping, influence of free trade on, 138.
Foreign trade, state of, &c., 645.
Forest life, sketches of, in Maine, &c., 670 _et seq._
Forests of Brazil, the, 88, 89.
Fountains of the Place de la Concorde, the, 314.
France, the protective policy of, 117
--increase of population in, during the war, 124, 125
--increased facilities of communication with, 195
--the revolutions of, and their influences, 431
--the intervention of, in Rome, 438
--the importation of flour into Great Britain from, 489 _note_
--sketches of the present state of, by Professor Stahr, 545
--belief in, as to Napoleon being still alive, 549
--laying down of the submarine telegraph from England to, 568.
FRANCIS' HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH RAILWAY reviewed, 739.
Frederick the Great, his defeat at Kolin, 26.
FREE TRADE, THE CENSUS AND, 123.
Free trade, the experienced results of, 108 _et seq._
--contrast between its results and those of protection, 116
--influence of it on trading profits, 137
--influence of it on shipping, 138
--its influence on crime, emigration, and poor-rates, 139
--and on exports and imports, 140
--general summary of its results, 141
--general reaction against it, 245
--declarations from the boroughs against it, 299
--the experiment of, 488
--influence of it on the income, &c., of the clergy, 500
--continued depression under it, 609
--reaction against it, 613
--address to the shopkeepers on its effects on them,
629 _et seq._
--universality of the depression from it, 630
--its progress from the time of Huskisson, 632
--prices of corn under it, 637.
Free-traders, preponderance of, among the Scottish
representatives, 297
--present views of, regarding the smaller boroughs, 305.
Freedom, Protestantism essential to, 447.
French in Tahiti, the, 90.
French army, feeling in, toward Louis Napoleon, 546.
French opera, the, at Paris, 310.
French railroads, on, 199.
French theatres, Stahr on the, 557.
French travellers, contrast between, and English, 447.
"Friends in council," notice of, 382.
Funds, danger of the, 112.
Furs, prices of, in Russia, 171.
Gaming and gaming-houses in San Francisco, 473.
Gand, Dr, 253, 254.
Garcia, Madame, reception of, in St Petersburg, 168.
Gas, how first discovered, 569.
Gaufridy, Louis, the case of, 76.
Gaza, the Lazaretto at, 453.
Geology, relations of, to agriculture, 703.
Georgey, General, 36.
GERMAN AUTHORESS, London diary of a, 209.
GERMAN LETTERS FROM PARIS, 543.
German literature, non-appreciation of, in France, 556.
German professors, former and present characters of, 543.
German women, Fanny Lewald on, 216.
Gibelin, the Count de, case of, 82.
Gibili tobacco, 462.
GIBRALTAR, A LEGEND OF, Chap. I. 522
--Chap. II. 529
--Chap. III. 532
--Chap. IV. 535
--Chap. V. 539.
GIBRALTAR, A TALE OF THE SIEGE OF, 648.
Glasgow, increase of population in, 1841 to 1851, 129
--1811 to 1851, 131
--immigrations of Irish into, _ib._
Glastonbury waters, alleged cure by the, 81.
Goethe's Faust, French translation of, 556.
Goito, engagement at, 443.
Gold diggings in California, sketches in the, 470 _et seq._
Gos Rajeb, an African town, 259.
Grahame, Sir James, position of, and his party, 118
--his conduct towards his tenantry, 499.
Grain, importations of, into Ireland, 134
--fall in the prices of, in Scotland, 491.
GREAT BRITAIN, TO THE SHOPKEEPERS OF, 629.
Great Britain, increase of population in, during the war, 124
--statistics regarding her population, 1801 to 1851, 127 _et seq._
--immigration of Irish into, 131
--aversion to revolution among the middle classes of, 297
--recent foreign works on, 209
--contrast between, and the Continent, as regards revolution, 431
--comparative pressure of taxation in, and in the United
States, 715.
Greatrakes, Valentine, the cures of, 81.
Greenwich fair, Fanny Lewald on, 212.
Greg, Mr, on the reduction of wages, 634
--on the competition to which our manufactures are exposed, 639.
Gregory XVI., death of, 432.
Gunpowder, new mode of discharging, 570.
H. G. K., Day-dreams of an exile, by, Nos. I. to IV. 465
--Nos. V. to IX. 604.
Haddendas, African tribe of the, 261 _et seq. passim_
--a visit to them, 264.
Hallengas, the, an Arab tribe, 268, 272.
Hamilton, Mr, British resident at Indore, 95.
Harles' "Career in the Commons," notice of, 120.
Harris' Ethiopia, remarks on, 251.
Harvey, James, on free trade and its results, 644, 645.
Hassan, the founder of the Assassins, 733.
Heke, the New Zealand chief, 427.
HELPS, MR, THE ESSAYS OF, 379.
HELSHAM, CAPTAIN, note on the case of, 122.
Henry V., Stahr on, 557.
High farming, inefficiency of, to counteract the agricultural
depression, 491.
Highlands, present state of the, and its causes, 308.
Home trade, falling off in the, 108
--effects of free trade on the, 645.
Horn, Cape, a voyage round, 90.
Hortense, Queen, mother of Louis Napoleon, 547.
Hôtel des Invalides, the, 316.
Human responsibility, relations of mesmerism to, 81.
Hungary, sketches of the war in, 35 _et seq._
Huskisson, effects of the commercial system begun by, 308
--strictures on his statue at Lloyds', 211
--his character, and commencement of the free-trade system
under him, 632.
Hussars, the Hungarian, 38.
Imitation, Ruskin on, 331.
Immorality, increase of, in the towns, 307.
Imports, increase of, under free trade, 140.
Income-tax returns, falling off in the, 137.
India, sketches by Madame Pfeiffer in, 93.
Indians of Brazil, the, 89.
Indore, sketches at, 95.
Industry, relations of, to population, 123.
Infidelity, influence of, on Continental revolution, 431.
Interests, harmony of, Carey on, 640.
Invalides, the Hôtel des, 316.
Invention, the progress of, 563.
Ionic column, Ruskin on the, 327.
Ireland, diminution of the population of, 123
--decrease of its population since 1846, 128
--increase of the population in the towns and its diminution in
the counties, 129
--the alleged influence of the potato failure on the
population, 131, 132
--diminution of cultivation in, 489, _note_.
--proofs of agricultural depression in, 497.
Irish, immigration of the, into Great Britain, 131.
Isaac Comnenus, the drama of, reviewed, 517.
Ismaylis, the sect of the, 735.
Italian insurrection, sketches of the, 25 _et seq._
Italian opera, the, in St Petersburg, 168.
ITALIAN REVOLUTION, the, 431.
Italy, the war between Austria and Sardinia in, 29 _et seq._
--its disunited state, 434
--character of the Austrian administration in, _ib. et seq._
Jacobleff, a Russian, anecdotes of, 170.
Jardin des Plantes, sketches in the, 314.
Jellachich, baron, operations of, during the Hungarian
insurrection, 39
--sketch of his career, 444.
JERRMANN'S PICTURES FROM ST PETERSBURG, review of, 154.
JEW'S LEGACY, the, a tale of the siege of Gibraltar, chap. I. 648
--chap. II. 653
--chap. III. 656
--chap. IV. 659
--chap. V. 663.
JOHNSTON'S NOTES ON NORTH AMERICA, 699.
Joinville, the prince de, character of, 555.
Judicial system, the, of the United States, 713.
Justice, the administration of, in St Petersburg, 162 _et seq._
Kassela, the African mountain of, 270.
Kent, the scenery of, 196.
King, Mr, report by, on the gold diggings of California, 477.
Kiss, general, 43.
Kleber, general, skeleton of the murderer of, 316.
Kleinmichael, general, reconstruction of the winter palace at St
Petersburg by, 159.
Knaresborough election, the, 245, 246.
Kohl, misstatements of, regarding Russia, 171.
Kolin, an incident of the battle of, 26.
Kurdistan, journey of madame Pfeiffer through, 99.
Labourers, the agricultural, loss which will fall on, from free
trade, 492.
Labouring classes, on the condition of the dwellings of the, 381.
LAMENT OF SELIM, the, 103.
Lanarkshire, increase of population in, 1841 to 1851, 129.
Landlord and tenant, separation induced by free trade between, 610.
Landlords, proportion of loss from free trade to be sustained by
the, 492
--their conduct as regards their tenantry, 612.
Latachia, sketches at, 462, 724.
Latour's dragoons, Austrian regiment called, 26.
Law, proposed change in the mode of administering, 386, 387.
Lazaretto at Gaza, the, 453.
Lebanon, sketches in, 455.
LEGEND OF GIBRALTAR, a, chap. I. 522
--chap. II. 529
--chap. III. 532
--chap. IV. 535
--chap. V. 539.
Legislative assembly, the present, of France, 202
--sketch of a debate in it, 205.
Legislative interference, on, as applied to sanitary measures, 381.
Leicester, depressed state of, 644.
Leitzendorf, colonel, death of, 31.
LEVANTINE RAMBLES, 447.
LEWALD'S DIARY IN ENGLAND, review of, 209.
Liberal policy, experienced results of, in the Peninsula, 349.
Liberals, preponderance of the, in Scotland, 297.
Liberals, the Portuguese, division among the, &c., 352.
LIFE AMONG THE LOGGERS, 669.
Limerick Examiner, the, on emigration from Ireland, 134.
Liszt the pianist, reception of, at St Petersburg, 169.
Littledale, Messrs, on the manufacturing depression, 609.
Lodging-house, a, in San Francisco, 473.
LOGGERS, LIFE AMONG THE, 669.
Logrolling, origin of the phrase, 712.
Lombardo-Venetian Kingdom, the Austrian administration of the, 435.
Lombardy, the insurrection of, against Austria, 26 _et seq._, 433
--the government of it by Austria, 435.
London, the shopkeepers of, effects of free trade on, 111
--increase of population in, 1841 to 1851, 129.
LONDON DIARY OF A GERMAN AUTHORESS, the, 209.
Louis XIII., foundation of the Jardin des Plantes by, 315.
Louis Napoleon, improvement of the passport system by, 196
--Stahr's picture of him, 545
--anecdotes, &c. of him, 547
--causes of his election, 548.
Louis Philippe, improvement of the Boulevard of Paris under him, 202
--the final act of his dethronement, 204
--Stahr's sketches, &c. of him, 548 _et seq. passim_, 550 _et seq._
Luxor, the obelisk of, at Paris, 312.
M'Corkindale, R., letter from A. R. Dunshunner to
--Downward tendencies, 106.
Madeleine, church of the, at Paris, 312.
Magic, the secrets of, 564.
Maine, sketches among the wood-cutters of, 669 _et seq._
Maize, extensive use of, in the United States, 705.
Malthus, the views of, on population, 123.
Mammiani, the Roman demagogue, 437, 438.
Mantua, the Austrian possession of, 433.
Manufactures, British, their rise during the war, 633
--their state under free trade, 643.
Manufacturers, depressed state of the, 108.
Manufacturing districts, distress and depression in the, 305, 609.
Manufacturing towns, check to the population in the, 130, 131.
Maria, Donna, position of, in Portugal, 349.
Maronites, sketches of the, 455.
Martineau, Miss, testimony of, regarding mesmerism, 75
--atheistical work by her, 76, _note_.
MASTER THIEF, the, a Norse popular tale, 595.
Mazarin, encouragement of the drama by, in France, 323.
Mazzini, proceedings of, in Rome, 438.
Mechanics, the poetry of, 567.
Mechi, Mr, his high farming system, 491.
Medusa's head, the, in connection with mesmerism, 77.
Mehmet Pasha of Acre, sketches of, 459 _et seq._
Mesmer, the alleged powers, &c. of, 82.
MESMERISM, WHAT IS IT? 70
--postscript, 83.
Metallic tractors, cure by, 79.
Metropolitan representatives, character of the, 300
--the _Times_ on them, 301.
Middle classes, their aversion to revolution in Great Britain, 297.
Miguel, Don, Whig policy toward, and its results, 349
--his dethronement, 350
--party still adhering to him, 351 _et seq. passim_.
Miguelites, strength of the party of, in Portugal, 352.
Milan, the duchy of, the Austrian possession of, 433.
Milan, city of. Radetsky's retreat from it, 440
--its aspect after the suppression of the insurrection, 35.
Military service, term of, in Russia, 155.
Millais, painting by, 212.
Milton on emigration, 503.
Ministry, uncertain position of the, 110.
Mitkenab, visit to village of, 264.
"Modern Painters," review of, 326.
MODERN STATE TRIALS
--Note on Part III.
--Captain Helsham
--Duelling 122.
Mohammed Din, an Arab chief, 261 _et seq. passim_.
MOIR, THE LATE D. M., 249.
Molesworth, Mr, account of cannibalism in New Zealand, by, 418.
Monetary Crisis, the, its alleged influence on population, 132.
Montanara, battle of, 33.
Montemolin, the Count de, 356.
Montpensier, the duke de
--his character, 555.
Monuments of London, Fanny Lewald on the, 210.
Moor, action at, in the Hungarian war, 37.
Moose-deer, adventure with a, 679.
Morgan, lady, sketch of, by Lewald, 218.
Morroqueimado, Swiss settlement of, in Brazil, 88.
Mossul, a caravan journey to, 98.
Mosul, town of, 729.
Mulgrave, the earl of, defeat of, at Scarborough, 245.
Mulot, M., the engineer of the great Artesian well at Paris, 317.
Muntz, Mr, on the reduction of wages by free trade, 634.
Music, passion for, in St Petersburg, 168.
MY NOVEL; or, Varieties in English Life, by Pisistratus Caxton.
Book VI.,
--Initial Chapter, 1.
--chap. ii. 3
--chap. iii. 5
--chap. iv. 6
--chap. v. 7
--chap. vi. 10
--chap. vii. 11
--chap. viii. 13
--chap. ix. 15
--chap. x. 17
--chap. xi. 20
--chap. xii. 21
--chap. xiii. 173
--chap. xiv. 175
--chap. xv. 178
--chap. xvi. _ib._
--chap. xvii. 180
--chap. xviii. _ib._
--chap. xix. 184
--chap. xx. 185
--chap. xxi. 187
--chap. xxii. 189
--chap. xxiii. 190
--chap. xxiv. 192
--chap. xxv. 194
--Book VII., Initial Chapter, 275
--chap. ii. 277
--chap. iii. _ib._
--chap. iv. 278
--chap. v. 280
--chap. vi. 281
--chap. vii. _ib._
--chap. viii. 283
--chap. ix. 285
--chap. x. 286
--chap. xi. 288
--chap. xii. 289
--chap. xiii. 290
--chap. xiv. 291
--chap. xv. 292
--chap. xvi. 392
--chap. xvii. 397
--chap. xviii. 399
--chap. xix. 400
--chap. xx. 403
--chap. xxi. 407
--chap. xxii. 412
--Book VIII., Initial Chapter, the abuse of intellect, 573
--chap. ii. 575
--chap. iii. 580
--chap. iv. 585
--chap. v. 590
--chap. vi. 594
--chap. vii. 681
--chap. viii. 682
--chap. ix. 687
--chap. x. 689
--chap. xi. 691
--chap. xii. 693
--chap. xiii. 695
--chap. xiv. 697.
Naples, the revolt and revolution in, 433.
Napoleon column, the, in the Place Vendôme, 318.
Narvaez, the downfall of, in Spain, 356.
National debt, recent increase of the, 138.
National gallery, the British, buildings of the, 210.
National guard, debate on the, in the French Assembly, 205
--their conduct during the Revolution of 1848, 550, 551.
National wealth, origin of, from the soil, 107.
NEALE'S EIGHT YEARS IN SYRIA, &c. reviewed, 447.
Nelson column, the, 210.
Nemours, the duke de, character of, 555.
NERVAL'S SCENES DE LA VIE ORIENTALE, reviewed, 447.
Neuilly, conduct of the National guard of, in 1848, 550
--the destruction of the chateau of, 551
--its present state, 552.
New Brunswick, sketches in, 709.
New York, diminishing price of flour at, 703
--agricultural improvement in, 704.
New Zealand Company, the, 422.
New Zealand Pahs, sketches of, 420.
NEW ZEALANDERS, the, 414.
Nicholas, the emperor, character of, 154 _et seq._
Nile, expedition up the, 251 _et seq._
Nineveh, the excavations at, &c., 729.
NORTH AMERICA, JOHNSTON'S NOTES ON, 699.
North America, wood-cutting life in, 669 _et seq._
Nottingham, depressed state of, 644.
Novara, defeat of Charles Albert at, 446.
Novo Friburgo, Swiss colony of, in Brazil, 88.
Nugent, general, 443.
Obelisk of Luxor, the, at Paris, 312.
"Oft in a night of April," 605.
Oligarchies of medieval Italy, the, 435.
Opera, the, at Paris, 310.
Orleans, the late duke of, anecdotes and sketches of, 547, _et
seq. passim_, 554, 555.
Orleans, the duchess of, conduct of, on the 24th February, 204.
Orleans dynasty, Stahr on the, 549.
Otaki, New Zealand village of, 430.
Ottinger, general, sketches of, 36, 37.
Oudinot, general, the siege of Rome by, 438.
Ouroomia, American missionary settlement at, 101.
Palestine, interest of, 719.
Palmerston, lord, on the state of Spain, 355.
Papal states, the revolution of 1848 in the, 437.
PARIS IN 1851, 195
--the journey, &c., 196 _et seq._
--the Boulevard, 200
--the Legislative Assembly, 202
--the Debate, 205
--the Opera, 310
--the Obelisk of Luxor, 312
--the Jardin des Plantes, 314
--the Hôtel des Invalides, 316
--the Artesian well, 317
--the Napoleon column, 318
--the Arc de l'Etoile, 319
--the Arc du Carrousel, 320
--suicides, 321
--the drama, 323.
PARIS, GERMAN LETTERS FROM, 543.
Paris in 1815, picture of, 201.
Parochial clergy and schoolmasters, influence of free trade on
the, 501.
Pasquali, the baron di, a Sicilian renegade, 253, 254.
Passport system, improvement in the, 195.
Pauperism, increase of, under free trade, 139.
PEACEFUL LIEUTENANT AND HIS FRIENDS, the, a three hours' platonic
gossip. Hour Third--containing sundry passages in the
lieutenant's own history, and the strange legend of his
supposed grandfather, 45.
Peel, Sir R. effects of his free-trade system, 115
--insidious character of his free-trade advances, 635
--on the anticipated price of corn under free trade, 636
--effects of his measures, 640.
Peel, the present Sir R., his letter to his tenantry, 106.
Peninsula, experienced results of the Liberal policy in the, 349.
Perowsky, a Russian minister, 163.
Persia, sketches by madame Pfeiffer in, 97.
Peschiera, the capture of, by the Piedmontese, 444.
Peter the Great, the first residence of, at St Petersburg, 171.
Peterwardein, a captivity in, 39.
Petropolis, German colony of, in Brazil, 87.
PFEIFFER, MADAME, WANDERINGS ROUND THE WORLD, by, reviewed, 86.
Philip van Artevelde, review of, 505.
Phreno-mesmerism, exhibitions of, 74.
Picnic, an Eastern, 725.
Picture gallery of Versailles, Stahr on the, 552.
PICTURES FROM ST PETERSBURG, 154.
PIMODAN, THE COUNT DE, CAMPAIGNS OF, reviewed, 25.
Pine, the, in America, 671.
Pius IX., the accession of, and review of his proceedings, 432
_et seq._
Place de la Concorde, the, at Paris, 202.
Place Vendôme, the Napoleon column in the, 318.
Playing cards, consumption of, in Russia, 169.
Poetry: The Lament of Selim, by Delta, 103
--Day-dreams of an exile, by H. G. K., 465, 604.
Police, abuses of the, in St Petersburg, 162 _et seq._
Political agitation, evils connected with, 296.
Pomaree, queen, sketches of, 91.
Poor-rates, influence of free trade on, 139.
Popery, influence of, on Continental Revolution, 431.
Population, the views of Malthus on, 123
--the influence of employment on it, _ib._
--its decrease in Great Britain since 1845, 128
--immigration of it from the country into the towns, 307.
Porter, Mr, on surplus population, 625.
Portugal, the ancient constitution of, 351.
PORTUGUESE POLITICS, 349.
Potato failure, influence of the, on population, 131
--the free-traders on it, 641.
Poussin, Ruskin on, 328.
Pre-Raphaelitism, Lewald on, 212.
Production, true policy with regard to, 107.
Productive classes, all classes dependent on the, 631.
Property-tax returns, falling off in the, 137.
Prosperity, anticipations regarding, and their disappointment, 609.
Prostitution, Mr Helps on, 389.
Protection, prosperity enjoyed under, 115.
Protestantism, necessity of, to freedom, 447.
Purchas, account of cannibalism in Africa by, 416.
Puris of Brazil, the, 89.
Pusey, Mr, his letters on protection, &c., 119.
Radetsky, marshal, sketch of the character of, 31
--sketches of, during the campaign in Italy, 26, _et seq. passim_
--his first proclamation on the outbreak of the insurrection, 439
--sketch of his previous career, 441.
RAID OF ARNABOLL, the, chap. i. 220
--chap. ii. 225
--chap. iii. 230
--chap. iv. 236.
RAIL, THE CHAMPIONS OF THE, 739.
Railroads, French and English, 199.
Railway travelling, on, 196.
Rangihaeata, a New Zealand chief, 425.
Rauparaha, a New Zealand chief, 425.
Ravandus, town of, 100.
Recreation, Mr Helps on, 384.
Reform Bill, agitation connected the, 296.
Reform Bill, the proposed new, 297 _et seq._
Rent, reduction of, its inefficiency to meet the agricultural
crisis, 492, 611, 612.
Rents, alleged rises of, 494.
Responsibility, application of the principle of, in Russia, 164.
Resumption of cash payments, influence of, 622.
Revenue, influence of free trade on the, 137.
Revolution, aversion to, in Great Britain, 297.
Revolutionary war, increase of population during the, 124.
Rhodes, sketch of, 723.
Richelieu, encouragement of the drama by, in France, 323.
Rivoli, defeat of Charles Albert at, 444.
Roman states, the revolt of the, in 1830, 432
--and in 1848, 437.
Rome, rise of, after the battle of Cannæ, 124
--progress of the decline of population in, 125
--the siege of, by Oudinot, 438.
Rosicrucians, supposed acquaintance of the, with mesmerism, 77.
Rossi, the papal minister, murder of, 437.
Rossi, the countess, 168, 169.
Royal Academy's exhibition, Fanny Lewald on the, 211.
Rubini, reception of, in St Petersburg, 168.
RUSKIN, THE WORKS OF, 326.
Russell, Lord John, his proposed new Reform Bill, 297 _et seq._
--on the state of the agricultural interest, 489.
Russia, sketches of government, society, &c. in, 154 _et seq._
--extravagance of the higher classes, 170.
Russians, cheerfulness of the, 166.
Sabbath, a, in California, 472.
St Denis, the arch of, 320.
St Jean d' Acre, sketches in, 459.
St Lawrence river, the, 708.
St Martin, the arch of, 320.
St Petersburg, pictures from, 154.
Saldanha, the marquis, his insurrection in Portugal and its
results, 349
--his present position, 357.
Salis, general, death of, 30.
San Francisco, sketches in, 472 _et seq._
Sanitary measures, on government interference in, 381.
Sanitary regulations, Mr Helps on, 383.
Sardinia and Austria, sketches of the war between, 25 _et seq._,
437 _et seq._
Savoy, sketch of the princes of, 441.
Scanderoon, the town of, 463.
SCARBOROUGH ELECTION, the, 245
--the _Times_ on it, 303.
Scheremetiew, count, anecdote of, 156.
Schoolmasters, influence of free trade on the, 501.
Science, the superstitions of, 565.
Scotland, increase of population in, 1841 to 1851, 129
--preponderance of the liberal representatives in, 297
--fall in the prices of grain as shown by the Fiars, 491
--alleged rise of rents, 494.
Scottish clergy and schoolmasters, influence of free trade on
the incomes of, 500 _et seq._
Scribe, M., the words of Zerline by, 311.
Scully, Mr, his motion regarding pauperism in Ireland, 136.
SELIM'S LAMENT, by Delta, 103.
Sena, defeat of Charles Albert at, 444.
Serfdom, provisions for the abolition of, in Russia, 155
--sketches of it there, 156 _et seq._
Servants and employers, on the relations between, 381.
SHAW'S GOLDEN DREAMS AND WAKING REALITIES, review of, 470.
Shelley's Cenci, remarks on, 505.
Shipping, influence of free trade on, 138.
SHOPKEEPERS OF GREAT BRITAIN, to the, 629.
Shopkeepers, effects of free trade on the, 111
--serfdom of the, in St Petersburg, 156.
"Sigh thou not for a happier lot," 604.
Slavery, Mr Helps on, 384
--different circumstances in which originated, 385.
Small boroughs, the _Times_ on the, 246, 300.
Small trades, effects of the suppression of the, 308.
Snake-charming in India, 94.
Snakes, accounts of, 271.
Soil, true origin of national wealth with the, 107.
Soliman Effendi, a renegade Sicilian, 253, 254.
Sontag, madame, at St Petersburg, 168, 169.
Spain, results of liberal policy in, 354
--its state compared with that of Portugal, _ib._
Spiral column, Ruskin on the, 327.
SPRINGER'S FOREST LIFE reviewed, 669.
Stage, state of the, in St Petersburg, 167.
STAHR'S TWO MONTHS IN PARIS, review of, 543
--his "A Year in Italy," remarks on, 544.
"Stand by the Ocean," 469.
Stanley, lord, see Derby, earl of.
Starch, quantity of, used in the cotton manufacture, 497.
Stockton, (California,) sketch of, 474.
Strada, account of a case of magnetic communication by, 78.
Strang, Dr, his statistics regarding the population of Glasgow, 130.
Streams, Ruskin on, 330.
SUBMARINE TELEGRAPH, the, 562.
Suffolk Agricultural Association, resolutions of the, 616.
Suicide, prevalence and character of, in Paris, 321.
Sunday in London, Lewald on, 213.
Superstitions of science, the, 565.
Suspension of cash payments, influence of the, 619.
Swiss, defence of Vicenza by the, 35.
Syria, sketches in, 453.
Tabriz, sketches by madame Pfeiffer at, 101.
Tahiti, sketches at, 90.
TAKA, A CAMPAIGN IN, 251.
Taxation, impossibility of reduction of, adequate to meet the
agricultural depression, 113
--influence of, on industry, 306
--the question of, in relation to that of free trade, 633
--comparative pressure of, in the United States and Great Britain,
715.
TAYLOR, HENRY, THE DRAMAS OF, 505.
TELEGRAPH, THE SUBMARINE, 562.
Tenantry, separation between, and their landlords, induced by free
trade, 610
--their losses by free trade, 611.
Thames, the approach to London by the, 210.
Theatre, state of the, in Russia, 167.
Theatres, the London, Fanny Lewald on, 217
--statistics of those of Paris, 323.
Theoretic faculty, Ruskin on the, 334.
Thiennes, the count de, heroism of, 26.
Tiger hunt in India, a, 95.
Times newspaper, the, on the results of free trade, 133
--on the depopulation of Ireland, 134
--on the Scarborough election, 246
--on the small boroughs, 300
--on the metropolitan representatives, 301
--account of the laying down of the submarine telegraph from, 568
--on the increased emigration and its results, 626.
Tirel's La République, &c., remarks on, 549.
To ----, by H. G. K., 465, 605
Towns, increase of the, at the expense of the country, 125
--increase of population in the, 1841 to 1851, 129
--reaction of the agricultural depression on the, 303
--immigration of population from the country into them, 307
--state of their population, _ib._
--ventilation, drainage, &c. of them, 381.
Trade circulars, general tone of the, 108.
Traders, influence of free trade on the, 137.
Trafalgar Square fountains, the, 314.
Travelling, modern universality of, 86
--increased facilities and abundance of it, 195.
Tucket, Mr, account of the massacre of Wairau by, 425.
United States, protective policy of the, 117
--increase in their population, 123
--on slavery in the, 385
--increased cultivation of grain in the, 489 _note_
--sketches of agriculture in the, 699 _et seq._
--Johnston on their wheat producing powers, 701
--the exports of bread-stuffs from, 702
--the prices of these falling in, 703
--extensive use of maize and buckwheat in, 705
--encouragements to emigration to, 710, 711
--their judicial system, 713
--taxation, 715.
Upper Canada, progress of, 708.
Vaccination in New Zealand, 430.
Van, lake, 732.
Van Diemen's land, the aborigines of, 416.
Vendôme column, the, 318.
Venetian territories, the insurrection in the, 26 _et seq._
--how acquired by Austria, 433
--her administration of them, 435, 436.
Venice, the revolt at, 27.
Ventilation, Mr Helps on the importance of, 383.
Vernet the actor, anecdote of, 161.
Verona, the battle of, 30 _et seq._
--capture of it by general d'Aspre, 442.
Versailles, Stahr on the galleries of, 552.
Vicenza, the capture of, by Radetsky, 34, 35, 445.
VOICE FROM THE DIGGINGS, A, 470.
VOLTAIRE IN THE CRYSTAL PALACE, 142.
Wages, lowering of, among the agricultural classes, 496
--the general reduction of them the object of the
free-traders, 634.
Wairau, the massacre of, 425.
Walmsley, sir J., his reception in Scotland, 298.
WALPOLE'S ANSAYRII, reviewed, 719.
WANDERINGS ROUND THE WORLD, 86.
Wanganui, treaty of, with the New Zealand chiefs, 423.
Warburton's "Crescent and Cross," extract from, 721 _note_.
Wellington statues, Fanny Lewald on the, 211.
WERNE, F. A., A CAMPAIGN IN TAKA by, reviewed, 251.
Wheat, alleged increased consumption of, 496
--its price under free trade, 636
--powers of producing, in the United States, 701.
"Where summer is, there 'tis fresh and fair," 467.
Wilson, James, on the corn laws, 636.
Windischgratz, sketches of the campaign in Hungary under, 36.
Winter palace, destruction and rebuilding of the, in St
Petersburg, 158.
Wolves, sketches of, in America, 675.
Women, English and German, Fanny Lewald on, 216.
Woodcutters' life in Maine, sketches of, 669 _et seq._
Working-classes, effects of free trade on the, 113.
WORLD, WANDERINGS ROUND THE, 86.
York column, the, 211.
Young, G. F., return of, for Scarborough, 245.
Zerline, the opera of, 311.
Zichy, count, Austrian commandant at Venice, 28.
Zichy, lieutenant count, death of, 33.
_Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as
printed (example: Sheffield and Sheffeld).
Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where
the missing quote should be placed.
The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the
transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 70, No. 434, December, 1851" ***
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