summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/75498-h/75498-h.htm
blob: 6d966308b1d3e8b179b38cfb548765dc60b4156f (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
12302
12303
12304
12305
12306
12307
12308
12309
12310
12311
12312
12313
12314
12315
12316
12317
12318
12319
12320
12321
12322
12323
12324
12325
12326
12327
12328
12329
12330
12331
12332
12333
12334
12335
12336
12337
12338
12339
12340
12341
12342
12343
12344
12345
12346
12347
12348
12349
12350
12351
12352
12353
12354
12355
12356
12357
12358
12359
12360
12361
12362
12363
12364
12365
12366
12367
12368
12369
12370
12371
12372
12373
12374
12375
12376
12377
12378
12379
12380
12381
12382
12383
12384
12385
12386
12387
12388
12389
12390
12391
12392
12393
12394
12395
12396
12397
12398
12399
12400
12401
12402
12403
12404
12405
12406
12407
12408
12409
12410
12411
12412
12413
12414
12415
12416
12417
12418
12419
12420
12421
12422
12423
12424
12425
12426
12427
12428
12429
12430
12431
12432
12433
12434
12435
12436
12437
12438
12439
12440
12441
12442
12443
12444
12445
12446
12447
12448
12449
12450
12451
12452
12453
12454
12455
12456
12457
12458
12459
12460
12461
12462
12463
12464
12465
12466
12467
12468
12469
12470
12471
12472
12473
12474
12475
12476
12477
12478
12479
12480
12481
12482
12483
12484
12485
12486
12487
12488
12489
12490
12491
12492
12493
12494
12495
12496
12497
12498
12499
12500
12501
12502
12503
12504
12505
12506
12507
12508
12509
12510
12511
12512
12513
12514
12515
12516
12517
12518
12519
12520
12521
12522
12523
12524
12525
12526
12527
12528
12529
12530
12531
12532
12533
12534
12535
12536
12537
12538
12539
12540
12541
12542
12543
12544
12545
12546
12547
12548
12549
12550
12551
12552
12553
12554
12555
12556
12557
12558
12559
12560
12561
12562
12563
12564
12565
12566
12567
12568
12569
12570
12571
12572
12573
12574
12575
12576
12577
12578
12579
12580
12581
12582
12583
12584
12585
12586
12587
12588
12589
12590
12591
12592
12593
12594
12595
12596
12597
12598
12599
12600
12601
12602
12603
12604
12605
12606
12607
12608
12609
12610
12611
12612
12613
12614
12615
12616
12617
12618
12619
12620
12621
12622
12623
12624
12625
12626
12627
12628
12629
12630
12631
12632
12633
12634
12635
12636
12637
12638
12639
12640
12641
12642
12643
12644
12645
12646
12647
12648
12649
12650
12651
12652
12653
12654
12655
12656
12657
12658
12659
12660
12661
12662
12663
12664
12665
12666
12667
12668
12669
12670
12671
12672
12673
12674
12675
12676
12677
12678
12679
12680
12681
12682
12683
12684
12685
12686
12687
12688
12689
12690
12691
12692
12693
12694
12695
12696
12697
12698
12699
12700
12701
12702
12703
12704
12705
12706
12707
12708
12709
12710
12711
12712
12713
12714
12715
12716
12717
12718
12719
12720
12721
12722
12723
12724
12725
12726
12727
12728
12729
12730
12731
12732
12733
12734
12735
12736
12737
12738
12739
12740
12741
12742
12743
12744
12745
12746
12747
12748
12749
12750
12751
12752
12753
12754
12755
12756
12757
12758
12759
12760
12761
12762
12763
12764
12765
12766
12767
12768
12769
12770
12771
12772
12773
12774
12775
12776
12777
12778
12779
12780
12781
12782
12783
12784
12785
12786
12787
12788
12789
12790
12791
12792
12793
12794
12795
12796
12797
12798
12799
12800
12801
12802
12803
12804
12805
12806
12807
12808
12809
12810
12811
12812
12813
12814
12815
12816
12817
12818
12819
12820
12821
12822
12823
12824
12825
12826
12827
12828
12829
12830
12831
12832
12833
12834
12835
12836
12837
12838
12839
12840
12841
12842
12843
12844
12845
12846
12847
12848
12849
12850
12851
12852
12853
12854
12855
12856
12857
12858
12859
12860
12861
12862
12863
12864
12865
12866
12867
12868
12869
12870
12871
12872
12873
12874
12875
12876
12877
12878
12879
12880
12881
12882
12883
12884
12885
12886
12887
12888
12889
12890
12891
12892
12893
12894
12895
12896
12897
12898
12899
12900
12901
12902
12903
12904
12905
12906
12907
12908
12909
12910
12911
12912
12913
12914
12915
12916
12917
12918
12919
12920
12921
12922
12923
12924
12925
12926
12927
12928
12929
12930
12931
12932
12933
12934
12935
12936
12937
12938
12939
12940
12941
12942
12943
12944
12945
12946
12947
12948
12949
12950
12951
12952
12953
12954
12955
12956
12957
12958
12959
12960
12961
12962
12963
12964
12965
12966
12967
12968
12969
12970
12971
12972
12973
12974
12975
12976
12977
12978
12979
12980
12981
12982
12983
12984
12985
12986
12987
12988
12989
12990
12991
12992
12993
12994
12995
12996
12997
12998
12999
13000
13001
13002
13003
13004
13005
13006
13007
13008
13009
13010
13011
13012
13013
13014
13015
13016
13017
13018
13019
13020
13021
13022
13023
13024
13025
13026
13027
13028
13029
13030
13031
13032
13033
13034
13035
13036
13037
13038
13039
13040
13041
13042
13043
13044
13045
13046
13047
13048
13049
13050
13051
13052
13053
13054
13055
13056
13057
13058
13059
13060
13061
13062
13063
13064
13065
13066
13067
13068
13069
13070
13071
13072
13073
13074
13075
13076
13077
13078
13079
13080
13081
13082
13083
13084
13085
13086
13087
13088
13089
13090
13091
13092
13093
13094
13095
13096
13097
13098
13099
13100
13101
13102
13103
13104
13105
13106
13107
13108
13109
13110
13111
13112
13113
13114
13115
13116
13117
13118
13119
13120
13121
13122
13123
13124
13125
13126
13127
13128
13129
13130
13131
13132
13133
13134
13135
13136
13137
13138
13139
13140
13141
13142
13143
13144
13145
13146
13147
13148
13149
13150
13151
13152
13153
13154
13155
13156
13157
13158
13159
13160
13161
13162
13163
13164
13165
13166
13167
13168
13169
13170
13171
13172
13173
13174
13175
13176
13177
13178
13179
13180
13181
13182
13183
13184
13185
13186
13187
13188
13189
13190
13191
13192
13193
13194
13195
13196
13197
13198
13199
13200
13201
13202
13203
13204
13205
13206
13207
13208
13209
13210
13211
13212
13213
13214
13215
13216
13217
13218
13219
13220
13221
13222
13223
13224
13225
13226
13227
13228
13229
13230
13231
13232
13233
13234
13235
13236
13237
13238
13239
13240
13241
13242
13243
13244
13245
13246
13247
13248
13249
13250
13251
13252
13253
13254
13255
13256
13257
13258
13259
13260
13261
13262
13263
13264
13265
13266
13267
13268
13269
13270
13271
13272
13273
13274
13275
13276
13277
13278
13279
13280
13281
13282
13283
13284
13285
13286
13287
13288
13289
13290
13291
13292
13293
13294
13295
13296
13297
13298
13299
13300
13301
13302
13303
13304
13305
13306
13307
13308
13309
13310
13311
13312
13313
13314
13315
13316
13317
13318
13319
13320
13321
13322
13323
13324
13325
13326
13327
13328
13329
13330
13331
13332
13333
13334
13335
13336
13337
13338
13339
13340
13341
13342
13343
13344
13345
13346
13347
13348
13349
13350
13351
13352
13353
13354
13355
13356
13357
13358
13359
13360
13361
13362
13363
13364
13365
13366
13367
13368
13369
13370
13371
13372
13373
13374
13375
13376
13377
13378
13379
13380
13381
13382
13383
13384
13385
13386
13387
13388
13389
13390
13391
13392
13393
13394
13395
13396
13397
13398
13399
13400
13401
13402
13403
13404
13405
13406
13407
13408
13409
13410
13411
13412
13413
13414
13415
13416
13417
13418
13419
13420
13421
13422
13423
13424
13425
13426
13427
13428
13429
13430
13431
13432
13433
13434
13435
13436
13437
13438
13439
13440
13441
13442
13443
13444
13445
13446
13447
13448
13449
13450
13451
13452
13453
13454
13455
13456
13457
13458
13459
13460
13461
13462
13463
13464
13465
13466
13467
13468
13469
13470
13471
13472
13473
13474
13475
13476
13477
13478
13479
13480
13481
13482
13483
13484
13485
13486
13487
13488
13489
13490
13491
13492
13493
13494
13495
13496
13497
13498
13499
13500
13501
13502
13503
13504
13505
13506
13507
13508
13509
13510
13511
13512
13513
13514
13515
13516
13517
13518
13519
13520
13521
13522
13523
13524
13525
13526
13527
13528
13529
13530
13531
13532
13533
13534
13535
13536
13537
13538
13539
13540
13541
13542
13543
13544
13545
13546
13547
13548
13549
13550
13551
13552
13553
13554
13555
13556
13557
13558
13559
13560
13561
13562
13563
13564
13565
13566
13567
13568
13569
13570
13571
13572
13573
13574
13575
13576
13577
13578
13579
13580
13581
13582
13583
13584
13585
13586
13587
13588
13589
13590
13591
13592
13593
13594
13595
13596
13597
13598
13599
13600
13601
13602
13603
13604
13605
13606
13607
13608
13609
13610
13611
13612
13613
13614
13615
13616
13617
13618
13619
13620
13621
13622
13623
13624
13625
13626
13627
13628
13629
13630
13631
13632
13633
13634
13635
13636
13637
13638
13639
13640
13641
13642
13643
13644
13645
13646
13647
13648
13649
13650
13651
13652
13653
13654
13655
13656
13657
13658
13659
13660
13661
13662
13663
13664
13665
13666
13667
13668
13669
13670
13671
13672
13673
13674
13675
13676
13677
13678
13679
13680
13681
13682
13683
13684
13685
13686
13687
13688
13689
13690
13691
13692
13693
13694
13695
13696
13697
13698
13699
13700
13701
13702
13703
13704
13705
13706
13707
13708
13709
13710
13711
13712
13713
13714
13715
13716
13717
13718
13719
13720
13721
13722
13723
13724
13725
13726
13727
13728
13729
13730
13731
13732
13733
13734
13735
13736
13737
13738
13739
13740
13741
13742
13743
13744
13745
13746
13747
13748
13749
13750
13751
13752
13753
13754
13755
13756
13757
13758
13759
13760
13761
13762
13763
13764
13765
13766
13767
13768
13769
13770
13771
13772
13773
13774
13775
13776
13777
13778
13779
13780
13781
13782
13783
13784
13785
13786
13787
13788
13789
13790
13791
13792
13793
13794
13795
13796
13797
13798
13799
13800
13801
13802
13803
13804
13805
13806
13807
13808
13809
13810
13811
13812
13813
13814
13815
13816
13817
13818
13819
13820
13821
13822
13823
13824
13825
13826
13827
13828
13829
13830
13831
13832
13833
13834
13835
13836
13837
13838
13839
13840
13841
13842
13843
13844
13845
13846
13847
13848
13849
13850
13851
13852
13853
13854
13855
13856
13857
13858
13859
13860
13861
13862
13863
13864
13865
13866
13867
13868
13869
13870
13871
13872
13873
13874
13875
13876
13877
13878
13879
13880
13881
13882
13883
13884
13885
13886
13887
13888
13889
13890
13891
13892
13893
13894
13895
13896
13897
13898
13899
13900
13901
13902
13903
13904
13905
13906
13907
13908
13909
13910
13911
13912
13913
13914
13915
13916
13917
13918
13919
13920
13921
13922
13923
13924
13925
13926
13927
13928
13929
13930
13931
13932
13933
13934
13935
13936
13937
13938
13939
13940
13941
13942
13943
13944
13945
13946
13947
13948
13949
13950
13951
13952
13953
13954
13955
13956
13957
13958
13959
13960
13961
13962
13963
13964
13965
13966
13967
13968
13969
13970
13971
13972
13973
13974
13975
13976
13977
13978
13979
13980
13981
13982
13983
13984
13985
13986
13987
13988
13989
13990
13991
13992
13993
13994
13995
13996
13997
13998
13999
14000
14001
14002
14003
14004
14005
14006
14007
14008
14009
14010
14011
14012
14013
14014
14015
14016
14017
14018
14019
14020
14021
14022
14023
14024
14025
14026
14027
14028
14029
14030
14031
14032
14033
14034
14035
14036
14037
14038
14039
14040
14041
14042
14043
14044
14045
14046
14047
14048
14049
14050
14051
14052
14053
14054
14055
14056
14057
14058
14059
14060
14061
14062
14063
14064
14065
14066
14067
14068
14069
14070
14071
14072
14073
14074
14075
14076
14077
14078
14079
14080
14081
14082
14083
14084
14085
14086
14087
14088
14089
14090
14091
14092
14093
14094
14095
14096
14097
14098
14099
14100
14101
14102
14103
14104
14105
14106
14107
14108
14109
14110
14111
14112
14113
14114
14115
14116
14117
14118
14119
14120
14121
14122
14123
14124
14125
14126
14127
14128
14129
14130
14131
14132
14133
14134
14135
14136
14137
14138
14139
14140
14141
14142
14143
14144
14145
14146
14147
14148
14149
14150
14151
14152
14153
14154
14155
14156
14157
14158
14159
14160
14161
14162
14163
14164
14165
14166
14167
14168
14169
14170
14171
14172
14173
14174
14175
14176
14177
14178
14179
14180
14181
14182
14183
14184
14185
14186
14187
14188
14189
14190
14191
14192
14193
14194
14195
14196
14197
14198
14199
14200
14201
14202
14203
14204
14205
14206
14207
14208
14209
14210
14211
14212
14213
14214
14215
14216
14217
14218
14219
14220
14221
14222
14223
14224
14225
14226
14227
14228
14229
14230
14231
14232
14233
14234
14235
14236
14237
14238
14239
14240
14241
14242
14243
14244
14245
14246
14247
14248
14249
14250
14251
14252
14253
14254
14255
14256
14257
14258
14259
14260
14261
14262
14263
14264
14265
14266
14267
14268
14269
14270
14271
14272
14273
14274
14275
14276
14277
14278
14279
14280
14281
14282
14283
14284
14285
14286
14287
14288
14289
14290
14291
14292
14293
14294
14295
14296
14297
14298
14299
14300
14301
14302
14303
14304
14305
14306
14307
14308
14309
14310
14311
14312
14313
14314
14315
14316
14317
14318
14319
14320
14321
14322
14323
14324
14325
14326
14327
14328
14329
14330
14331
14332
14333
14334
14335
14336
14337
14338
14339
14340
14341
14342
14343
14344
14345
14346
14347
14348
14349
14350
14351
14352
14353
14354
14355
14356
14357
14358
14359
14360
14361
14362
14363
14364
14365
14366
14367
14368
14369
14370
14371
14372
14373
14374
14375
14376
14377
14378
14379
14380
14381
14382
14383
14384
14385
14386
14387
14388
14389
14390
14391
14392
14393
14394
14395
14396
14397
14398
14399
14400
14401
14402
14403
14404
14405
14406
14407
14408
14409
14410
14411
14412
14413
14414
14415
14416
14417
14418
14419
14420
14421
14422
14423
14424
14425
14426
14427
14428
14429
14430
14431
14432
14433
14434
14435
14436
14437
14438
14439
14440
14441
14442
14443
14444
14445
14446
14447
14448
14449
14450
14451
14452
14453
14454
14455
14456
14457
14458
14459
14460
14461
14462
14463
14464
14465
14466
14467
14468
14469
14470
14471
14472
14473
14474
14475
14476
14477
14478
14479
14480
14481
14482
14483
14484
14485
14486
14487
14488
14489
14490
14491
14492
14493
14494
14495
14496
14497
14498
14499
14500
14501
14502
14503
14504
14505
14506
14507
14508
14509
14510
14511
14512
14513
14514
14515
14516
14517
14518
14519
14520
14521
14522
14523
14524
14525
14526
14527
14528
14529
14530
14531
14532
14533
14534
14535
14536
14537
14538
14539
14540
14541
14542
14543
14544
14545
14546
14547
14548
14549
14550
14551
14552
14553
14554
14555
14556
14557
14558
14559
14560
14561
14562
14563
14564
14565
14566
14567
14568
14569
14570
14571
14572
14573
14574
14575
14576
14577
14578
14579
14580
14581
14582
14583
14584
14585
14586
14587
14588
14589
14590
14591
14592
14593
14594
14595
14596
14597
14598
14599
14600
14601
14602
14603
14604
14605
14606
14607
14608
14609
14610
14611
14612
14613
14614
14615
14616
14617
14618
14619
14620
14621
14622
14623
14624
14625
14626
14627
14628
14629
14630
14631
14632
14633
14634
14635
14636
14637
14638
14639
14640
14641
14642
14643
14644
14645
14646
14647
14648
14649
14650
14651
14652
14653
14654
14655
14656
14657
14658
14659
14660
14661
14662
14663
14664
14665
14666
14667
14668
14669
14670
14671
14672
14673
14674
14675
14676
14677
14678
14679
14680
14681
14682
14683
14684
14685
14686
14687
14688
14689
14690
14691
14692
14693
14694
14695
14696
14697
14698
14699
14700
14701
14702
14703
14704
14705
14706
14707
14708
14709
14710
14711
14712
14713
14714
14715
14716
14717
14718
14719
14720
14721
14722
14723
14724
14725
14726
14727
14728
14729
14730
14731
14732
14733
14734
14735
14736
14737
14738
14739
14740
14741
14742
14743
14744
14745
14746
14747
14748
14749
14750
14751
14752
14753
14754
14755
14756
14757
14758
14759
14760
14761
14762
14763
14764
14765
14766
14767
14768
14769
14770
14771
14772
14773
14774
14775
14776
14777
14778
14779
14780
14781
14782
14783
14784
14785
14786
14787
14788
14789
14790
14791
14792
14793
14794
14795
14796
14797
14798
14799
14800
14801
14802
14803
14804
14805
14806
14807
14808
14809
14810
14811
14812
14813
14814
14815
14816
14817
14818
14819
14820
14821
14822
14823
14824
14825
14826
14827
14828
14829
14830
14831
14832
14833
14834
14835
14836
14837
14838
14839
14840
14841
14842
14843
14844
14845
14846
14847
14848
14849
14850
14851
14852
14853
14854
14855
14856
14857
14858
14859
14860
14861
14862
14863
14864
14865
14866
14867
14868
14869
14870
14871
14872
14873
14874
14875
14876
14877
14878
14879
14880
14881
14882
14883
14884
14885
14886
14887
14888
14889
14890
14891
14892
14893
14894
14895
14896
14897
14898
14899
14900
14901
14902
14903
14904
14905
14906
14907
14908
14909
14910
14911
14912
14913
14914
14915
14916
14917
14918
14919
14920
14921
14922
14923
14924
14925
14926
14927
14928
14929
14930
14931
14932
14933
14934
14935
14936
14937
14938
14939
14940
14941
14942
14943
14944
14945
14946
14947
14948
14949
14950
14951
14952
14953
14954
14955
14956
14957
14958
14959
14960
14961
14962
14963
14964
14965
14966
14967
14968
14969
14970
14971
14972
14973
14974
14975
14976
14977
14978
14979
14980
14981
14982
14983
14984
14985
14986
14987
14988
14989
14990
14991
14992
14993
14994
14995
14996
14997
14998
14999
15000
15001
15002
15003
15004
15005
15006
15007
15008
15009
15010
15011
15012
15013
15014
15015
15016
15017
15018
15019
15020
15021
15022
15023
15024
15025
15026
15027
15028
15029
15030
15031
15032
15033
15034
15035
15036
15037
15038
15039
15040
15041
15042
15043
15044
15045
15046
15047
15048
15049
15050
15051
15052
15053
15054
15055
15056
15057
15058
15059
15060
15061
15062
15063
15064
15065
15066
15067
15068
15069
15070
15071
15072
15073
15074
15075
15076
15077
15078
15079
15080
15081
15082
15083
15084
15085
15086
15087
15088
15089
15090
15091
15092
15093
15094
15095
15096
15097
15098
15099
15100
15101
15102
15103
15104
15105
15106
15107
15108
15109
15110
15111
15112
15113
15114
15115
15116
15117
15118
15119
15120
15121
15122
15123
15124
15125
15126
15127
15128
15129
15130
15131
15132
15133
15134
15135
15136
15137
15138
15139
15140
15141
15142
15143
15144
15145
15146
15147
15148
15149
15150
15151
15152
15153
15154
15155
15156
15157
15158
15159
15160
15161
15162
15163
15164
15165
15166
15167
15168
15169
15170
15171
15172
15173
15174
15175
15176
15177
15178
15179
15180
15181
15182
15183
15184
15185
15186
15187
15188
15189
15190
15191
15192
15193
15194
15195
15196
15197
15198
15199
15200
15201
15202
15203
15204
15205
15206
15207
15208
15209
15210
15211
15212
15213
15214
15215
15216
15217
15218
15219
15220
15221
15222
15223
15224
15225
15226
15227
15228
15229
15230
15231
15232
15233
15234
15235
15236
15237
15238
15239
15240
15241
15242
15243
15244
15245
15246
15247
15248
15249
15250
15251
15252
15253
15254
15255
15256
15257
15258
15259
15260
15261
15262
15263
15264
15265
15266
15267
15268
15269
15270
15271
15272
15273
15274
15275
15276
15277
15278
15279
15280
15281
15282
15283
15284
15285
15286
15287
15288
15289
15290
15291
15292
15293
15294
15295
15296
15297
15298
15299
15300
15301
15302
15303
15304
15305
15306
15307
15308
15309
15310
15311
15312
15313
15314
15315
15316
15317
15318
15319
15320
15321
15322
15323
15324
15325
15326
15327
15328
15329
15330
15331
15332
15333
15334
15335
15336
15337
15338
15339
15340
15341
15342
15343
15344
15345
15346
15347
15348
15349
15350
15351
15352
15353
15354
15355
15356
15357
15358
15359
15360
15361
15362
15363
15364
15365
15366
15367
15368
15369
15370
15371
15372
15373
15374
15375
15376
15377
15378
15379
15380
15381
15382
15383
15384
15385
15386
15387
15388
15389
15390
15391
15392
15393
15394
15395
15396
15397
15398
15399
15400
15401
15402
15403
15404
15405
15406
15407
15408
15409
15410
15411
15412
15413
15414
15415
15416
15417
15418
15419
15420
15421
15422
15423
15424
15425
15426
15427
15428
15429
15430
15431
15432
15433
15434
15435
15436
15437
15438
15439
15440
15441
15442
15443
15444
15445
15446
15447
15448
15449
15450
15451
15452
15453
15454
15455
15456
15457
15458
15459
15460
15461
15462
15463
15464
15465
15466
15467
15468
15469
15470
15471
15472
15473
15474
15475
15476
15477
15478
15479
15480
15481
15482
15483
15484
15485
15486
15487
15488
15489
15490
15491
15492
15493
15494
15495
15496
15497
15498
15499
15500
15501
15502
15503
15504
15505
15506
15507
15508
15509
15510
15511
15512
15513
15514
15515
15516
15517
15518
15519
15520
15521
15522
15523
15524
15525
15526
15527
15528
15529
15530
15531
15532
15533
15534
15535
15536
15537
15538
15539
15540
15541
15542
15543
15544
15545
15546
15547
15548
15549
15550
15551
15552
15553
15554
15555
15556
15557
15558
15559
15560
15561
15562
15563
15564
15565
15566
15567
15568
15569
15570
15571
15572
15573
15574
15575
15576
15577
15578
15579
15580
15581
15582
15583
15584
15585
15586
15587
15588
15589
15590
15591
15592
15593
15594
15595
15596
15597
15598
15599
15600
15601
15602
15603
15604
15605
15606
15607
15608
15609
15610
15611
15612
15613
15614
15615
15616
15617
15618
15619
15620
15621
15622
15623
15624
15625
15626
15627
15628
15629
15630
15631
15632
15633
15634
15635
15636
15637
15638
15639
15640
15641
15642
15643
15644
15645
15646
15647
15648
15649
15650
15651
15652
15653
15654
15655
15656
15657
15658
15659
15660
15661
15662
15663
15664
15665
15666
15667
15668
15669
15670
15671
15672
15673
15674
15675
15676
15677
15678
15679
15680
15681
15682
15683
15684
15685
15686
15687
15688
15689
15690
15691
15692
15693
15694
15695
15696
15697
15698
15699
15700
15701
15702
15703
15704
15705
15706
15707
15708
15709
15710
15711
15712
15713
15714
15715
15716
15717
15718
15719
15720
15721
15722
15723
15724
15725
15726
15727
15728
15729
15730
15731
15732
15733
15734
15735
15736
15737
15738
15739
15740
15741
15742
15743
15744
15745
15746
15747
15748
15749
15750
15751
15752
15753
15754
15755
15756
15757
15758
15759
15760
15761
15762
15763
15764
15765
15766
15767
15768
15769
15770
15771
15772
15773
15774
15775
15776
15777
15778
15779
15780
15781
15782
15783
15784
15785
15786
15787
15788
15789
15790
15791
15792
15793
15794
15795
15796
15797
15798
15799
15800
15801
15802
15803
15804
15805
15806
15807
15808
15809
15810
15811
15812
15813
15814
15815
15816
15817
15818
15819
15820
15821
15822
15823
15824
15825
15826
15827
15828
15829
15830
15831
15832
15833
15834
15835
15836
15837
15838
15839
15840
15841
15842
15843
15844
15845
15846
15847
15848
15849
15850
15851
15852
15853
15854
15855
15856
15857
15858
15859
15860
15861
15862
15863
15864
15865
15866
15867
15868
15869
15870
15871
15872
15873
15874
15875
15876
15877
15878
15879
15880
15881
15882
15883
15884
15885
15886
15887
15888
15889
15890
15891
15892
15893
15894
15895
15896
15897
15898
15899
15900
15901
15902
15903
15904
15905
15906
15907
15908
15909
15910
15911
15912
15913
15914
15915
15916
15917
15918
15919
15920
15921
15922
15923
15924
15925
15926
15927
15928
15929
15930
15931
15932
15933
15934
15935
15936
15937
15938
15939
15940
15941
15942
15943
15944
15945
15946
15947
15948
15949
15950
15951
15952
15953
15954
15955
15956
15957
15958
15959
15960
15961
15962
15963
15964
15965
15966
15967
15968
15969
15970
15971
15972
15973
15974
15975
15976
15977
15978
15979
15980
15981
15982
15983
15984
15985
15986
15987
15988
15989
15990
15991
15992
15993
15994
15995
15996
15997
15998
15999
16000
16001
16002
16003
16004
16005
16006
16007
16008
16009
16010
16011
16012
16013
16014
16015
16016
16017
16018
16019
16020
16021
16022
16023
16024
16025
16026
16027
16028
16029
16030
16031
16032
16033
16034
16035
16036
16037
16038
16039
16040
16041
16042
16043
16044
16045
16046
16047
16048
16049
16050
16051
16052
16053
16054
16055
16056
16057
16058
16059
16060
16061
16062
16063
16064
16065
16066
16067
16068
16069
16070
16071
16072
16073
16074
16075
16076
16077
16078
16079
16080
16081
16082
16083
16084
16085
16086
16087
16088
16089
16090
16091
16092
16093
16094
16095
16096
16097
16098
16099
16100
16101
16102
16103
16104
16105
16106
16107
16108
16109
16110
16111
16112
16113
16114
16115
16116
16117
16118
16119
16120
16121
16122
16123
16124
16125
16126
16127
16128
16129
16130
16131
16132
16133
16134
16135
16136
16137
16138
16139
16140
16141
16142
16143
16144
16145
16146
16147
16148
16149
16150
16151
16152
16153
16154
16155
16156
16157
16158
16159
16160
16161
16162
16163
16164
16165
16166
16167
16168
16169
16170
16171
16172
16173
16174
16175
16176
16177
16178
16179
16180
16181
16182
16183
16184
16185
16186
16187
16188
16189
16190
16191
16192
16193
16194
16195
16196
16197
16198
16199
16200
16201
16202
16203
16204
16205
16206
16207
16208
16209
16210
16211
16212
16213
16214
16215
16216
16217
16218
16219
16220
16221
16222
16223
16224
16225
16226
16227
16228
16229
16230
16231
16232
16233
16234
16235
16236
16237
16238
16239
16240
16241
16242
16243
16244
16245
16246
16247
16248
16249
16250
16251
16252
16253
16254
16255
16256
16257
16258
16259
16260
16261
16262
16263
16264
16265
16266
16267
16268
16269
16270
16271
16272
16273
16274
16275
16276
16277
16278
16279
16280
16281
16282
16283
16284
16285
16286
16287
16288
16289
16290
16291
16292
16293
16294
16295
16296
16297
16298
16299
16300
16301
16302
16303
16304
16305
16306
16307
16308
16309
16310
16311
16312
16313
16314
16315
16316
16317
16318
16319
16320
16321
16322
16323
16324
16325
16326
16327
16328
16329
16330
16331
16332
16333
16334
16335
16336
16337
16338
16339
16340
16341
16342
16343
16344
16345
16346
16347
16348
16349
16350
16351
16352
16353
16354
16355
16356
16357
16358
16359
16360
16361
16362
16363
16364
16365
16366
16367
16368
16369
16370
16371
16372
16373
16374
16375
16376
16377
16378
16379
16380
16381
16382
16383
16384
16385
16386
16387
16388
16389
16390
16391
16392
16393
16394
16395
16396
16397
16398
16399
16400

<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
  <head>
    <meta charset="UTF-8">
    <title>Blackwood 413 - 1850.03 | Project Gutenberg</title>
    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
    <style>
       body { margin-left: 8%; margin-right: 10%; }
       h1 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; }
       h2 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; }
       h3 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: large; }
       .pageno { right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: silver; 
               text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute; 
               border: thin solid silver; padding: .1em .2em; font-style: normal; 
               font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; }
       p { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; text-align: justify; }
       sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; }
       .fss { font-size: 75%; }
       .sc { font-variant: small-caps; }
       .large { font-size: large; }
       .small { font-size: small; }
       .lg-container-b { text-align: center; }
       .x-ebookmaker .lg-container-b { clear: both; }
       .lg-container-l { text-align: justify; }
       .x-ebookmaker .lg-container-l { clear: both; }
       .lg-container-r { text-align: right; }
       .x-ebookmaker .lg-container-r { clear: both; }
       .linegroup { display: inline-block; text-align: justify; }
       .x-ebookmaker .linegroup { display: block; margin-left: 1.5em; }
       .linegroup .group { margin: 1em auto; }
       .linegroup .line { text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em; }
       div.linegroup > :first-child { margin-top: 0; }
       .linegroup .in12 { padding-left: 9.0em; }
       .linegroup .in2 { padding-left: 4.0em; }
       .linegroup .in20 { padding-left: 13.0em; }
       .linegroup .in4 { padding-left: 5.0em; }
       .ul_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em; }
       ul.ul_1 {padding-left: 0; margin-left: 2.78%; margin-top: .5em;
               margin-bottom: .5em; list-style-type: disc; }
       div.footnote > :first-child { margin-top: 1em; }
       div.footnote p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
       div.pbb { page-break-before: always; }
       hr.pb { border: none; border-bottom: thin solid; margin-bottom: 1em; }
       .x-ebookmaker hr.pb { display: none; }
       .chapter { clear: both; page-break-before: always; }
       .table0 { margin: auto; margin-top: 2em; }
       .table1 { margin: auto; }
       .nf-center { text-align: center; }
       .nf-center-c0 { text-align: justify; margin: 0.5em 0; }
       .c000 { margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
       .c001 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em; }
       .c002 { page-break-before:auto; margin-top: 4em; }
       .c003 { vertical-align: top; text-align: justify; text-indent: -1em;
               padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; }
       .c004 { vertical-align: top; text-align: right; }
       .c005 { margin-top: 2em; }
       .c006 { margin-top: 1em; }
       .c007 { margin-top: 2em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
       .c008 { margin-top: 4em; }
       .c009 { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
       .c010 { margin-top: 2em; font-size: .9em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em;
               }
       .c011 { font-size: .9em; text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em;
               margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
       .c012 { text-indent: 5.56%; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
       .c013 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 2em; }
       .c014 { margin-top: 1em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
       .c015 { text-decoration: none; }
       .c016 { margin-top: 1em; font-size: .9em; }
       .c017 { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
       .c018 { margin-top: 2em; font-size: .9em; }
       .c019 { font-size: .9em; }
       .c020 { vertical-align: top; text-align: center; padding-right: 1em; }
       .c021 { vertical-align: top; text-align: justify; padding-right: 1em; }
       .c022 { vertical-align: top; text-align: center; }
       .c023 { vertical-align: top; text-align: right; padding-right: 1em; }
       .c024 { text-align: center; }
       .c025 { vertical-align: bottom; text-align: center; padding-right: 1em; }
       .c026 { vertical-align: bottom; text-align: center; }
       .c027 { vertical-align: bottom; text-align: right; padding-right: 1em; }
       .c028 { vertical-align: bottom; text-align: right; }
       .c029 { border: none; border-bottom: thin solid; width: 10%; margin-left: 0;
               margin-top: 1em; text-align: justify; }
       div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA;
              border:thin solid silver; margin:2em 10% 0 10%; font-family: Georgia, serif;
               clear: both; }
       .covernote { visibility: hidden; display: none; }
       div.tnotes p { text-align: justify; }
       .x-ebookmaker .covernote { visibility: visible; display: block; }
       h1 {line-height: 150%; }
       .footnote {font-size: .9em; }
       div.footnote p {text-indent: 2em; margin-bottom: .5em; }
       .chapter  { clear: both; page-break-before: always; }
       body {font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify; }
       table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid;
               clear: both; }
       div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always;
               page-break-after: always; }
       div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold;
               line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; }
       .ph1 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large;
               margin: .67em auto; page-break-before: always; }
       .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto;
               page-break-before: always; }
       .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; }
    </style>
  </head>
  <body>   
<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75498 ***</div>

<div class='tnotes covernote'>

<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p>

<p class='c000'>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.</p>

</div>

<div class='titlepage'>

<div>
  <h1 class='c001'>BLACKWOOD’S<br> EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.<br> <span class='large'><span class='sc'>No. CCCCXIII.&#160; &#160; &#160; MARCH, 1850.&#160; &#160; &#160; Vol. LXVII.</span></span></h1>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 class='c002'>CONTENTS.</h2>
</div>

<table class='table0'>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>Civil Revolution in the Canadas</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_249'>249</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>A Late Case of Court-Martial</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_269'>269</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>A Farewell to Naples</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_279'>279</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>Barbarian Rambles</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_281'>281</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>Goldsmith. Part II.</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_296'>296</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>To Burns’s “Highland Mary,”</span></td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_309'>309</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>My Peninsular Medal. By an Old Peninsular. Part IV.</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_313'>313</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>The Green Hand—A “Short” Yarn. Part IX.</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_329'>329</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>Canadian Loyalty. An Ode</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_345'>345</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'><span class='sc'>Agriculture, Commerce, and Manufactures: Opening of the Session</span>,</td>
    <td class='c004'><a href='#Page_347'>347</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div>EDINBURGH:</div>
    <div>WILLIAM BLACKWOOD &#38; SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;</div>
    <div>AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.</div>
    <div class='c006'><span class='small'><em>To whom all communications (post paid) must be addressed.</em></span></div>
    <div class='c006'><span class='small'>SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.</span></div>
    <div class='c006'><span class='small'>PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.</span></div>
  </div>
</div>

</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <h2 id='ERRATUM' class='c002'>ERRATUM.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>Page <a href='#Page_372'>372</a>, column second, Estimate of Expenditure of Absentees, <em>for</em>
£40,000,000 <em>read</em> £20,000,000.</p>
<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span></div>
<div class='chapter ph1'>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
    <div>BLACKWOOD’S</div>
    <div class='c006'>EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.</div>
    <div class='c006'><span class='large'><span class='sc'>No. CCCCXIII.&#160; &#160; &#160; MARCH, 1850.&#160; &#160; &#160; Vol. LXVII.</span></span></div>
  </div>
</div>

</div>

<div>
  <h2 class='c002'>CIVIL REVOLUTION IN THE CANADAS.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>We had intended changing the title
of our papers on the Canadas, and
throwing together for the Magazine
the results of many years’ experience,
and many opportunities of observing
the lights and shades of colonial life.
Not that we had a new system of
settlement to propound, or a new art
of colonisation to illustrate. Our purpose
was simply to have conducted
the reader along the high road of
colonial life, and to have pointed out
to him, on the way, houses evidencing
comfort, respectability, and plenty,
farms proving wealth and independence,
and barn-yards filled with
stock and with grain, belonging to
men, who, but a comparatively short
time before, had been labouring in
Europe without a hope beyond their
daily bread, or a prospect beyond
that of constantly toiling for others.
We had purposed, too, telling the
story of how these men rose; and
pointing out, in the same great country,
thousands upon thousands of
openings for others to go and do likewise.
Nor did we intend stopping
here. There is a large class of men
in Great Britain, who, feeling as men,
and wishing to discharge the duties of
men, cannot look very comfortably
around them, and see those who owe
their existence to them likely to be
left worse off in the world than they
were left themselves; yet who cannot,
from the peculiar organisation of
society in Britain, help themselves;
and who are often prevented—through
family connexions that bring
them no good, and family pride that
often sickens much more than it elevates
the heart—even from using those
exertions and efforts that might better
their condition. We purposed pointing
out the adaptation of the colonies
to such men, and their adaptation to
the colonies. But this to us agreeable
undertaking—for we believe it
might be attended with good—we
are obliged for the present to abandon,
to consider the state of the colonies
with respect to their government and
the institutions of England; and to
see if we cannot suggest a plan whereby
those we might induce to settle in
them might not lose the protection,
the glory, and the fostering care of
their mother country.</p>

<p class='c009'>The legislation of Great Britain, for
the last ten years, is marked by some
peculiar and distinctive features over
that of perhaps any other portion of
her legislative history. These are
eminently, a studied and intentional
disregard of the teachings and the
experience of the past, in an overweening
confidence in the wisdom
of present measures, and their being
proof against all future disasters; a
sort of supercilious spurning, in sailing
under the new canvass of free
trade, of all the old landmarks which
saved England’s power from many a
shipwreck, and her glory from many
a stain. It will hardly be denied,
that that portion of Great Britain’s
national worth which is made up of
her achievements, of her glory, ever
well-earned, and of her fame, ever
dearly bought, has been and is regarded,
by the philosophy of the
Manchester school of politicians, as a
possession by no means worth its cost,
and little worth the keeping. May
it not, in truth, be fairly presumed,
from the movements that have followed
the portentous measure of <em>free
trade</em>, and from the recent agitations
and speeches of its principal promoters,
that they are seeking to
establish a new description of glory
for Great Britain; that they are
endeavouring to change her whole
national character; that they are, in
short, seeking to raze all the former
monuments, sacred to <em>her</em> greatness, in
order to construct, in their stead, monuments
sacred to their own? Clearly
the spirit of the age, in so far as they
have evoked it, is destructive alike of
reverence for the wisdom, and pride
in the achievements, of the past.
Neither is it unnatural, with the views
of this school of politicians, that it
should be so. The free-trade movement
has ever advanced, in proportion
as it succeeded in converting
Great Britain to the belief, that the
whole mind of the past was shrouded
in darkness and error. It could not,
therefore, be expected to inspire admiration
or reverence, for what it thus
practically taught men to condemn
and repudiate. And it may well
indeed seek to establish a new and a
great glory for Britain; for assuredly
great is the glory, and great is the
national possession of which it is fast
bereaving her. The essential spirit
of national patriotism—that chivalrous
feeling of disinterestedness, which
once made Britons proud of forgetting
the world for their country, and themselves
in its defence—where is it?—what
is now swiftly becoming its doom?
Is it not palpably withering beneath
the cold shadow of free-trade philosophy?
Are not the cosmopolitan
doctrines of free trade rapidly making
Britons forget their country? Are these
doctrines not absorbing all the energies
of the nation in the struggles of avarice?
Are they not sinking every patriotic,
every noble national feeling, in the love
of gain? Speak now of a measure involving
the glory, the shame, and the
interests of England, or of even a
single class in England, and what will
be its probable treatment? The glorious
part may have a few advocates,
who will be laughed at for their antiquated
notions; or it may serve to
evoke a few bright ideas in a debate—the
modern surplusage of great men’s
speeches. The shame part may occasion
a feeling of effervescent indignation
for the moment. But the interest
portion will instantly call forth all
the energies of the economic mind
of Britain, and will soon accumulate
such an avalanche of figures and calculations,
as will bear down and crush
every other consideration before it.
It was once thought wise that men
should be taught, through the achievements
of their forefathers, the value
of their institutions. Free-trade philosophy
calls it wiser to teach them
to forget forefathers, achievements,
and all, in a gigantic struggle for
pounds, shillings, and pence. “Confound
your acquiring a manly pride
by learning your hereditary right to
it!” is the language of this school of
politicians, and the language they are
rapidly teaching England.  “Give
us the pride of money.” “Britain
against the world, as long as Britain
pays; but the world against Britain,
the moment she doesn’t,” are the
popular and practical lessons of the
Manchester school,—though a nation’s
glory, all the world’s experience
teaches us, is the very vitality
of its patriotism.  A throne or a
republic, without such flowers blooming
around it, is a poor, unsightly,
unlovable thing, having nothing for
a people’s affections to cling to; yet
are not these flowers fast withering
round the throne of England? Are
not the memories of the nation, which
nourish and keep them alive, being
obliterated by the all-powerful tendencies
of a political philosophy
which recognises no greatness but that
of money, and no pursuit worth following
but that of material interests?
Are not the ties, too, which bind subjects
together, and the duties which
men owe to each other in a state, of
harmonising their interests for the
common good, and of making mutual
sacrifices for national unity and great
national destiny, being fast relaxed
and forgotten in Great Britain?</p>

<p class='c009'>The parties ruling the United States
of America are at this moment making
sacrifices of the vastest magnitude
to each other—sacrifices of great
principles as well as of great interests.
And why? Because, did they not do
so, the republic could not hold together
perhaps for a twelvemonth; and,
once severed, they know full well
what would be the magnitude of their
disaster. Mutual sacrifices and concessions
are, in truth, the ties that
bind them together. Let their common
glory and their common destiny,
let the knowledge of what they have
achieved united, and what they would
become if severed, once fail to produce
a patriotism, or national virtue,
powerful enough to cause them to yield
sectional interests for the common
good, and to forego great party principles
and objects, for the preservation
of their institutions and the
integrity of their government, and
glory would soon take leave of their
Israel.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now in Great Britain, where the
operation of free institutions occasions
similar necessities for sacrifices
and concessions being made by each
great class in the state to the other,
or others, in order to secure that harmony
and unity necessary to all national
permanency, and to the perpetuation
of national power, what does
the legislation of the last ten years
exhibit? Does it not exhibit one great
class struggling for the giant’s power
over another, and, having gained it,
using it like a giant? In the great co-partnery
in national property and national
destiny, men owe it to each
other to balance their books fairly as
to national advantages. What ruins
one large class, though it may temporarily
benefit another, must eventually
ruin the nation. A nation cannot,
more than an individual, bear a constantly
mortifying limb. Now it is
impossible for an intelligent mind not
to see, not to have the conviction
forced upon it, that free trade in Britain
is destroying the great agricultural
limb of the state; and that, if
the giant’s power is much longer
wielded by the giant, fearful consequences
must ensue.</p>

<p class='c009'>But whether the philosophy of free
trade has produced, or is producing, such
great changes as these upon English
national character—whether it is un-Anglifying
England to the extent that
we have indicated or not, we can answer,
at least, for its training to forgetfulness
of Britain the North American colonies.
We can answer for its causing
the sinking of the subject in the avaricious
struggler for “material interests”
in America. We can answer
for its obliterating all national memories,
obligations, and ties on the part
of the colonists, in following the selfish
lessons that have been sent to them
from England, “to take care of themselves,
for England no longer cares
for them.” Perhaps the seeds that
have been thrown upon the winds by
free-trade discussions in England,
have first taken root in the colonies.
Perhaps it was designed that they
should. Be this as it may, let England
learn from the result of these
on the colonies what it may soon be
with herself. Let her learn, by their
example, the effect of the doctrines,
that allegiance may be made wholly
subservient to interest, and that love
of country must give way to love of
gain.</p>

<p class='c009'>Twelve years ago, in the month in
which we write, the city of Montreal
presented an appearance that no similarly
situated city in the world perhaps
ever presented before. Its whole
British population, educated to business,
little accustomed to ordinary
exercises, least of all to those of
war, were in the short space of a
few days literally converted into an
army; for, though they knew not the
use of arms, and were incapable of
systematic movements, yet each had
the heart to grapple, hand to hand,
with his foe: and in this they were
soldiers. Old men of sixty and
seventy years of age, accustomed to
ease and luxuries, might have been
seen, at this period, doing duty in the
streets of Montreal, in the middle of
a Canadian winter’s night, as common
sentinels. Boys, taken away from
their schools, might have been seen
doing the same. A regiment of regulars
at the time marched through the
city; they struck up, as they halted,
an air as familiar as the rhymes of
children. The strains of the music
were drowned in the spontaneous
cheers of the people. Women shed
tears of gladness. The air the soldiers
played was <cite>God save the Queen!</cite>
But why this enthusiasm? and why
this military display? Two-thirds of
the people of Lower Canada—its
French inhabitants—had taken up
arms against the institutions of England.
The people of Montreal were
British.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now this city of Montreal was little,
if at all, capable of military defence.
It was so constructed as to have been
peculiarly liable to destruction by
fire; and, at the time that the spectacle
we have faintly sketched might
have been witnessed, the chances of
war were at least two to one against
its determined British inhabitants.
Nor should it be forgotten, that nearly
the whole of the property in this city
was owned by these British inhabitants;
was the fruits of many years of
their honest toil; and as it is well
known that policies of insurance do
not cover losses occasioned by the
Queen’s enemies, the loss to them
might have been total had it been
burned.</p>

<p class='c009'>These British inhabitants of Montreal,
therefore, without a moment’s
hesitation, in an indefensible city, and
with the chances of war as two to one
against them, willingly and even
cheerfully perilled their lives, their
families, their hearths, their property,
their all, to uphold the flag of England.</p>

<p class='c009'>In the month of October last, upwards
of twelve hundred persons, in
the space of a few days—one half of
whom were the very men who acted
in 1838 as we have described—openly
and deliberately called upon their fellow
colonists to haul down the flag of
Britain upon the continent of America;
and coupled that request with
another, that the flag of a rival power
should be put up in its stead.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now what are the causes of this most
extraordinary change?  What is it
which has exerted so powerful an
influence, as to have caused men
capable of making the noblest sacrifices
to uphold the institutions
of their forefathers at one time,
capable of making such attempts to
destroy them at another? We answer,
emphatically, it was free trade
and its attendant philosophy. It was
the injuries it inflicted upon the colonies—not
in the spirit of national compromise
or mutual sacrifices, but in
the spirit of the giant using the giant’s
power. It was the lessons, too, that
accompanied the injuries. It was the
obliterating the love of country in the
pursuits of avarice. It was the ruinous
latitude that free-trade philosophy
had to allow to others, in claiming the
same for its own disciples.</p>

<p class='c009'>To those who have closely observed
the opinions expressed regarding the
colonies, in the debates upon free trade,
little need be said to prove that the Manchester
school of politicians not only
considered their connexion with Britain
as of no importance, but as actually
undesirable in itself. There was
no attempt made at harmonising interests
with them. There was no intention
expressed of making sacrifices for
them, and incidentally, as we shall
show, for England. There was no
respect paid to their love of Britain;
for loyalty is not a word in the free-trade
catalogue. But there was a
studious and intentional under-rating
and disparaging of them and their
country, to subserve the free-trade
cause, and to destroy the force that
the argument of their ruin might possibly
have upon the people of England.
They were made the subject
too of cold, mercenary calculations,
which were enough to insult them into
sedition, and to disgust them out of
their connexion with the mother country.
When the disastrous effect that
the loss of a protection, to the benefits
of which they had been educated by
England for fifty years, and to which the
whole business arrangements of their
country were as much adapted and
which they as much required as the very
crops in their ground required sunshine
and rain—when these were pointed out
in England, how were they met by the
free-trade leaders? Was it not by cold
calculations of how much they consumed
per head of this, and how much
they consumed, in comparison with the
rest of the world, of that; and how
much they cost for this, and how little
they required of that; until, by some
strange mystification of arithmetic,
they were made out to be an actual injury
to England. And had the colonies
the satisfaction, if they must needs be
injured and crippled, of knowing that
one single individual connected with
the free-trade movement had the justice
to regret the injury that was
being perpetrated against them, and
to say, that England would endeavour
to retrieve it in some other way? We
believe we are justified in saying there
was not one. The vilification of the
colonies was an argument in favour of
free trade, and they were vilified.
And when the consequences of free
trade upon the colonies have been
alluded to; when the shops which had
been built, in expectation of the agricultural
interests of the country being
stimulated as they had formerly been,
and large quantities of land being
taken up and cleared, as was formerly
the case—when these shops became
unrequired and useless; when store-houses,
and wharves, and vessels, and
steamers, which, before free trade
came into operation, were full of activity,
life, and business, became as so
much dead property on the hands of
their owners, and the people connected
with them had to seek a livelihood by
other means, and in other places than
the colonies: when these disastrous
consequences of free trade were experienced
and pointed out, how were
they also met? how were they regarded,
and were the colonists sympathised
with on account of them? They were
spoken of and accounted for, by the
free-trade leaders, in a spirit similar to
the following paragraph—in a spirit
of exaggerated detraction, instead of
national sympathy and management.
And we put it to the candour of the
English public, if the succeeding remarks
of the <cite>Daily News</cite> are not a
fair sample of the manner in which the
party that paper represents are in the
habit of speaking of the colonies:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“The argument of the Montreal traders
is: ‘The Americans are more prosperous
than we. If our territory was incorporated
into the Union, we would be as prosperous
as the Americans.’ The fallacy of this
argument is obvious to dispassionate lookers-on.
The superior prosperity of the
Americans was as marked when the late
Mr Stuart visited Canada and the United
States as it is now. It has not originated
in the change of British mercantile policy.
It has all along been owing to the superior
energy and enterprise of the Americans.
The Canadians were listless, relying
upon protection in the British market;
the Americans were active, because they
had only their own enterprise to rely
upon. The Americans, in the position of
the Canadians, are not afraid of free competition.
The stronghold of the protectionist
party in America is in the sea-board
manufacturing states. If the Canadians
would be as prosperous as the Americans,
they must become as active and enterprising
as the Americans. The self-government
of the people of the United
States promoted the spirit of enterprise;
but, for all essential purposes, Canadians
now enjoy that spring of energy. Canada
annexed to the United States would advance
more rapidly than Canada under its
former close government and protective
system did; but the advance would be the
work of, and its profits would be reaped
by, the hardy emigrants from the United
States. The dreamers who think that
their prosperity depends upon their being
subject to this or the other government,
not upon their own exertions, would be
driven to the wall before the new-comers.
Their individual plight, be that of the
province what it might, would be worse
than ever.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Now, that the deductions and statements
in this paragraph—if they are
intended to apply to the state of Canada
before as well as after free trade,
and they certainly seem so intended—are
as untrue, ungenerous, and unjust,
towards the colonists—towards
the hardy, persevering, and hard-working
people of Great Britain in
them—as they are grossly misrepresentative
and unfair with respect to
the prosperity of the country—we here
undertake and pledge ourselves to the
reader satisfactorily to prove.</p>

<p class='c009'>We are no enemies to the American
States; and in the incidental references
we have had occasion to make
to them, in the course of our papers
upon the colonies, we have candidly
and fully admitted their extraordinary
advancement; we have conceded to
the fullest the great impetus their peculiar
working of the institutions of
Britain—for this is in reality the true
state of the case—has imparted to
human progress. But we are practically
and well acquainted with their
agricultural interests, and with much
of their great country, and with the
comforts and prosperity enjoyed and
gained by its farmers; and we are
also well and practically acquainted
with the whole of Upper Canada,
and we assert without fear of question
by any man in America who understands
the matter, that, in period
of settlement, and prosperity to show
for it; in crops raised from the land,
and evidences of good management
and good farming; in stock proving
comfort and plenty; in houses, carriages,
dress; in all that establishes
that an agricultural people are easy
in their circumstances, and are enjoying
comfort and plenty—the farmers
of Upper Canada are behind none in
any part of the United States, and
are before them in many.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now, London, as all the world
knows, is a great leviathan city; but
its being so does not prove that individual
comfort, happiness, and prosperity
are greater in it than they are
in many a small town in England.
The United States, too, have vastly
more territory than Upper Canada
has; have many larger and more
bustling cities, and have finer and
more gorgeous steamers; but this
does not prove, more than London does
as respects England, that this larger
territory brings greater prosperity,
health, and comfort, to the farmers in
it, than Canada does; that the business
in the larger and bustling cities is
more healthy, or more profitable, than
that which is the legitimate offspring
of the people’s wants in Canada; or
that the gorgeous steamers pay better,
or are better, than those which are
adapted to the purposes, and are admirably
suited to the conveniences
and comforts, of the agricultural population
of the Canadas. The question
therefore, to any man who has settled
in either country, or who wishes to do
so, is not how much larger one’s territory
is over that of the other, but
which secures, and has secured, the
greater amount of benefits and prosperity
for the same amount of labour
and capital invested in it; and which
has by experience been proved to be
the most desirable place for man to
live in? Now, that the only interest
which Great Britain has ever fostered
or encouraged in America, and indeed
the only interest which, with her policy
of manufacturing for the colonies,
she has allowed to grow up in them—namely,
their agricultural interest—was
not in Canada, before free trade
withered it, behind its state in any
part of America; and that the Canadas
as a country were before any portion of
it, we adduce the conclusive and unquestionable
proof, that, distributed
over the last thirty years, twenty-five
thousand shrewd and sagacious American
citizens have left the institutions
that they so much prized, have foregone
the temptations of their magnificent
prairies and valleys that the world
has heard so much of, and have taken
leave of all their fine and prosperous
cities, to take up their abode in Upper
Canada. As equally conclusive
evidence that the legitimate business
of the province was, in proportion to
the requirements of the country, always
in a healthy and prosperous
state, we adduce the fact of the invariable
success in every branch of
business that they ever engaged in,
in Upper Canada, of these same American
citizens. And we here state it
as a fact that will not be denied by a
single American farmer in the province,
that, before free trade prostrated
its agricultural interests, there
was not a single farmer, American or
of other country—with the exception of
the time of the rebellion in 1837–8—who
would have been willing to exchange
his property for similar property
in any part of the whole United
States. And does not, in truth, the
fact that these Americans came and
settled in the province, under their
circumstances, and with their feelings
of regard for their own institutions,
prove that this must have been the
case? And does not the fact of these
men carrying with them the same
energy and industry into Canada that
their friends were possessed of in the
States, prove, that in everything that
marked the success of labour in a generous
land, Canada could not have
been behind the rest of America?
But it is a well-known fact, as the
Americans quaintly observe of themselves,
“that they do not love to
work as well as the English, Irish,
and Scotch do.” They are, as a nation,
given to speculating; and an
American farmer or mechanic would
rather at any time make a dollar by
a “trade,” than he would two by hard
work. So that, in the march of improvement
in agriculture in the Canadas,
and in the growth of wealth,
these American settlers are by no
means before their Canadian neighbours;
and, excepting where they have
combined some business with their
farming, they have not wherewithal to
show that they have equally prospered
with them. Now, these are facts—facts
whose force and justice will not be questioned
by a single individual in America
who understands the matter; and we
state them, not only with the view
of vindicating our own countrymen
against the injustice of those who wilfully
or ignorantly underrate their
exertions and the success that has attended
their labours, but we state them
to save the Americans themselves
from unjust and unfair comparisons,
and in defence of one of the finest
countries that a beneficent Creator
ever spread out before needy humanity—a
country teeming with unappropriated
wealth; with a climate
pure, bracing, and adapted to the
largest development of the best energies
of man, and with millions of
openings for poverty to raise itself
out of the ashes of its degradation;
and for capital to reproduce itself to
an extent unheard of in Europe.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now the people living adjacent to
Lake Windermere might just as well
be supposed to be an inert, unprosperous
race, because their beautiful
little lake has fewer steamers, and sailing
craft, and bustle upon it, than the
Thames exhibits near London, as the
people of the Canadas, in comfort and
prosperity, can be said to be behind
those of the States, because their towns
have less bustle, and their waters
fewer steamers and less trade upon
them. The Canadas have been, and
are, a purely agricultural country; and
it is in this respect only they can be
compared with the rest of America.
Their trade and business is, and could
only have been, such as naturally
grew out of their other interests. If
that trade and business was, though
less bustling than that of the States,
as it naturally would be from its character,
healthy and paying, no man
could expect more of it. Have we
not fairly proved that it must have
been so? But if any traveller wishes
to judge truly and justly of Upper Canada
and the States, he must not skim
over their borders, and be deceived
by the superficial glare. He must
learn the intrinsic value of the thing
itself, by going into the interior of the
country. He must see men plough.
He must see how deep they plough,
and what sort of cattle they plough
with, and how hard they work. He
must examine the farmers’ houses,
and learn how they are finished, furnished,
and provisioned. He must
hover round their barn-yards, and
linger along their fences. He must
witness their harvests, and be fortunate
enough occasionally to be their
guests. He must make his observations
on their children; and we would
excuse him even coming a little closer
to their young women, although it
would be hardly fair to expect him to
judge impartially under such circumstances.
But let any man of intelligence
do this with regard to the farmers
of Upper Canada, and of any
portion of the American States—we
care not which—and if he does not
find that industry has secured as
large rewards, and the farmers have
as many comforts, in the British possessions
as the American, he is at
liberty to say that our upwards of
seventeen years’ practical experience
in them has been of no use to us; or,
to use the words of an American friend
of ours upon the subject, “we might
be inclined to recommend his friends
not to trust him very far away from
home again.”</p>

<p class='c009'>But now we would put it to the
proverbial sense of justice and fairness
of the people of England, if the calling
such men “listless, relying upon protection
in the British market,” is a
fair way of treating them, after educating
them to the benefits of that
protection; and after checking the
manufacturing interests that might
have grown up in the colonies, and
placed them on a par with the States,
for the express benefit of the manufacturing
interests of Britain? Men
who built vessels, and store-houses,
and purchased property in the colonies,
upon the faith that England,
having established the system of
manufacturing for them, would continue
that of discriminating in their
favour in her markets, have now not
only their property in ruin on their
hands, but they are abused because it
is in ruins. Farmers who, as we
have shown, and as no man in America
will deny, have worked hard, and
have wherewithal to show for it—have
achieved that which is no less a credit
to themselves than it is to the country
they came from—are vilified because
they complain that England’s policy,
in destroying manufacturing interests
in the colonies, has deprived them of
a home market such as the farmers of
the United States have got; and England’s
free-trade system, in destroying
so much, and injuring so much more
property, in the colonies, has involved
them in the general depression and
retrogression. The plain English, and
the plain truth of the whole matter, is
this—that the free-trade leaders of
England, having sacrificed the colonies,
are desirous of making their former
history harmonise with the picture of
the injury and ruin they have brought
upon them. But we trust that we
have established, to the satisfaction of
every honest man, what we promised
we should—namely, that the attempt
is no less unjust and unfair to the
colonists, to their industry, and to
their perseverance, than it is to the
country they came from—its institutions,
and its patient, cheerful, and
successful labour.</p>

<p class='c009'>We have dwelt somewhat at length
upon this matter; and for two reasons.
The first is, because the reiteration of
the same, or similar remarks and reflections
as those contained in the
extract we have made from the <cite>Daily
News</cite>, has given a false impression,
both in England and America, of the
true state of the Canadas. People,
forgetting that they were settled—at
least the great province of Upper
Canada was—by the very same people
who have settled the greater portion
of the States, and by whose labour
these States have become what they
are—people in England, unknowingly
or unthinkingly, have been led to
associate the inhabitants of the
colonies with ideas of listlessness,
inertness, and poverty, when, in
truth, on the whole continent of
America, there is not a hardier or a
steadier working people, or a people
whose success, independence, and
comfort would afford a better example
to the poor of Europe. The locomotives
by which the farmers of
Canada should be judged of, after all,
are their waggons and their teams.
The bustle which best shows their
prosperity, is the bustle of their harvest
fields. The business which
gives the best proof of success to the
world, is that which can show good
balance-sheets, and few bankruptcies.
Now, before free trade overtook
the prosperity of these colonies,
we can, with the most perfect safety,
challenge any and all America to
show a better state of things in all
these several branches of their business
and interests, than the province of
Upper Canada did and could exhibit.
We have felt that we owed it to
this great province, to this province
which might, and we trust will, be
made a great right arm of Britain’s
power and empire, to say thus much
in its defence. We owed it to the
manly and hard-working people of
England, Ireland, and Scotland, who
have settled in it, and whose industry
and skill have made many parts of it
the very gardens of America, to
shield them against the unjust representations
that have been sent abroad
to the world concerning them, and
that have been the more galling, because
they have emanated from home
and friends. Our other reason for
going into this matter so fully, is to
ask, at this important juncture, how
it is possible to expect that these
colonists will or can continue loyal
to Britain long, with vilification and
detraction thus added to the injuries
that they have so unquestionably and
undeniably suffered? They point to
their vessels lying unused, and rotting
in their harbours; and they point to the
lands of the province not being taken up
as they used to be, and those that are
cleared not paying for the labour of
tilling them: and they ask themselves,
and they ask America, and they ask
England,—Why is it so? And all
answer—Free trade will not make it
pay to clear the lands; free trade
will not make it pay to till the lands;
free trade has knocked Canadian
farming on the head. Yet free trade,
upon hearing this, turns round and
asserts it to be all false, and says
that the vessels are decaying because
the Canadians are too indolent
to use them, although they have nothing
to carry. Free trade says, that
the stagnation of the country, and the
indisposition of people to settle in it,
are owing to the country’s own backwardness,
are the result of its inertness;
whereas we have shown that
its people, of all others on earth,
least deserve such injustice and insults
at the hands of England. Free
trade, when driven—for it sometimes
is—to admit that it must inevitably
separate Great Britain from her
colonies, then turns round, and
charges the colonies with being an
expense and an injury to England.
Yet, after all this, free trade expects
the colonies to continue loyal to
England. Free trade affects to be
shocked at the effects of the storm
which itself palpably, and in a thousand
ways, sowed. Free trade having
sickened, weakened, and struck down
the colonies, now literally stands over
them, taunting them with the effects
of its own medicines, and, at the same
time, affects to wonder that they should
be sick or depressed.</p>

<p class='c009'>That these effects of free trade
upon the colonies have been foreseen
and accurately judged of by the shrewd
and far-seeing mind of America, we
may show, by quoting the opinions
in point of the great leading journal
of the New England States. This
journal, the <cite>Boston Atlas</cite>, like many
of the leading papers in Britain, is
occasionally contributed to by the
leading statesmen of the great Whig
party in America; and as we happen
to know that the article from which
we quote was written by a gentleman
who commands a wide and
powerful influence as a statesman and
political economist in the States, his
views may be considered entitled to
the greater attention in England:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“We have said that Canada has been
deliberately sacrificed; and we have too
high an opinion of the intelligence of the
British ministry not to suppose that,
when they made the sacrifice, they foresaw
the probable ultimate result. We do
not believe that they will be surprised at
the movements which are now taking
place, or that they will think of making
serious resistance to any step which the
Provinces may decide to take—whether
it be for annexation or independence—though
we have no doubt the latter would
best suit their views, for grave reasons
upon which we do not now think it necessary
to expatiate.</p>

<p class='c011'>“As matters now stand, Canada is an
agricultural State, paying for all the
manufactures she consumes in the raw
productions of the earth. She has been
but a very short time in this position, and
yet she already groans under the free-trade
experiment. Her wants are the same; but
the more timber and corn she exports, the
less she gets for them. Instead of growing
rich under this beneficent free-trade
system, she is every day getting poorer.
She has had enough of free trade, and is
anxiously seeking some way of escape
from it. Such is ever the inevitable result,
when the attempt is made to pay for
manufactures with raw productions; and
the longer it is continued, the worse will
be the situation of the agricultural state.</p>

<p class='c011'>“Can she mend her position by adopting
the proposed ‘Remedy?’ If her
representatives in parliament happen to
be the true representatives of her interests—which
is very far from certain—and
if they can persuade the government
to restore the bounty upon her timber and
corn—the answer is, yes. But we see
little chance of that, for the situation of
Canada is perfectly well known now by
that same government; her case has been
examined in all its bearings, and she has
been deliberately sacrificed to ‘free
trade,’—in other words, to the manufacturing
interest of Great Britain; and it
will take something more than the eloquence
of a few Canadian orators, admitted
to seats in parliament, to induce
that interest to reconsider her case, or to
yield a hair’s-breadth to her claims. She
has not been sacrificed through ignorance,
but because she stood in the way of a
great theory. She will look in vain to
this source for relief. But if the proposed
consolidation should cause British
capital to cross the water and set up
manufacturing establishments, would not
the end be gained? Perhaps so. Of
this, however, the chance is small, unless
labour is as cheap in Canada as it is in
England, which it never can be until the
United States, ceasing to afford any protection
to labour, become parties to the
Free Trade League, and so bring all the
labour of North America down to the
level of the labour of Europe. Such a
suicidal system can never be permanently
established here, and, therefore, we look
upon this second source of relief as equally
visionary with the first.”—<cite>Boston Atlas.</cite></p>

<p class='c007'>We had purposed showing that, in
addition to the free trade party in
England’s having literally endeavoured
to injure and insult the colonies
out of their allegiance to their mother
country, they have also been educating
them, by their speeches in parliament
and otherwise, to the same
end. But we trust that we have already
proved enough to satisfy any
man, not unwilling to believe the
truth, that if some men in the colonies
have fallen from their high estate,
they have but taken the course that
the free-trade policy of England left
open to them; the course that that
policy, if not intentionally, at least
inevitably, must sooner or later compel
them to take. If, therefore, England
thinks that those men in the
colonies who have looked towards
another government have acted unworthily
of themselves and of her, let
her lay the blame at once on those
who compelled them to take to the
boats by making the ship no longer
a home for them. If their love for
their great and glorious mother country
has diminished, it is only, and it is
solely, because the nutriment which
supported the affection has been
poisoned by men who have ruled the
councils of England. Yet, injured
though they were, and galled and
insulted though they unquestionably
have been, to palliate and to justify
that injury, still, we believe that the
loyalists would have looked beyond
the sway of the free-trade party over
England; would have been willing to
trust to England’s justice eventually
doing justice to them, had it not been
for the lessons which we have already
referred to as having been diffused by
free-trade philosophy with free trade
itself. It is the colonists being practically
told, that those who ruled the
councils of the empire would do the
best they could for themselves, and
that they must and might do likewise,
that made the inroads upon
their loyalty. It is the utter absence
of the spirit of compromise—of a disposition
to make a single sacrifice, or
to harmonise a single interest, either
to preserve the empire or to save it
from humiliation, by the free-trade
party of England, that has taught
the colonists selfishness sufficient to
make them say that they would leave
Britain behind for “material interests;”
that they too had allowed all
memories of the past to be obliterated
in the struggles and aspirations of
avarice. Let England contrast the
conduct of these colonies twelve years
ago with what it is now. Let her ask
those who have been willing to forego
their connexion with her destiny, and
the glory and the safety of her protection,
what it is that causes them to do
so; and they will answer, to a man, it is
the teachings and the effects of free
trade. These lessons have been falling
upon the colonial mind for years,
like water upon a rock, and they have
worn seams and made impressions
upon it, that the swords of many
enemies in many years could not
have effected.</p>

<p class='c009'>But we have now arrived at a point
when that plain and straightforward
question, common to Englishmen to
ask, may be put to us—and that is,
What is to be done with the colonies,
situated as they are? Connected with
this, too, is another question, equally
necessary to be answered, which is—What
is Great Britain likely to lose,
in possessions, people, and character,
with the Canadas, if she loses them?</p>

<p class='c009'>With regard to the latter question,
which, as it is suggestive of the consequences
to be provided against, it
may be better to consider before
that which is suggestive of a remedy—it
seems clear enough to us, that
the loss of all the North American
colonies would inevitably follow that
of the Canadas. The situation of all
of them is the same. Free trade has
affected them nearly equally; and it
is a significant fact, that the agitation
upon the subject of “annexation,”
without concert, common interests,
or agreement, commenced in all the
provinces simultaneously, though not
to the same extent in some as in
others. But, apart from this, if the
great province of Upper Canada should
take leave of Britain, the following of
the others would be as natural as the
limbs following the dictates of the
head. It is indeed useless to waste
words upon a matter that is perfectly
self-evident; for if the Canadas separate
from Britain, it must and will go
forth to the world, that they had to
do so in order to prosper; and all the
colonies being dissatisfied, and chafing
under the same mortifications, and
suffering the same injuries from
England’s free-trade policy, would
claim, upon the same grounds, to be
relieved of the withering shadow of
her power in America. However
uncomplimentary or unjust this may
or might be, such will be the opinion
of the world, and Great Britain
must prepare to meet it, or to counteract
what will occasion it. As misfortunes,
too, do not come single with
a nation more than with an individual,
the West Indian possessions
would assuredly follow the North
American; and would certainly not give
any more complimentary reasons for
doing so. Great Britain would therefore
stand forth before the rest of her
colonies and the world, as having utterly
and humiliatingly failed to govern
those she lost with that success which
ought to result from her free institutions,
and the freedom of her people.
Now this momentous consideration is
clearly bound up with that of what she
is to do with the Canadas. Now, will
Great Britain—by whatsoever cause
or policy they may justify their claim
for separation, or by whatsoever party
in England it may be or may have
been favoured—permit the Canadas to
shake off her power, with these consequences
palpably before her eyes?
Will she not the rather prefer coming
back to that best of all systems—mutual
sacrifices for common good,
and mutual concessions for national
integrity and destiny? Will she not
rather endeavour to impart to them
that capital and those people, which
would benefit her much, and make
them rich indeed? We think so;
and we think she will, because we
know she can devise a plan for doing
so, and for governing them in a manner
that will not be attended with the
mortifications that have accrued to
both the colonists and the mother
country, from all former patchings
and props to a constitutionally bad
colonial system. Thinking this, we
shall now proceed briefly to consider—for
in the space we have at our command,
it would be impossible fully to
show—what great Britain would lose,
in possessions, by losing the Canadas.
In this we shall be obliged to lay
under tribute a short but interesting
sketch of the Canadas, their value
and extent, by the late Charles
Fothergill. He spent many years in
the colonies; knew them well; and
his opinions are those of an intelligent
English gentleman, who saw, and
made himself practically and thoroughly
acquainted with what he
wrote concerning</p>

<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>The Canadas.</span></p>

<p class='c011'>“The geographical position of this
vast country may be thus generally
stated:—It is bounded on the east by
the Gulf of St Lawrence and Labrador;
on the north by the territories of Hudson’s
Bay; on the west by the Pacific Ocean;
on the south by Indian countries, which
extend to Mexico, and part of the United
States of America—viz., Wisconsin, Illinois,
Indiana, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania,
New York, Vermont, New Hampshire,
the district of Maine, and by the
British province of New Brunswick.
These boundaries describe a large and
magnificent portion of the globe we inhabit,
large enough for the foundation of
an empire, which may become hereafter
the arbitress of the destinies of the new
world, embracing with her mighty arms
the whole width of the great continent
of America. Secured in her rear by the
frozen regions of the north, and with such
a front as she possesses towards the
south, it is impossible but that, with the
adoption of wise and decisive measures,
she must be able, hereafter, to hold a far
more potential influence over the countries
of the south, than was ever held by the
Tartars, (in their best days,) over Asia;
or by the northern hordes of Europe over
the empire of Rome, at the period of her
overthrow. The foundation stone of this
empire has been laid by England, and it
depends on the wisdom of her councils,
and on the loyalty, ambition, temper,
skill, industry, bravery, high qualities,
and perseverance of the Canadians, no
matter of what origin, how far the fairy
vision which is kindled up in fancy may
be realised.</p>

<p class='c011'>“We have only to cast our eyes
slightly over a map of North America, to
be immediately assured of the singularly
advantageous situation of the settled
parts of Upper Canada. Seated like a
gem in the bosom of a country that is
neither scorched by the sultry summers
of the south, nor blasted by the tardy,
bitter, winters of the north; surrounded
by the most magnificent lakes, and possessing
the most extensive internal navigation
in the known world, it would be
difficult, perhaps impossible, to find in
any other region of the globe a tract of
country of the same magnitude with so
many natural advantages, as that part of
Upper Canada which lies between the
Lakes Ontario, Erie, and Huron, and the
Ottawa, or Grand River, nine-tenths of
the whole extent of which are calculated
for the exercise of almost every description
of agricultural labour, and with such
a prospect of success as, perhaps, no
other part of this continent could realise.
A part of this tract of country, commencing
in the neighbourhood of Kingston, and
running westward nearly 500 miles to
the Sandwich frontier, by a depth, northward,
of from 40 to 100 miles, is, alone,
capable of supplying all Europe with
grain; besides being rich in cattle, and
producing silver, lead, copper, iron, lime,
marl, gypsum, marble, freestone, coal,
salt, wool, hemp and flax, of the best
quality, tobacco and timber of every
description, besides furs, game, fish, and
many other valuable productions.</p>

<p class='c011'>Much has been said, at a distance,
against the climate of this fine country.
Those, however, who have removed to it
from Great Britain are agreeably disappointed
in finding it more pleasant,
(all things considered,) than that which
they have left, because it is neither so
moist nor so unsettled. It might be said,
with no great impropriety, that the present
inhabitants of Canada have but two
seasons—summer and winter—for winter
has no sooner disappeared, which generally
happens by the middle of April,
than the whole animal and vegetable
creation starts into renewed life, with a
rapidity and vigour that leaves the season
of spring with such doubtful limits as to
be scarcely perceptible, or deserving a
specific character. Again, in the fall of the
year, the months of September and October
are generally so fine and summerlike,
and these being succeeded by what
is aptly termed the Indian summer, in
November, (that month which is so gloomy
in England, and said to be so fatal to
Englishmen,) that we should have great
difficulty, were it not for an artificial
calendar, in saying when it was autumn.
As a proof of the general nature of our
climate, and to show that we have other
sources of wealth, by the exercise of
domestic industry, in store, it must not
be here forgotten that the culture of both
cotton and indigo has been attempted, on
a small scale, in the western district, with
success; that the various species of Mulberry,
necessary for the growth of silk,
flourish under the care of those who have
made the experiment in the London and
western districts; that vineyards may be
advantageously laid out; and the hop is
found in perfection almost everywhere.
It may be readily supposed that, in such
a vast extent of country, every description
of soil, and every variety of surface,
as to mountains, hills, valleys, and plains,
must occur. Speaking of the inhabited
parts of Canada, the Lower Province is
the most mountainous, and the Upper the
most level and champagne; indeed, from
the division line on Lake St Francis to
Sandwich, a distance of nearly six hundred
miles, nothing like a mountain
occurs, although the greater part of the
country which is passed through, between
those places, is gently undulated into
pleasing hills, fine slopes, and fertile valleys.
There is, however, a ridge of rocky
and generally barren country, running
south-easterly from Lake Huron, through
the Newcastle district, towards the
Ottawa, or Grand River, at the distance
of from 50 to 100 miles from the northern
shore of Lake Ontario, and the course of
the River St Lawrence; a ridge which
divides and directs the course of innumerable
streams, those on one side running
to the northward or north-east,
whilst those on the other run to the
southward, and empty themselves into
Lake Ontario or the River St Lawrence.
The base of this ridge has an elevation of
not much less than 200 feet above the
level of Ontario, and it is rich in silver,
lead, copper, and iron, and near the Lake
Marmora, in white marble. In the neighbourhood
of Gunanoque, a beautifully
variegated marble of green and yellow is
found; and, in the vicinity of Kingston,
there is an immense bed of black and also
gray marble.</p>

<p class='c011'>“Farther to the north, beyond the
French River, which falls into Lake Huron,
are immense mountains, some of them of
great elevation. Many of the mountains
which describe the great valley of the St
Lawrence, are from 2000 to 3000 feet
above the level of the river; and that
part of the chain which approaches the
city of Quebec, on the northern side of
the river, is worthy the attention of the
geologist; and, in a particular manner, of
the mineralogist, from the hope there is
every reason to entertain that these
mountains yield several rare and valuable
kinds of earth for pigments, which may
hereafter become articles of commerce.
When in Quebec, some years ago, the
writer of this sketch was shown several
fine specimens, in the seminary of that
city, which had been procured in those
mountains at no great distance from
Quebec; amongst which may be mentioned
a rich brown resembling the Vandyke
brown of artists; a yellow, equal to that
of Naples, and an extraordinary fine
blue, of a tint between that of indigo
and the costly ultramarine. The subject
is mentioned in this place with a view
of exciting further inquiry and experiment;
because, at present, the artists and
colourmen of London are principally supplied
with their most valuable pigments
from Italy. A scientific gentleman who
has lately explored the coast of Labrador,
and the Gulf of St Lawrence, was very
successful in his mineralogical pursuits,
particularly in the neighbourhood of
Gaspé, from whence he obtained some new,
and many valuable and beautiful specimens
of the quartz family—including a
great variety of cornelians, agates, opals,
and jaspers; several of which have been
cut into useful or ornamental articles at
Quebec. From Labrador the same gentleman
brought several large and beautiful
specimens of the spar so peculiar to
that coast, and which is commonly known
by the name of Labrador spar, of a brilliant
cornelian or ultramarine tint, with
others of a green, yellow, red, and one or
two of a singularly fine pearl-gray colour.
These specimens were found at Mingan,
imbedded in a rock of granite.</p>

<p class='c011'>“It may give a just idea of the general
richness of the soil to state, that we have
frequently heard of instances where 50
bushels of wheat per acre have been produced
on a farm, even where the stumps
(which would probably occupy one eighth
of the surface of the field) have not been
eradicated; and, in the district of Newcastle,
many examples may be found
wherein wheat has been raised on the
same ground for 16 or 18 years successively,
without the application of manure!
The general average of the returns of
wheat crops, however, throughout Upper
Canada, is probably not more than 25
bushels per acre, owing to the space occupied
by stumps, and the indifferent skill
of some of the farmers. The winter
wheats are found to be the most productive,
and they weigh the heaviest: the best
seldom exceeds 64 lb. or 65 lb., to the
Winchester bushel, although we have
known several instances of higher
weights.</p>

<p class='c011'>“Of Indian corn or maize, from 60 to
80 bushels per acre is not an uncommon
return; and of pumpkins, of the largest
kinds, we have instances of more than
a cwt. being produced from a single
seed. But there cannot be a more certain
indication of the depth and richness
of the soil than the fine growth of the
timber which it produces; and we have
not unfrequently measured particular
trees of that species of white oak, which
grows in low moist places, and which is
usually called swamp oak, that gave circumferences
of sixteen to seventeen and
eighteen feet, and an altitude of from
thirty to forty, and even fifty feet to the
first bough. And we have more than
once, on the rich lands to the northward
of Rice Lake, found white pine trees,
that give a diameter of five feet, and altitude
of two hundred! These are facts
that determine at once the depth, richness,
and vegetative power of the soil, since
those giants of the forest are not nourished
solely by the heavens which they
pierce, but also by the earth from whence
they spring.</p>

<p class='c011'>“Vegetation is so rapid in this country,
that barley sown in July has been reaped
in the second week of September, for
several years successively, and on land
that was deemed poor and exhausted; and
a more abundant crop has been seldom
witnessed.</p>

<p class='c011'>“From every observation and experiment
that has been made, no doubt can
be entertained of the great fertility of
the soil of this fine country. Not only does
every vegetable production which thrives
in similar latitudes in Europe prosper
here, but others, which require either
greater heat or greater care, are found to
succeed in Canada, without any particular
attention. The finest melons and
cucumbers are brought to perfection in
the open fields, and tobacco is cultivated
with success. Even the wild
grapes become ripe by the first or second
week in September; so that there is every
reason to believe, if vineyards were cultivated,
the inhabitants of this country
might add a variety of choice wines to
their list of articles of home consumption,
and of foreign trade. We have drunk of
wine very nearly resembling, and but
little inferior to, that of Oporto, which
was made from the common wild grape
of the country.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Now, we have already shown the
prosperity that has attended labour in
these provinces, and the comfort and
independence that is enjoyed by their
farmers. Few readers in England—at
least it is to be hoped there are
few—have not read something of the
life and prosperity of the thousands
who are annually taking possession of
the vast prairies of the western states
and the valley of the Mississippi. We
have shown that, by the most adventurous
and the shrewdest people in the
world, the Canadas have been preferred
to them. If England had the world
to select from, she could not desire a
finer country for her poor to prosper
in, or for her poor gentlemen to strike
out for themselves in, and to work
where labour is honoured, and where
its rewards are the only titles that the
people lay claim to. We have, after
some pains and calculation, arrived
at the conclusion, that at least five
millions of additional inhabitants can,
by agricultural pursuits alone, prosper,
in a manner unknown in Europe, in
the province of Upper Canada; not
by the hundreds perpetually toiling
for the tens, but by the hundreds having
an opportunity, from the prodigious
extent of the country, of becoming, by
industry and management, the lords of
their own, and that an abundant, share
of the soil. Now, will Great Britain
let it go forth to the world, that she
cannot keep her flag floating over this
great country in prosperity and peace?
We think not. But will she do what
may be necessary to make it to her
what it ought to be? and make herself
to it what she might, and should
be? We think she will; and we
shall now, in so far as our short space
will admit of, point out what the
country has suffered from, and what
it requires to make it a credit to
England, and a support to her power,
instead of being a source of mortification
to her, and an inglorious field for
the employment of her troops.</p>

<p class='c009'>The country’s whole wants may be
comprised in few words. It wants
population—not paupers, without industry,
or anything left to engraft a
manly pride upon; but people that
the country is by nature adapted to
benefit, and who are by nature
adapted to benefit it. It wants
capital, nationality, stability in its
institutions, and peace.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now, will the people of England,
under the present colonial system,
which has from the very first been
marked by broils, misunderstandings,
and commotions—which have always
undermined the credit of the colonies,
which are now worse than ever, and
which must soon lead to something
worse still, (for paroxysms such as
they have must change for the better,
or the state of the patient will become
hopeless,)—will the people of England,
then, who have anything to lose,
and who wish to live in peace, settle
in the Canadas in this state of things;
and in this state of hopes, too?
We think not.</p>

<p class='c009'>The same reasons which would prevent
people settling in the colonies,
would likewise prevent capital being
invested in them; so that, under the
present system, there can be no rational
hope entertained of the colonies
having much, if any, capital invested
in them.</p>

<p class='c009'>This brings us to the consideration,
then, of this other great and principal
want, upon which, in fact, all the
others are mainly founded—namely,
a nationality and stability in their
institutions. We have already, in
the October number of the Magazine,
pointed out at some length,
that these can only be properly and
effectually acquired by the colonists
being represented in the Imperial
Legislature, and raised to the standard,
in fact, of British subjects.
We have shown—and every event
and circumstance that has transpired
since has confirmed us in the opinion—that
it is only by this that the
colonies can be, or, indeed, ought to be,
connected with Great Britain. They
can never otherwise have the stamp
of permanency put upon their institutions.
They can never otherwise
command that credit in the world
which they are justly entitled to.
But, above all, they can never otherwise
make their property and worth
known to England, or to the world,
in such a way as to secure that attention
to it which is absolutely indispensable
to the legitimate prosperity of
the country.</p>

<p class='c009'>We have left ourselves comparatively
little space to say much, in
addition to what we said in October,
upon this great question. It may in
the end, however, be mainly resolved
into this—Would it be better to have
intelligent colonists representing and
making known their own interests in
Great Britain, than to have incompetent
governors sent out to the
colonies, to keep them in constant
broils among themselves, and in
constant collision with the colonial
office in England? We are but too
well assured that it would be better.
And in forming these great colonies
into an empire, which Great Britain
must do if she does them justice,
and which indeed will be done with
or without Britain,—the race that
inhabits them must, in the very
nature of things, be and become what
they ought to be. But if Great Britain
will but undertake to do so, can
any man say that no questions could
arise in that empire’s growth and
maturity, upon which her wisdom, experience,
and mind might not exert a
salutary influence? Or can any person,
willing to take a broad view of
this great question and country, continue
in the belief that it should be,
or ought to be crippled, or have its
growth longer stunted?</p>

<p class='c009'>Probably one of the most galling
circumstances connected with colonial
residence and birth, is the constantly
seeing and feeling that colonial mind
is underrated by England; for no
other reason, it would seem, than because
it is colonial; or, if there be
another reason, it is the no less
humiliating one, that England deems
the mind of the colonies beneath her
attention. Not less injurious, though
less disagreeable, is the indifference
constantly displayed by England towards
the colonies, and the almost
universal ignorance that prevails there
as to their importance and worth. It
was the same with the old colonies.
The idea was ridiculed of “clod-hopping
colonists” entering the House
of Commons, and holding up their
heads among the collected wisdom of
Great Britain. The unpretending but
profound wisdom of Franklin was
sneered at and underrated by men
as much higher than him in power
as they were lower in understanding.
The powerful and convincing eloquence
of Patrick Henry fell dead
upon the English nation; and what
has since commanded the admiration
of the world for its originality and
boldness, was then regarded with cold
contempt.</p>

<p class='c009'>Speaking of what should be the
treatment of American mind by England,
Adam Smith used the following
language; and its complete applicability
to the present state of things,
shows that great truths lose nothing
by long keeping. He said—</p>

<p class='c010'>“By this representation, a new method
of acquiring importance, a new and
more dazzling object of ambition, would
be presented to the leading men of each
colony. Instead of piddling for the little
prizes which are to be found in what may
be called the paltry raffle of a colony faction,
they might then hope, from the presumption
which men naturally have in their
own ability and good fortune, to draw some
of the great prizes which sometimes come
from the whole of the great state lottery
of British politics. Unless this, or
some other method is fallen upon—and
there seems to be none more obvious than
this—of preserving the importance and
gratifying the ambition of the leading
men in America, it is not very probable
they will ever voluntarily submit to us;
and we ought to consider that the blood
we shed in forcing them to do so, is, every
drop of it, the blood of either those who
are, or of those whom we wish to have,
for our fellow citizens.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Before concluding this part of our
subject, we cannot avoid comparing
the conduct of the American States
towards their distant possessions, and
the feeling of these distant possessions
towards them, with that of Britain
towards her colonies, and of her colonies
towards Britain. We could perhaps
adduce no better argument in
favour of what we are contending for;
and the example of America is well
worthy the attention of a power like
Britain, which owes so much of its
greatness to its distant possessions,
and so many of its troubles and embarrassments
to their bad management.</p>

<p class='c009'>California is between five and six
months’ passage from New York round
Cape Horn. It is about thirty-five
days by way of Panama. It is several
months—and the journey is only at
certain seasons accomplishable at all—by
the south pass of the Rocky Mountains;
and it is about forty days by way
of the Mexican territory, with many
dangers and uncertainties attending it
to even well-protected parties—and
somewhat of the most hazardous to
those who are not protected. Now,
these distant possessions of the United
States—which are, measuring distance
by the time and difficulties
attending the journey, at least four
times as far as Halifax is from Liverpool—these
distant possessions, how
are they treated by America? Has
their intended application to be received
into the Union, and to bear
their share of its burthens, and receive
their share of its benefits and protection,
been regarded as dreamy and
utopian? Have the States regarded
it as impossible to extend to them
their stability, and the conservative
elements of their legislation and federal
government? Have the States
had their misgivings, as to California’s
representatives having too much
influence in their government? or
have the Californians thought the
United States’ government would
exercise too much power over them?
Whatever they have, or have not,
thought in this respect, the great consideration
of their becoming an integral
portion of the United States, of
their being identified with their destiny,
and borne along with their prosperity,
has utterly obliterated all
others; and there is no doubt but
that in a few years they will bear
the same relation to the American
Union that Louisiana and Texas do.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now, what good reason is there
why Great Britain should not regard
her North American colonies and her
West Indian possessions in the same
way as the States do California?
And why should these colonies and
possessions not look to England as
the Californians do to the States—and
seek, in the same way, to identify
themselves with her destiny—to share
in her stability—to participate in her
glory and greatness—and to enjoy, as
far as they merit it, her vast credit?</p>

<p class='c009'>But it is not alone in the mutual
appreciation of each other’s value,
by the States and their distant possessions,
and their mutual willingness
to share in each other’s burthens, and
to have an identity of destiny, that
these States and their possessions
differ from Great Britain and her
colonies. The two nations, apart
from the views of their respective
colonists, differ widely from each other
in the most essential point necessary
to the beneficial governmental connexion
of any country with another,
be it empire or colony, or distant far
or near. And that difference consists
in the people of the United
States always becoming thoroughly
acquainted with what they are connected
with, and thoroughly understanding
how that connexion may be
rendered advantageous; and in the
people of England’s desiring to retain
their sway over what they will not
take the trouble to understand, and
wishing to combine and harmonise
their interests with those which they
seem, and ever have seemed, determined
to be in ignorance regarding.
Almost every intelligent inhabitant of
the States, at this present moment,
has nearly as definite and particular a
knowledge of the portions of California
that have been explored, as
those who live in or have traversed
California for themselves. The value
of town lots, their situation and eligibility
in San Francisco are as well
understood in New York and Boston
as they are by the man who occupies
the next lot to them. There is not a
spot where a village might grow up—there
is not a place where a mill might
be advantageously built—that is not
known, marked, and considered, with
all its relative bearings and benefits,
by thousands in the States, with just
as much intention of taking advantage
of it, and, from the extraordinary
enterprise of the people, with just as
much likelihood of being able to do
so, as those that are on the spot. The
whole country—its towns, its situations
for towns, its valleys, its hills,
its woods, and its want of woods, its
crops, and its climate, are, for all
purposes of business, for present and
for future advantage to the States,
well and universally understood by
the mass of the people. Its newspapers,
published at the immense distance
that San Francisco is from New
York and Boston, are largely supported
by subscribers in these cities,
and by the people in every direction
over the vast surface of the
United States. The advertisements
in them of village lots for sale, are
matters of nearly as much interest to
Americans as an auction sale of a
bankrupt’s furniture and plate would
be to a Jew in London.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now, can it be accounted as other
than natural, that the legislation of
America should partake of the universality
of its mind, and the largeness
of its activity and enterprise?—that,
California’s interests, situation, extent,
and value, being well understood
by America, America might
wisely legislate for it?—that America
might beneficially extend the mantle
of her wisdom and experience over
it, and infuse the conservative elements
of her federal government into
it, and raise it as much in the estimation
of the world as it benefited
it within itself? Hence the desire of
the Californians that the flag of the
United States should not only represent
their protection of California, but
their government over it, and their
legislation in it, which the world has
associated with success and advancement.</p>

<p class='c009'>Now, for upwards of half a century,
there has been an extensive commercial
intercourse carried on between
Great Britain and her North American
colonies. The province of Upper
Canada is all that we have described
it to be—open to five millions of people
to settle and become independent in—open
to many more millions of
capital being profitably invested in it.
The other colonies ever have been,
and are, full of opportunities for the
successful employment of money and
enterprise, and the profitable application
of labour. But we would here
ask, with such opportunities on the
part of Great Britain of knowing the
value of these magnificent possessions,
has she shown anything of the activity
of mind and the universality of enterprise
of America? Has she literally
done anything where the Americans
have done everything, to render these
possessions valuable to her—to render
them a vast boon to her people, instead
of being a perpetual source of
confusion and embarrassment to her
government? Who has there been
in England, with capital ready to
invest and enterprise ready to undertake,
looking out for valuable mill
sites on the magnificent rivers of the
Canadas? How many of her capitalists
have been looking over the map
of the colonies, and inquiring into the
richness and value of particular lands,
adjacent to a stream, where a village
or a town might be formed and grow
up? Who in England have been
learning the wealth of her colonies in
timber, in fisheries, in minerals, and
in scores of other things, with the
view of profitably employing their
capital in them, and making the colonies
while they enriched themselves?
Few, very few, indeed. Is it not a
fact, that thousands in Great Britain,
whose capital might be of the vastest
use to the colonies, and the colonies
the best field in the world for reproducing
it, hardly know whether they
lie on the north or the south side
of the St Lawrence; hardly know
whether the cities of Hamilton and
Toronto are on lake Ontario or lake
Erie; hardly know whether Upper
Canada is a cold, inhospitable region,
or possesses the bracing, genial, and
healthy climate it really has? And
though it is now but a ten days’ trip
from these colonies to Great Britain,
and they possess so many objects of interest
and value to her, we believe we
might with safety offer a reward to
any person who would find in England,
apart from government officials,
news-rooms, and colonial traders,
twelve men who take a Canadian
newspaper. Now, is it any wonder
that the colonists would like to get rid
of a system of colonial government
which has been productive of no better
knowledge or understanding, for this
period of time, of their interests and
prosperity than this? Is it any wonder
that they feel that they never can, and
never will, be appreciated, valued, or
benefited as they should, and might,
and ought to be, as long as the present
system is kept up? Is it any
wonder that, knowing their great
country—knowing what it is capable
of—and knowing what they as colonists
should be thought of in connexion
with it, they should seek in the
parliament of Great Britain to place
themselves and their country before
the world in the position that they
both should occupy?</p>

<p class='c009'>As pertinent to this view of the
question, we may here mention that
the facilities of communication between
Great Britain and the colonies
have now become so great and so
perfect, that all the commercial houses
of importance in the colonies send
home their agents twice a-year to
purchase goods. Thus these agents
go home in January to lay in their
spring and summer stocks. They
return to Canada again in the latter
end of March, and make their observations
of the trade, and help to sell
the goods they purchased in England.
In July, they go home again to buy
their fall and winter stocks, and in
October they return to help to assort
and to sell them. The agent for the
large importing house of Buchanan,
Harris, &#38; Co., in Hamilton, at the
head of Lake Ontario, has done this
for years; and between Hamilton
(which is five hundred and ninety-five
miles above Quebec) and Liverpool,
since the Canard steamers have been
running, the time occupied on the
journey has not varied two days, the
time of performing it averaging but
eighteen days. We may add, too, as
a singular fact, that we have seen, in
a country village six hundred and
twenty-five miles above Quebec, fashions
worn within the same month in
which they first appeared in London!</p>

<p class='c009'>Now, should these extraordinary
evidences of the triumphs of science
over matter not teach legislation
to move from its old and crippling
paths, and to keep pace with the
spirit and the advancement of the
age? Is it not a fact, pregnant with
powerful reasons why the colonies
should represent their own interests
in the Legislature of Great Britain,
that commercial houses find it indispensable
to their success to be represented
twice a-year in the British
markets? Yet the vast property and
interests of the colonies are without
any representation in that legislature,
where alone they can be fostered
or withered. We have pointed out
the consequences.</p>

<p class='c009'>Before concluding this paper, it
may be expected by the English public,
(and indeed by the Americans,)
that we should not pass unnoticed a
movement in the colonies, which,
though it might well have been looked
for, from what we have already
proved and shown, has still struck the
great body of the people of England
with surprise, if not with alarm. We
mean the movement in favour of the
“annexation” of the colonies to the
States. It may be proper, in the first
place, to say, that though its name
would seem to imply that the consent
of the government and people of the
United States had been solicited and
obtained, before the “banns” were
published to the world, yet that consent
has never been asked, nor was it
either promised or given without the
asking. The people of the United
States are quietly and calmly looking
on at the dispute between Great Britain
and her colonies, and they are
determined to continue so to do until
that dispute is settled. The days of
their bitterness and hostility to England
are over. What they may, or
what they would do, if the colonies
should be separated from Britain, they
reserve to themselves the right of
deciding when the colonies are in a
position to ask for themselves, and to
act for themselves. In this we believe
we express the feelings and
opinions of the great body of the
intelligent people of the American
States—certainly we do of the distinguished
individual at the head of
their government, and of the whole of
the respectable portion of the American
press. A report may reach England,
that a portion of the money
which was collected in the States, to
aid the late unhappy insurrection in
Ireland, has been contributed to establish
and support “annexation”
newspapers in the Canadas. This
report requires confirmation; and if
it were even partially true, it would
only amount to this, that the “Irish
Directory” in New York, who are
said to have the money, have been
regularly sold; for if they wished to
dismember England, there is nothing
they could possibly do that would
more effectually tend to defeat their
intentions. The “annexation” movement
rests, in truth, upon the merits
or demerits of its own treason, for
treason it assuredly is. Authorised
by whomsoever it may be—justified,
occasioned, or palliated by whatever
men or measures, in England or elsewhere—it
is clearly a case of attempting
to dissolve her Majesty’s empire
in the name of “material interests,”
being moved and instigated thereto by
a certain individual called <em>free trade</em>.</p>

<p class='c009'>But can this movement go on and
prosper, seditious as it palpably is,
without establishing a most dangerous
precedent for England? And
can it be stopped without a waste of
life and money, that would bring
Great Britain but little credit, and
less advantage?</p>

<p class='c009'>Whatever may be the danger of
the precedent, and whatever may be
its effects upon other colonies, or upon
England herself, it seems clear that a
large expenditure of blood and money,
to suppress this movement in the
Canadas, is neither desirable, nor, in
the present temper of the British
public, might it be possible. And
this movement never could be physically
or forcibly put down, without a
large expenditure of both these. The
men who have deliberately entered
into it are not such as could be easily
driven out of the land, or frightened
out of their convictions in it. They
would fight for their opinions, and,
considering all things—loyalists disgusted,
and Frenchmen in power—they
are dangerously numerous.</p>

<p class='c009'>This brings us, then, to consider
what is being done in a conciliatory
point of view, by the free-trade party
in England—who are answerable for
the difficulty—to take the wind out of
this “annexation movement’s” sails.
This is, according to Lord John Russell’s
speech—at the dinner given some
months since, for the purpose, it
would seem, of discussing colonial
subjects—to give them more liberty.
Heaven help us! If Lord John Russell
saw, as we have seen, liberty recently
running clean mad in these colonies;
if he saw responsible government
playing its “fantastic tricks before
high heaven,” with England’s “dignified
neutrality” looking on, he would
hardly be disposed to give them any
more rope. But what is the character
of the liberty and privileges they ask?
and, being asked, he would give them?
The last small instalment they require
is, to elect their legislative council;
and, thinking that the phantom of
Great Britain’s power, called “dignified
neutrality,” may be had at a
cheaper rate at home, they propose
to elect that also—feeling, too, not
without justice, that they might thereby
<em>neutralise</em> the loss to the colonies of
some four thousand pounds annually.
But suppose England should waive
the privilege of sending out a phantom,
and the legislative lords would
have, like David Crocket, to go about
the country electioneering with a
pocket full of <em>quids</em>, pray what, after
all this, would be left in the colonies
to recognise England by? An
Englishman coming to them, like
the man in the farce who had been
asleep for a century, would find it
rather difficult to recognise his relations.
But, seriously, what is all this
but annexation? And is this the only
way the great authors of the colonial
difficulties have of keeping the colonies
British?—of making them a
home for men who seek and who
claim to live under the institutions of
Britain? Better—infinitely better—would
it be to tell men straightforwardly,
and at once, that they must
feel the iron enter their souls of seeing
the flag of their forefathers hauled
down on the American continent for
ever, than compel them to endure its
being thus slowly and gradually disgraced
out of it. And this would and
must be the inevitable result of Lord
John Russell’s giving the colonies
more rope.</p>

<p class='c009'>But what other cause or question is
there now before the colonies to put
against this “annexation movement?”
Of purely colonial questions
there are none.  Beyond the true
and honest hearts which love Britain,
despite of all her faults; who would,
and will, cling to her, although she has
sadly requited their attachment,—she
has nothing now to bind her to or to
represent her in America. Her institutions
are gone; her government has
ceased to be respected; Lord Elgin
has made her power as “the baseless
fabric of a vision.” There is nothing
Britain can do; there is nothing Britain
ought to do, but to say, emphatically
and at once, to her North American
colonies—We have not understood
you—we have not appreciated you—we
have not known your great country
as we should have known it—we
have not respected your mind or your
interests; but we will now make you
partners in our great legislature—we
will impart to you our credit, our
greatness, and our stability—and we
will bind you up with our destiny.</p>

<p class='c009'>Great Britain has a glorious part to
play in America; and she has a disastrous
one. <em>She has but a short time
to decide upon which she will play.</em></p>

<p class='c012'><span class='sc'>Hamilton, Canada West</span>, <em>Jan. 17, 1850</em>.</p>
<h3 class='c013'>(POSTSCRIPT.)</h3>

<p class='c014'>The very day on which I last wrote you, we received a London morning
paper, containing an announcement that the Whig ministry were prepared to
give up these colonies, and to take upon themselves, before parliament, the
responsibility of the act. Though it seemed unlike that party—whatever
they might privately think, or whatever they might plainly see must be the
inevitable result of their present free-trade policy—to take so bold, or rather,
so frank a step, yet the articles which have appeared from time to time in
the <cite>Times</cite>, and which bore on the face of them an air of authority, had prepared
me to attach some credence to the statement. These, after all, may be
put from the cabinet as feelers upon the country. They may be but a disingenuous
<em>ruse</em> of men who do not seek to regulate their conduct by what they
ought to do from the dictates of enlightened principle and great national
consideration, but are anxious only to float along with the current of popular
delusion, regardless of the nation’s humiliation and dismemberment. It is
my belief, however, that if the present ministry, backed by Mr Cobden
and the Manchester party, play into the hands of those here who are struggling
to dismember the empire, it will produce a civil or social war in the
colonies. There is a large body of their British and loyal inhabitants who
will cling to Britain, and keep her flag floating here; and who will, if
necessary, part with their lives ere they part with it. It is possible—nay, is
it not certain?—that Sir Robert Peel, and other statesmen, who have plainly
and undeniably placed the colonies in a situation incompatible with imperial
connexion,—may throw out such hints and suggestions in the approaching
session of parliament, as will agitate and move the colonies to their very
heart’s core,—one party to secure a majority in favour of their “annexation”
to the States, the other to prevent the dismemberment of their mother country?
Sir Robert Peel and others have thrown out such suggestions before; but,
under existing circumstances, if they are again put forth, they will be regarded
by the “annexation movement” party as an invitation to test the opinions
of the colonies—to proselytise them, as in fact they are now doing, into insurrection,
and away from allegiance to Britain. Meetings will follow; <em>the stars
and stripes</em> will be hoisted by one party; the flag of their forefathers by the
other; and, take my word for it, you will hear of struggles of which God
only can tell the end, and what they may lead to here and elsewhere. Certainly
the world will never have witnessed such a scene. The statesmen, the
cabinet even of Britain playing into the hands of those who would tear
down her flag in America; and her loyal children supporting it against the
influence of many who are, and have been, surrounding the throne.</p>

<p class='c009'>A long residence in the colonies, and a habit of observing, unbiassed by
colonial party considerations, the character and tendencies of men and
measures, have enabled me to judge, with some accuracy, of the effects of
causes not generally supposed to be pregnant with important results. At this
moment there are, in my judgment, the slumbering elements of a deadly strife
in the colonies. There is but a small remove between a civil revolution and
a physical struggle. The seeds of the national and revolutionary hurricane are
often sown in the peaceful closet, and by men who could weep over the thought
of what they would produce. The seeds of a wild and fearful hurricane in the
colonies, and which must and will reach England, may be now sowing in many
a peaceful closet in England.  Mr Cobden may talk of peace, and denuding
Britain of her national defences, and convincing men against all humanity’s
experience; but he must be, he should be, made aware, that he has not made
Britain, and may not be allowed to unmake her. He has not added these
colonies to her crown; and while he may be in words <em>twaddling</em> about universal
peace, his very speeches may be sowing the seeds here of a deadly struggle.
Let him beware; let others beware of the vanity of free-trade success. The
wisdom of the Manchester school has not been that which has made Great
Britain.  Let its vanity and its arrogance not ruin her.  If it arms treason
here—if it wings a storm, from which England may learn much, it may be
taught to feel what it has done. The demagogues of Athens succeeded in
banishing the great and the just, but they did not succeed in destroying greatness
or justice—these are immortal. The free-trade party may denude Britain
of her glorious possessions in America, but these possessions may be the rising,
growing, unending shame of those who caused their loss, and the generation
of Britons who permitted it.</p>

<p class='c010'><span class='sc'>Hamilton</span>, <em>30th January 1850</em>.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>A LATE CASE OF COURT-MARTIAL.<a id='r1'></a><a href='#f1' class='c015'><sup>[1]</sup></a></h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>“Surely never was so slight a
fault visited by so severe a punishment!”
Such is the exclamation
which will fall from the lips, or pass
through the mind, we believe, of every
one who shall peruse Mr Warren’s
<cite>Letter to the Queen on a Late Court-Martial</cite>.
The reader of that letter
will also rise from its perusal with the
painful conviction, that, in the awarding
of this heavy punishment, a gross
violation of one of the most ordinary
and fundamental laws of jurisprudence
has been committed; and he
will probably conclude with Mr Warren,
that if this be a fair specimen of
the lax manner in which justice is
administered in courts-martial, some
reform is necessary in their structure,
or, at all events, some higher court of
appeal ought to be instituted for the
revision of their proceedings.</p>

<p class='c009'>We have read this admirable letter
of Mr Warren’s with unusual interest.
As a literary performance it well comports
with, and sustains the established
reputation of its author; but it reflects
a high honour upon him of another
and loftier description than that which
springs from literary excellence. It
shows him in the light of a warmhearted,
zealous champion of one
whom he believes, and with every
appearance of reason, to be an oppressed
and injured man. He had
assisted Captain Douglas at his trial
before the court-martial, on which he
now comments, as his legal adviser;
he had done his duty as counsel for
the defendant, so far as such a court
admits of the aid or interference of
counsel; he had no interest to promote,
and no obligation to fulfil, by
any further advocacy of his cause.
Captain Douglas had been condemned;
the great authorities of the
Horse Guards had sanctioned and confirmed
the sentence: a cautious man,
and a lover of his ease, would here
have parted company. He would
have shaken his mournful client by
the hand, and, with some cold unmeaning
words of condolence, have
left him with that troop of summer
friends, who have, no doubt, by this
time, found him a most uncompanionable
man. The world was now against
him; to volunteer his defence was to
oppose constituted authorities; it was
to side with weakness against power—with
defeat against triumph.  It
was to stand side by side with one in
adversity—stricken, and condemned.
But caution and love of ease are evidently
motives that have very little
influence on the mind of Mr Warren.
As the counsel of Captain Douglas, he
had grown warm in his defence; he
could not suddenly cool when he saw
him prostrate, defeated, and dishonoured.
He was convinced of the
innocence of his client; he felt persuaded
that it was in his power to
show to all mankind that that client
had been cruelly dealt with—treated
with a degree of harshness amounting
to injustice. His position of counsel
had also given him insight into the
whole legal proceedings of this court-martial,
which betrayed to his practised
eye a palpable infraction of one
at least of those essential rules by
which every tribunal of justice ought
to be governed, or cease to be considered
a tribunal of justice. He knew
all this, and the truth <em>burnt within
him</em>; he could not sit down in silence;
he could not at once dismiss his sympathy
and indignation—his sympathy
for an injured man, his indignation
for the rules of justice violated. He
had ceased to be the advocate of Captain
Douglas, but he still clung to his
cause, for it was the cause, he was
persuaded, of truth and justice.</p>

<p class='c010'>“Only a great and pressing exigency,”
he thus explains himself in the eloquent
exordium of his letter, “could have induced
one of the humblest of your Majesty’s
subjects to step forth from his obscurity,
and thus publicly and directly
address your Majesty. Even had he not
known, however, the benignant and equitable
temper of his sovereign, a case like
the present would have forced him to
bring it forward; for the voice of justice
is a sublime one, strengthening the
feeblest, and elevating the humblest, who,
hearing, endeavours to obey it.</p>

<p class='c011'>“He who has thus ventured to beseech
the ear of his sovereign, believes in his
conscience that the cause of justice in
this country has recently sustained,
through a defective system of military
jurisprudence, a calamitous defeat.</p>

<p class='c011'>“An officer, an accomplished gentleman,
of ancient and honourable family,
in the very flower of his age,<a id='r2'></a><a href='#f2' class='c015'><sup>[2]</sup></a> after having
devoted thirteen years to the faithful
and zealous service of your Majesty in
almost every quarter of your world-wide
dominions, has been ignominiously expelled
from that service, branded as a
Liar. He stood on trial before his
brother officers with as high vouchers to
character, as could have been presented,
had it unfortunately been rendered necessary
by such a casualty as has befallen
him, by any one of themselves. He was,
moreover, the eldest son of a general
officer who lately descended to his grave
with honour, after half a century spent in
the service of three of your Majesty’s
predecessors; leaving behind him, as his
eldest son, the unhappy gentleman to
whose case I earnestly implore the attention
of your Majesty....</p>

<p class='c011'>“That gentleman I believe to be, at
this moment, one of the most deeply-injured
men in your Majesty’s dominions.
He has been convicted of misconduct of
which he is utterly incapable; and I
consider that conviction to be altogether
contrary to law and justice, and to have
proceeded upon an unconscious violation
of cardinal and characteristic rules of
British jurisprudence, essential to the
safety as well as to the liberties of your
Majesty’s subjects. And what has thus
happened to Captain Douglas may happen
to any other gentleman who is now,
or may be hereafter, honoured by bearing
the commission of your Majesty. I think
myself able to bring forward facts which
are incontrovertible, and reasonings which
appear, if I may be permitted to say it,
conclusive—and that not to myself alone,
but to others whose judgment, were it
publicly pronounced, would be deemed
entitled to the utmost deference—to
establish the innocence of one, upon whose
brow, nevertheless, stands at this moment,
and has stood for eight miserable months,
the brand of ‘infamous and scandalous
conduct.’”</p>

<p class='c007'>He then proceeds to say that her
Majesty alone has the power to redress
the wrong of which he comes
forward to complain.</p>

<p class='c010'>“In the present case, the blighting sentence
passed upon Captain Douglas cannot
be reviewed in any court of law. It
was solemnly decided, in your Majesty’s
Court of Queen’s Bench, on a late occasion,
that it had no power to issue a prohibition
to restrain the execution of the
sentence of a court-martial, after that
sentence had been ratified by the king,
and carried into execution. And yet, in
the existing state of the law, the unfortunate
accused has no means of knowing
the sentence which has crushed him, until
it has been so ratified, carried into execution,
and thus declared <em>therefore</em> irrevocable!
And that sentence, too, pronounced
by a <em>court of law</em>, bound to proceed
according to the law of the land—which
law it may have violated in every
particular!”</p>

<p class='c007'>It is hardly necessary to say, that
the military law under which our army
has been governed, ever since the
Revolution, is as completely founded
upon the statutes of parliament as
any other branch of our jurisprudence.
A less technical mode of procedure is
recognised as prevailing in courts-martial,
than that which regulates our
civil or criminal courts. But there is
nothing of an <em>arbitrary</em> nature in the
sentences they pass. These are determined,
so far as this is possible, by
the act of parliament. A judge of the
bankruptcy court is not more bound
by the statute, when he grants or
withholds the bankrupt’s certificate,
than are the judges of a court-martial
when they sentence a fellow-officer to
be cashiered. Let it be granted,
therefore, that Captain Douglas had
so far committed himself, in the course
of the events we shall have to record,
that it was expedient to bring him
before a court-martial. Let this be
granted—an opinion, however, from
which many will dissent—when there,
he claims justice! He is under the
protection of the law. He is not to
be punished with undue severity; he
is not to be punished illegally.</p>

<p class='c009'>It is probable that Mr Warren will
be thought to have been carried a
little too far, in his vindication of
Captain Douglas’s conduct, by his
generous zeal and by the ardour of
advocacy. It would be asking too
much to require that he should suddenly
assume towards his late client
the coolness of a quite impartial
observer. But whilst his argument
is that of an advocate, and is something
too much tainted with the logic
of the courts of Westminster, his
statement of facts is full and impartial.
He may be a too zealous advocate,
but he is a candid historian.
It is hardly necessary to add, that,
whenever occasion legitimately permits,
he is a very pleasant and graphic
historian.</p>

<p class='c009'>We do not intend that our account
of this case should be a substitute for
the perusal of Mr Warren’s pamphlet;
we desire rather to prompt to such a
perusal. It is far, therefore, from our
design to enter upon all the topics it
discusses. But the case is one to
which, on public grounds, we would
cheerfully assist in calling public attention.
In doing so we shall endeavour,
in the first place, to state, with
perfect impartiality, the real and sole
offence, or fault, or error, of which it
seems to us Captain Douglas can be
justly accused; and, in the second
place, to show with what <em>illegal severity</em>
this offence has been visited. On the
first of these topics, we shall, perhaps,
be in some slight degree at variance
with our author; on the second, we
shall fully accord with him in his main
and leading argument: for we think
there cannot be a doubt that the
judgment of this court-martial is
vitiated—not by any merely technical
error, but by an error affecting the
very justice of the sentence—by no
less an error than the finding a man
guilty of an offence of a certain degree
of guilt, and condemning him to a
punishment expressly and solely
awarded to an offence of a far greater
degree of criminality—finding him, in
short, guilty of the crime A, and inflicting
the penalty decreed only to
the crime B.</p>

<p class='c009'>The life of military men in time of
peace presents, as we catch a glimpse
of it here, no very attractive picture.
Captain Douglas in barracks at Longy,
in the island of Alderney, with one
subaltern, Ensign Parker, is commanding
his detachment. Lieutenant-Colonel
Le Mesurier is commanding
at Alderney, under the title of Town
Major. Between these rival potentates
disputes arise as to their respective
jurisdictions. Instead of companionship,
assistance, co-operation,
there is only mutual repulsion, mutual
hostility.</p>

<p class='c010'>In this cheerless position of affairs,
Captain Douglas “went one day—on
Friday the 5th January—about twelve
o’clock, for a little amusement, to practise
pistol-firing, at a spot near the Frying-Pan
Battery, as it is called, which
was at a distance of two or three hundred
yards from the barracks where he resided.
This happened to be the first and only
time of his using firearms during his stay
in the island. No one but himself, indeed,
knew even the fact of his possessing firearms.
He ordered his servant Riley to
procure some potatoes, and to follow him
with them, and the pistol-case, (which,
however, Riley did not know to be such,
nor for what purpose the potatoes were
required,) to the Frying-Pan Battery.”</p>

<p class='c007'>These circumstances are mentioned
to account for the scanty testimony
which Riley afterwards gave; it being
supposed that he had withheld evidence
to serve the interest of his
master. And certainly it is a little
difficult to believe that Patrick Riley,
who was a soldier as well as the servant
of Captain Douglas, did not
know what the pistol-case contained,
or for what purpose he carried it and
the two potatoes to the battery. We
continue the narrative in the words of
Mr Warren, which we should be very
unwise not to adopt, wherever it is in
our power to do so.</p>

<p class='c010'>“Captain Douglas proceeded to make
a target in the wall opposite, which faced
the sea—by putting a potato into the
centre of an open piece of newspaper,
and then thrusting it into a crevice in the
wall. This he did to make the mark at
which he intended to aim more distinctly
visible. He had selected this particular
spot for his practice because it was retired
and safe. It was entirely hid from the
view of the sentry, or any of the men on
guard at the barracks.... After
firing about twenty or thirty shots, every
one of them at the target in question—standing
all the while with his back to
the sea, and against the rampart, and
at which stood the pistol-case and potatoes—he
saw Mr Parker approaching. It
was a few minutes before one o’clock
when he got there. Having fired two
shots, both at the same target at which
Captain Douglas had been shooting, he
went down by a somewhat precipitous
descent to the beach, which lay about
forty feet immediately below them, accompanied
by his dog—intending to amuse
himself for a few minutes by throwing
stones into the sea, and sending his dog
after them; and also desirous of ascertaining
whether a hole, which had caught
his eye in descending, was that of a rabbit
or a rat.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Amusements were scarce at Alderney.</p>

<p class='c010'>“Neither Captain Douglas nor Mr
Parker’s attention was called to the circumstance
of their harmless pistol practice,
on the 5th January, till about three
or four o’clock on the ensuing Monday
afternoon—the 8th January. During the
interval, Captain Henderson had arrived
from Guernsey; and he, Mr Parker, and
Captain Douglas were walking together
towards the town, when they met Mr
Bains, (a medical gentleman.) After the
ordinary salutations, Captain Douglas
asked him, ‘What news was going on in
the town?’ To which Mr Bains answered,
laughing, ‘Nothing new, <em>since your sport
with the bulls of Bashan at Longy</em>;’ and
he proceeded to say, to the surprise of
Captain Douglas and Mr Parker, ‘that
he understood a bullock had been shot at
or near Longy.’ Captain Douglas replied
with a smile, ‘You surely don’t mean to
say that <em>I</em> am charged with having had
anything to do with it?’—‘Indeed you
are,’ said Mr Bains—‘and you will find
the constable at your quarters about it,
on your return! But it is true, is it not,
that you and Parker were ball firing
there?’—‘Yes, we were practising,’ replied
Captain Douglas unhesitatingly;
‘but I know nothing about the bullock.’
After some other observations, Mr Bains,
who knew the position in which Colonel
Le Mesurier and Captain Douglas stood
towards each other, said with a smile,
‘Colonel Le Mesurier has gone up to look
at the bullock.’ To this observation Captain
Douglas made a brief sarcastic answer;
and shortly afterwards Mr Bains
left them.</p>

<p class='c011'>“The three officers, after continuing
their walk for some time longer, separated,
towards five o’clock. Captain Henderson
went to Corblets barracks, to dress
for dinner, both he and Mr Parker being
engaged to dine that evening with Captain
Douglas; who, with Mr Parker,
walked towards Longy, expecting to meet
with the constable spoken of by Mr Bains.
As they went, they conversed on the subject
of his communication, remarking how
oddly circumstances seemed to favour the
notion that, if a bullock had really been
shot, it must have been by them; and
they also adverted to the fact of Colonel
Le Mesurier having already become acquainted
with the matter, and what could
have been his object in going to see the
carcase of the animal. After some consideration
they agreed that it would be
better, under the circumstances, <em>not to
admit the fact of their having been firing,
but leave it to be proved by those who
seemed disposed to charge them with having
shot the bullock</em>.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Here was the fatal error. In this
resolution, and the acting on it, lies
the whole moral offence, fault, or delinquency
of Captain Douglas. Not
to admit a fact, when questioned on
it, is so close upon a denial of the
fact, that no human ingenuity can
keep them long separate. His concealment
of an act perfectly innocent
was construed into a denial of that
act: it could not well be otherwise,
for an evasive answer, which serves
the purpose of concealment, must be
understood by the party who receives
it as a denial, or it no longer serves
the purpose of concealment. Yet an
evasive answer of this description is
permitted by men of the strictest
honour in a thousand instances, and
is only visited with <em>moral opprobrium</em>
in those cases where there is an imperative
claim upon the conscience
to tell the whole truth. No such imperative
claim can be made out in the
present case. We admit, however,
that it was an error. The better rule
is never to resort to an evasion unless
there are very strong reasons for so
doing. We admit that the adopting
of, and persisting in, this policy, or
rather this <em>impolicy</em>, of concealment,
was here to some extent blameable.
But we can detect no base or dishonourable
motive leading to it. The
worst motive we can divine, is a certain
love of a tortuous policy by
which some ingenious persons are
afflicted. They like finessing, and
will introduce into the common affairs
of life, much to their own and other
people’s embarrassment, what they
would describe as a diplomatic dexterity.</p>

<p class='c009'>The constable, Renier, on the same
afternoon, made his appearance at the
house of Captain Douglas. There is
much controversy as to the import of
the question which he put to Captain
Douglas; whether, when he asked
him, “If he knew anything about it?”—he
referred to the shooting of the
bullock, or the firing on the battery.
It is plain, from the circumstances of
the case, that both these matters
were inextricably mixed up <em>in the
mind of the constable</em>; for he came to
inquire of the shooting of the bullock
because of the firing on the battery;
and into the firing on the battery, because
of the supposed shooting of the
bullock. There is no wonder, therefore,
that a man, not accustomed to
analyse his own ideas, should, in
giving his evidence before the court,
sometimes state one, and sometimes
the other, as the object of his inquiry.
But it is equally plain, from the very
nature of the case, that whatever was
stirring in the mind of the constable,
his first question to the Captain would
be, whether he knew anything about
the death of the bullock. He would
never have thought of coming to the
barracks to ask an officer whether he
had been practising with his pistol,
without showing in the first place that
he had grounds for making what
otherwise would be a very impertinent
inquiry. We feel ourselves, therefore,
quite justified in adopting here
the statement of Captain Douglas.
According to that statement, Renier
asked him “if he knew anything
about shooting the bullock?”  He
answered “No,” as he well might.
For it is to be understood at once,
and distinctly, that Captain Douglas
had nothing whatever to do with the
death of the bullock, and knew nothing
about it. But, unfortunately,
the dialogue between them did not
stop here. It will be remembered
that Captain Douglas had made use
of a piece of a newspaper, the <cite>Times</cite>,
to form his target. This newspaper
bore his own name and address on it.
The constable added—“That a <cite>Times</cite>
paper had been found near the spot,
with Captain Douglas’s name upon
it.” <em>This</em> remark could have reference
only to the question—who had
been firing on the battery? And to
this remark Captain Douglas replied—“Possibly
so; there were plenty of
his papers about; they went all through
the barracks and into the town, and he
had five or six a-week.” With this
answer the constable departed.</p>

<p class='c009'>The next day a civil court was
held, presided over by Judge Gaudion,
to inquire into this affair of the death
of the bullock. Captain Douglas was
summoned to attend. A number of
witnesses were examined, whose testimony
it is not necessary for our purpose
to enter into. Mr Bisset, the
owner of the animal, who had connected
its death with the firing heard
upon the ramparts, produced a number
of flattened bullets, broken percussion
caps, and pieces of a newspaper
addressed to Captain Douglas,
which had been found upon the battery.
After the judge had asked
Captain Douglas whether he had any
knowledge who had shot the bullock,
and had received the decisive and
truthful answer, that “he had not,”
he proceeded—pointing to some pieces
of newspaper lying on the table—to
put the following question: “Can
you account for the <cite>Times</cite> newspaper
to your address having been found in
the battery, perforated evidently by
ball practice?” To which Captain
Douglas answered, “I am not accountable
for my papers, as they
travel through the barracks and into
the town.”</p>

<p class='c009'>This absurd policy (for so we should
characterise it) of concealment is adhered
to, and with these unfortunate
pieces of the <cite>Times</cite> newspaper lying
before him! His answer is understood
as a denial of having been practising
with his pistol on the battery,
and there are those tell-tale fragments
“evidently perforated with ball.” It
is inconceivably absurd. He is getting
into a scrape, and raising a scandal in
the little island of Alderney, for no
intelligible motive whatever.</p>

<p class='c009'>Mr Warren here defends the conduct
of his late client on the legal
principle or maxim, that no man is
bound to criminate himself. He stood
there in a court of justice “virtually
as an accused party;” the court
throws its shield over persons in such
a position, cautions them, and would
protect them even against their own
indiscretion. Captain Douglas was
fully justified in availing himself of
this well-known privilege—in evading
and warding off a question which he
could not answer without supplying
evidence against himself.</p>

<p class='c009'>Mr Warren will forgive us if we
smiled, for a moment, at this instance
of the inveterate habits of the lawyer,
overpowering the natural shrewdness
and sagacity of the man. This legal
argument is manifestly inapplicable,
and for this simple reason: in the
circumstances of the case, there is
nothing sufficiently grave—no impending
charge of sufficient magnitude—to
induce or warrant, in any reasonable
man, a departure from, or a concealment
of the truth, or any tampering
with his honour. <em>If</em> the evasive
statement of Captain Douglas be considered
as tantamount to a denial,
and <em>if</em> that virtual denial be considered
as in some degree dishonourable,
there can be no shelter for him in this
maxim of law, because the fear of a
false accusation of having accidentally
shot a bullock, would not be accepted,
by men of honour, as an excuse or
justification.</p>

<p class='c009'>If Captain Douglas had really shot
the bullock, he would have been still
more completely under the shelter of
this legal maxim—and his equivocation
would have been a ten times more
heinous offence.</p>

<p class='c009'>As Mr Warren repeats this argument
more than once, it may be worth
while to state, in general terms,
wherein its fallacy lies. A person is
tried before a court-martial, which
partakes of the nature of a court of
honour, for a departure from, or a concealment
of truth, considered to be
dishonourable to a gentleman. It is
no sufficient answer to plead the privilege
which courts of law throw around
a witness, unless you show at the
same time that, in his case, such a
privilege could be taken advantage of
without any derogation to his character
as a member of society. A very
little reflection will satisfy us that the
permission granted by courts of law to
the accused party, or to a witness, to
deny or withhold the truth, <em>may</em> or
<em>may not</em> be a valid excuse in the moral
judgment of society—may or may not
be such a permission as it would be
honourable to accept.</p>

<p class='c009'>A man is tried for his life on the
charge of murder, or high treason.
He pleads not guilty. Although he is
in fact guilty, the most honourable
and fastidious portion of society add
nothing to their reprobation of the
accused on account of this plea. The
code of honour or of moral opinion,
and the rule of the court of law, are
not at variance.</p>

<p class='c009'>But nothing is easier than to imagine
cases in which they would be at
variance, and at variance in all possible
degrees, from slight difference to
complete opposition. The accused is
being tried on a false accusation for
murder. Titus is a witness. He can
by his evidence establish the innocence
of the accused, but in giving that evidence
he will reveal his own guilt.
The court allows him to be silent
where his answer to the question would
criminate himself. And here, too, the
opinion of society would probably
coincide with the rule of the court,—yet
not entirely; many would censure
the witness, many would excuse, none
would cordially approve.</p>

<p class='c009'>Let us now suppose that Titus is
innocent, but, in giving his evidence,
he must confess some fact which will
excite a strong suspicion against himself.
Here the number of those who
would justify his silence would greatly
diminish. Suppose now that the
suspicion which would be raised
against him, was of a slight character,
one which might be easily removed;
suppose that by his evidence alone
could the accused be saved from the
unjust condemnation that hung over
him; add to all this, that the accused
and innocent party was the <em>friend</em> of
Titus, and had been his benefactor—and
now this witness, “not bound to
criminate himself,” has become the
object of execration to all mankind.</p>

<p class='c009'>This legal maxim is but one of
many rules which courts of law, or the
legislature, enact for the better administration
of justice,—rules which
cannot be so framed as to be strictly
consentaneous, or identical, with the
rules of morality. One who owes a
just debt takes advantage of the forbearance
of an indulgent creditor, and
pleads the statute of limitations. The
court admits the plea, puts it in his
mouth, justifies him for the use of it.
But the use of it has dishonoured him
for life.</p>

<p class='c009'>To return to our case. Mr Bisset,
the owner of the bullock, still associating
its death, most erroneously, with
the firing heard on the battery, published
a newspaper paragraph in the
<cite>Guernsey Comet</cite>, headed <span class='fss'>DISGRACEFUL
AFFAIR!</span> in which suspicion was
thrown upon Captain Douglas and
Ensign Parker, and which terminated
with the offer of “<span class='fss'>A REWARD OF
TWENTY POUNDS</span>, to be paid to any
one giving information sufficient to
convict the party or parties who were
shooting at the Frying-pan Battery on
Friday the 5th January, between the
hours of twelve and three <span class='fss'>P.M.</span></p>

<p class='c009'>Mr Bisset also laid his complaint
before Major-General Bell, the commanding
officer at Guernsey. That
officer wrote to Captain Douglas, requiring
his explanation of the affair.
A great part of the letter referred distinctly
to this pistol-firing on the battery.
Now then, the reader is prepared to
say, Captain Douglas will surely lay
aside this needless and silly piece of
diplomacy, this concealment of a perfectly
innocent act, which is only
strengthening suspicion against him.
If he could permit himself to trifle
with Judge Gaudion, and the petty
civil court at Alderney, he will not
trifle with his superior officer; he will
not run the risk <em>here</em> of being thought
to equivocate. Nearly a month had
now elapsed since the first visit of
Constable Renier. Time had been
given him to reflect: and Captain
Douglas did reflect. Ensign Parker
lets fall in his evidence that he wrote
<em>two</em> letters in answer to this communication,
and pondered some time
which he should send. In the one,
he frankly avowed having been firing
with his pistol on the battery, whilst
he utterly denied the accusation of
having shot the bullock; in the
other, he adhered to his policy of
concealment, confined himself to a
denial of the main accusation, and
left all that part of the letter relating
to the firing on the battery virtually
unanswered. He pondered which of
the two he should send; but the
genius of diplomacy prevailed,—he
sent the second!</p>

<p class='c009'>Major-General Bell, as might be
expected, was not satisfied with such
a reply. He instituted a military
Court of Inquiry, consisting of
Colonel Le Mesurier, Captain Cockburn,
and Captain Clerk, with instructions
“to ascertain whether any
person or persons, belonging to the
garrison, were engaged in firing with
ball, within or immediately adjoining
Longy Lines, on the day and within
the hours specified in several of the
documents laid before them.” It was
not till the evening of the second day
on which this court had sat, that
Captain Douglas seems to have had
his eyes opened to the perilous manner
in which he was compromising
himself. On the evening of that day,
he wrote a letter to Judge Gaudion,
stating the whole and simple truth
with regard to this pistol-firing; and
the next morning, he repeated the
same statement before the military
Court of Inquiry. The confession, it
seems, came too late to save him from
the consequences of his unwise, needless,
and pertinacious concealment of
an act in itself perfectly innocent. It
was thought a case sufficiently grave
to bring before a court-martial.<a id='r3'></a><a href='#f3' class='c015'><sup>[3]</sup></a></p>

<p class='c009'>It will be seen and acknowledged
at once, that we have not attempted
to screen Captain Douglas from the
degree of blame which an impartial
judge would throw upon his conduct.
If the court-martial had reprimanded
Captain Douglas, we should have
thought the penalty sufficiently severe,
but neither we, nor perhaps
others, would have been disposed to
dispute the propriety of the sentence,
or, at least, to call public attention to
the case. But, for this offence, the
court has sentenced Captain Douglas
to be <em>cashiered</em>!</p>

<p class='c009'>This sentence—to enter now upon
our second topic—is not only cruelly
severe, it is illegal, it is unjust. Our
readers need not fear that we are
about to involve them in the technicalities
of jurisprudence. It is no
technical matter we have to deal
with, but broad principles of justice.
Mr Warren has, indeed, raised a
class of legal objections against the
verdict of the court-martial, grounded
on its refusal to admit certain evidence.
On these objections we shall
not enter. To us it appears that the
president of the court exercised his
power in this matter, in general, very
discreetly. But, on these objections,
we wish it to be understood that we
give no opinion. We pass at once to
what we deem a fatal error in this
verdict—an error, not of form, but of
substance; an error which constitutes
it to be an <em>unjust judgment</em>.</p>

<p class='c009'>Captain Douglas was tried upon
the following charge,—“for conduct
unbecoming the character of an officer
and a gentleman.” Of such conduct
he was found guilty. Now, the
article of war under which he was
arraigned, and the only one under
which his offence, by any fair interpretation,
could fall, is the 80th, and
runs thus:—“Any officer who shall
behave <em>in a scandalous, infamous
manner</em>, unbecoming the character of
an officer and a gentleman, shall, on
conviction thereof before a general
court-martial, be <span class='fss'>CASHIERED</span>.”<a id='r4'></a><a href='#f4' class='c015'><sup>[4]</sup></a></p>

<p class='c009'>The penalty, under this article, is
<em>peremptorily</em> that of cashiering. A
less punishment the court is not competent
to pronounce. The article
has for its express object the removal
from the service of officers who are
convicted of scandalous and infamous
behaviour.</p>

<p class='c010'>“There is no provision,” says Mr
Warren, “in the Articles of War, for the
cognisance of unofficer-like and ungentleman-like
conduct, divested of a tendency
to prejudice good order and military discipline,
(so as to bring it within Article
108,) in any degree less than that involving
infamy and scandal. In the year
1801, an officer was charged before a
General Court-martial with scandalous
and infamous conduct, unbecoming the
character of an officer and a gentleman.
The Court acquitted the prisoner of
‘scandalous and infamous behaviour,’
but considering his conduct, nevertheless,
as ‘unbecoming the character of an officer
and a gentleman,’ adjudged him to ‘be
suspended from rank and pay for six
calendar months.’ His Majesty King
George III. declared the adjudication irregular,
and disapproved the sentence,
‘inasmuch as the Court had acquitted the
prisoner of the only imputation which
could bring the business as a charge before
them—namely, of any scandalous and
infamous behaviour in the transaction.’
In another case, which happened in 1814,
in India, an officer was tried by General
Court-martial, on the charge of ‘scandalous
and infamous conduct, unbecoming
the character of an officer and a
gentleman,’ in two instances. The Court
acquitted him of the first, but found him
guilty of the criminal acts charged in
the second instance; acquitting him, however,
of ‘scandalous and infamous conduct,
unbecoming the character of an
officer and a gentleman.’ The Commander-in-Chief,
Earl Moira, declared that
‘he regarded the Court as having returned
a verdict of acquittal generally,
and directed the officer who had been
convicted to return to his duty.’ His
lordship observed that ‘the Court, in
declaring that the criminal act proved
against the prisoner did not come within
the description of ‘scandalous, infamous,
and unbecoming the character of an officer
and a gentleman,’ had divested itself
of all power to award punishment, except
inasmuch as the acts might be considered
to come under the above specific definition.’
In the present case, the Court
<em>could</em> not have acquitted of scandalous
and infamous conduct, because <em>it was not
charged</em>.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The charge quotes a portion of the
very words of the article. But that
this portion can be separated from the
rest of the sentence, and made to designate
a distinct, substantive offence,
would be a monstrous supposition.
The whole stress, the whole meaning
lies in the words “infamous and scandalous;”
but because there may be
scandalous and infamous conduct,
which does not fall under the cognisance
of a court-martial, it is added as
a further definition, that it must be
such misconduct as affects the character
of an officer and a gentleman.<a id='r5'></a><a href='#f5' class='c015'><sup>[5]</sup></a>
The article of war intends to describe
such conduct as would make a man
<em>scandalous and infamous amongst his
fellow-officers</em>.</p>

<p class='c009'>Suppose it were thought fit to frame
similar rules for the medical profession,
and one of these declared, “That any
one who shall behave in a scandalous
and infamous manner unbecoming the
character of a physician and a gentleman,
shall, on conviction thereof, be
expelled from the profession,” would
any one in his senses think it sufficient
to adopt the last qualifying phrase,
“unbecoming the character of a physician
and a gentleman,” as descriptive
of an offence which, under this
rule, would incur an expulsion from
the faculty? Why, it might be thought
“unbecoming” a physician to break
rude and silly jests upon his patients,
(as a late celebrated character is
accused of doing,) but not for such
offences, we presume, would any one
imagine that expulsion from the profession
was provided.</p>

<p class='c009'>But we shall be told that the proceedings
of a court-martial are not
fettered by the same strict rules which
preside over the record in a court of
law. This is very true. It is sufficient
if the offence is substantially
indicated. Perhaps it will be argued
that these words, “unbecoming of an
officer and a gentleman,” must be
taken as a part for the whole, and
that the charge <em>was</em> essentially for
scandalous and infamous behaviour.</p>

<p class='c009'>If so, the court has placed itself in
the following dilemma, from which we
do not see any possibility of escape:—<em>Either</em>
the charge is to be understood
as substantially for scandalous and
infamous conduct—and, in that case,
who will venture to assert that the
evidence supports so heinous an accusation?—who
will venture to assert
that the concealment or equivocation
proved against Captain Douglas was
that falsehood, that sort of lie, which
stamps a man as scandalous and infamous,
and drives him from the society
of gentlemen? <em>Or</em> (which is the plain
common-sense view of the case) the
charge is what it professes to be—for
“unbecoming” conduct—it is this
charge which is present to the minds
of the members of the court-martial—it
is on this he is tried, of this which
he is convicted; and <em>then</em>, after being
found guilty of this all but venial
offence, he is visited with the punishment
of a far heavier one—for behaviour
which would make him scandalous
and infamous amongst his brother
officers.</p>

<p class='c009'>We repeat, this is no technical argument—it
is gross, palpable injustice—as
palpable injustice as if a man were
tried for manslaughter, convicted of
manslaughter, and hanged for murder!</p>

<p class='c009'>If we ask why the Court awarded
so severe a sentence as cashiering on
so trifling an offence, we shall be told
that the Court had no power to pass
any less sentence than that which is
decreed by the article of war. We
admit the reason. But surely if the
Court was bound to inflict the severe
sentence decreed by the article of
war, it was bound to convict of the
crime specified by that article. The
court-martial which tried Captain
Douglas was scrupulous in passing the
right sentence, was <em>not</em> scrupulous in
determining whether the crime had
been committed for which alone that
sentence is by law awarded.</p>

<p class='c009'>Mr Warren concludes his “Letter”
by some suggestions for the reform
of our military law. These appear to
us to be worthy of consideration. But
legal reforms are grave and intricate
matters; we would not give a hasty
opinion on them; we would recommend
them to the consideration of our jurists,
and the whole pamphlet to the perusal
of our readers. They will also probably
find it far more entertaining than,
from our meagre abstract of the case
of Captain Douglas, they will expect.
There is one subject which occupies a
considerable space, and which, to the
generality of readers, will form the most
attractive portion of the “Letter,”
to which we have made no allusion.
We refer to a narrative of facts, which
show the hostile attitude in which
Colonel Le Mesurier and Captain
Douglas stood towards each other.
It is a little history we could not
possibly abridge, and which did not
appear to us as absolutely necessary
to an intelligible view of the case.
This narrative will be read with interest,
affording as it does a glimpse
into real life, and showing us what
very animated contests and controversies
a few officers may contrive to
while away their time with, even in
the dull quiet island of Alderney. It
is well told, with graphic but <em>subdued</em>
power. Conscious that the author
of one of our best and most popular
novels would be watched on such an
occasion, and readily suspected of
employing his art as a consummate
narrator, Mr Warren has abstained
from producing any startling effects;
he has, at least, used no other than
that highest art which conceals art.
We have left the whole of this portion
of the pamphlet fresh and untouched,
for the perusal of the reader.</p>

<p class='c009'>In the account we have given of
this really very important case, we
have not been able to mention the
numerous points on which Mr Warren
dwells for the exculpation of his
client. We have been compelled to
content ourselves with the impression
which the whole narrative, after careful
and unbiassed perusal, left upon
our own minds. We are utterly unable
to imagine, for the conduct of
Captain Douglas, any worse motive
than what we have described as a
somewhat too diplomatic taste, as a
want of a perfectly straightforward
manner of speech. We see in his
conduct a very palpable error in judgment,
but we are quite at a loss to fix
upon anything which deserves to be
characterised as dishonourable—anything
like such infamous and palpable
falsehood as ought to drive a man
with disgrace out of the service.</p>

<p class='c009'>When we turn from the conduct of
Captain Douglas to the sentence
passed upon it, we are utterly amazed
at its egregious disproportion and
flagrant injustice. There is an article
of war framed for the express purpose
of ridding the service of scandalous
and infamous persons. In order to
bring the case of Captain Douglas
under this article, he is first arraigned
for “unbecoming conduct,” and by a
very severe construction found guilty
of this charge; and then these comparatively
mild and harmless expressions
are found to be equivalent to
“scandalous and infamous conduct.”
Why, if this be law, if this is a precedent,
that article of war should
henceforth be read thus,—“Whoever
is guilty of unbecoming conduct shall
be cashiered.” And what a terrible
instrument of injustice such an article
of war might be converted into, it is
quite unnecessary to insist upon. If
any officer should have made himself
unpopular at the Horse Guards, or
amongst his fellow-officers, no matter
by what line of conduct, by being
worse or better than the general and
approved standard—it would be
strange if his enemies could not fasten
upon some act they could pronounce
“unbecoming,” and thereupon expel
him from the service with disgrace
and infamy.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>A FAREWELL TO NAPLES.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c007 nf-center'>I.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>A glorious amphitheatre, whose girth</div>
      <div class='line'>Exceeds three-fold th’ horizons of the north,</div>
      <div class='line'>Mixing our pleasure in a goblet wide,</div>
      <div class='line'>With hard, firm rim through clear air far-descried;</div>
      <div class='line'>Illumined mountains, on whose heavenly slopes,</div>
      <div class='line'>Quick, busy shades rehearse, while Phœbus drops,</div>
      <div class='line'>Dramatic parts in scenic mysteries;</div>
      <div class='line'>Far-shadowing islands, and exulting seas</div>
      <div class='line'>With cities girt, that catch, till day is done,</div>
      <div class='line'>Successive glances from the circling sun,</div>
      <div class='line'>And cast a snowy gleam across the blue:—</div>
      <div class='line'>A gulf that, to its lakelike softness true,</div>
      <div class='line'>Reveres the stillness of the syren’s cell,</div>
      <div class='line'>Yet knows the ocean’s roll, and loves it well;</div>
      <div class='line'>A gulf where Zephyr oft, with noontide heat</div>
      <div class='line'>Oppressed, descends to bathe his sacred feet,</div>
      <div class='line'>And, at the first cold touch, at once reviving,</div>
      <div class='line'>Sinks to the wings in joy, before him driving</div>
      <div class='line'>A feathery foam into the lemon groves;—</div>
      <div class='line'>Evasive, zone-like sands and secret coves;</div>
      <div class='line'>Translucent waves that, heaved with motion slow,</div>
      <div class='line'>On fanes submerged a brighter gleam bestow;</div>
      <div class='line'>Fair hamlets, streets with odorous myrtles spread,</div>
      <div class='line'>Bruised by processions grave with soundless tread,</div>
      <div class='line'>That leave (the Duomo entered) on the mind</div>
      <div class='line'>A pomp confused, and music on the wind;</div>
      <div class='line'>Smooth, mounded banks like inland coasts and capes,</div>
      <div class='line'>That take from seas extinct their sinuous shapes,</div>
      <div class='line'>And girdle plains whose growths, fire-fed below,</div>
      <div class='line'>In bacchanal exuberance burst and blow;</div>
      <div class='line'>A light Olympian and an air divine—</div>
      <div class='line'>Naples! if these are blessings, they are thine.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>II.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Thy sands we paced in sunlight and soft gloom;</div>
      <div class='line'>From Tasso’s birthplace roamed to Virgil’s tomb.</div>
      <div class='line'>Baia! thy haunts we trod, and glowing caves</div>
      <div class='line'>Whose ambushed ardours pant o’er vine-decked waves.</div>
      <div class='line'>Thy cliffs we coasted, loitered in thy creeks,</div>
      <div class='line'>O shaggy island<a id='r6'></a><a href='#f6' class='c015'><sup>[6]</sup></a> with the five gray peaks!</div>
      <div class='line'>Explored thy grotto, scaled thy fortress, where</div>
      <div class='line'>Thy dark-eyed maids trip down the rocky stair,</div>
      <div class='line'>With glance cast backward, laugh of playful scorn,</div>
      <div class='line'>And cheek carnationed with the lights of morn.</div>
      <div class='line'>The hills Lactarean lodged us in their breast:</div>
      <div class='line'>Shadowy Sorrento to her spicy rest</div>
      <div class='line'>Called us from far with gales embalmed, yet pure;</div>
      <div class='line'>Her orange brakes we pierced, and ranged her rifts obscure.</div>
      <div class='line'>Breathless along Pompeii’s streets we strayed</div>
      <div class='line'>By songless fount, mosaic undecayed,</div>
      <div class='line'>Voluptuous tomb, still forum, painted hall,</div>
      <div class='line'>Where wreathed Bacchantes float on every wall;</div>
      <div class='line'>Where Ariadne, by the purple deep,</div>
      <div class='line'>Hears not those panting sails, but smiles in sleep;</div>
      <div class='line'>Where yet Silenus grasps the woodland cup,</div>
      <div class='line'>And buried Pleasure from its grave looks up.</div>
      <div class='line'>Lastly, the great Vesuvian steep we clomb;</div>
      <div class='line'>Then, Naples! made once more with thee our home.</div>
      <div class='line'>We leave thee now—but first, with just review,</div>
      <div class='line'>We cast the account, and strike the balance true—</div>
      <div class='line'>And thus, as forth we move, we take our last adieu.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>III.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>From her whom genius never yet inspired,</div>
      <div class='line'>Or virtue raised, or pulse heroic fired;</div>
      <div class='line'>From her who, in the grand historic page,</div>
      <div class='line'>Maintains one barren blank from age to age;</div>
      <div class='line'>From her, with insect life and insect buz,</div>
      <div class='line'>Who, evermore unresting, nothing does;</div>
      <div class='line'>From her who, with the future and the past</div>
      <div class='line'>No commerce holds, no structure rears to last:</div>
      <div class='line'>From streets where priests and jesters, side by side,</div>
      <div class='line'>Range the rank markets, and their gains divide;</div>
      <div class='line'>Where faith in art, and art in sense is lost,</div>
      <div class='line'>And toys and gewgaws form a nation’s boast;</div>
      <div class='line'>Where Passion, from Affection’s bond cut loose,</div>
      <div class='line'>Revels in orgies of its own abuse;</div>
      <div class='line'>And appetite, from Passion’s portals thrust,</div>
      <div class='line'>Creeps on its belly to its grave of dust;</div>
      <div class='line'>Where Vice her mask disdains, where Fraud is loud,</div>
      <div class='line'>And naught but Wisdom dumb and Justice cowed;—</div>
      <div class='line'>Lastly, from her who planted here unawed,</div>
      <div class='line'>’Mid heaven-topped hills, and waters bright and broad,</div>
      <div class='line'>Lacks heart to gather, and lacks strength to bear,</div>
      <div class='line'>From these, one impulse of the free and fair;</div>
      <div class='line'>And, girt not less with ruin, lives to show</div>
      <div class='line'>That worse than wasted weal is wasted woe,—</div>
      <div class='line'>We part; forth issuing through her closing gate,</div>
      <div class='line'>With unreverting faces, not ingrate.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>BARBARIAN RAMBLES.<a id='r7'></a><a href='#f7' class='c015'><sup>[7]</sup></a></h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>That great geniuses meet, is a saying
almost as ancient as the twin
rocks that give a title to Mr David
Urquhart’s latest literary production.
But not often is the same country
visited and described, within the short
space of two years, by two such distinguished
persons as the member for
Stafford and the author of <cite>Monte-Christo</cite>.
For the honour of their
presence, the shores of Barbary and
Andalusia are indebted to the chapter
of accidents. “I did not visit Morocco
or Spain on any settled plan. I was
on my way to Italy by sea, and,
passing through the straits of Gibraltar,
was so fascinated by the beauty
and mysteries of the adjoining lands,
that I relinquished my proposed excursion
for the explorations which
are here recorded.” Thus far the
Celt. Hear the Gaul’s reply to the
Bey of Tunis, when questioned as to
the motive of his African excursion,—“I
answered, that I had the honour
to be known to the king and princes
of France; that I had the misfortune
to be on tolerably bad terms with the
father, but the happiness to stand
pretty well with the sons; that one
of these sons, of whom he (the Bey)
had doubtless heard speak, and who
was dead—M. le Duc d’Orléans—had
more than once deigned to call me
his friend; that another son, still
better known to him than the first,—M.
le Duc de Montpensier—had
inherited his brother’s friendship for
me, and had invited me to his wedding,
which had just taken place at
Madrid; that, being at Madrid, I desired
to push on to Algiers, and, once
at Algiers, I felt unwilling to quit
Africa without saying a prayer upon
the tomb of St Louis, who was, as he
surely knew, a great <em>marabout</em>; that
I was on my way to perform this
duty, when I heard that he did me
the honour to expect me, whereupon
I hastened to pay him my respects.”
Such trivial causes lead to great results!
To the Montpensier marriage
is the Bey of Tunis indebted for an
interview with the first of French
novelists, and the European world for
the narrative of his African travels.
We hesitated before associating the
two books that form the theme of this
article. We feared to rouse M.
Dumas’ indignation, by coupling him
with an author whom he, with his
usual supercilious disesteem of things
British, will probably set down as
<i><span lang="fr">un pédant Ecossais</span></i>. On the other
hand, we thought it possible so grave
and erudite a person as Mr Urquhart
might consider his labours slighted,
when linked with the playful superficialities
of <cite>Le Véloce</cite>; and from this
apprehension we were relieved, only
upon finding him quote his French
cotemporary’s Spanish tour with an
air of greater approval than he usually
bestows upon the works of recent
writers on Spain. For it is not the
most amiable of his peculiarities, that
his references to brother travellers are
generally censorious. He seems to
have vowed opposition and animosity
to all who have rambled and written
over the same ground as himself.
Blanco White, George Borrow,
Richard Ford, and various others of
less note, in turn come in for correction
or a sneer. The last-named is
particularly ill-treated. “To Mr
Ford’s book, however disagreeable
the task, I had intended to devote a
special chapter; but, understanding
that the two volumes are, in the
second edition, reduced to one, I
must infer that the author has anticipated
my conclusion,—that the work
might be made valuable by cutting
out the slang, ribaldry, opinions, and
false quotations.” Should <cite>The Pillars
of Hercules</cite> reach a second edition,
either condensed, or in its present diffuse
form, we advise its author to cut
out this passage, or at least to correct
its discourtesy and exaggeration.
So harsh and unjust a verdict drives
us to the inference that, owing to
some mental idiosyncrasy of Mr Urquhart’s,
the chief merits of the book he
decries altogether escape his perception;
and that, whilst dwelling
upon an occasional error—pardonable
in a work embracing so great a variety
of subject, and such a mass of detail—and
condemning those opinions
that are so unfortunate as to differ
from his own, he totally overlooks the
racy humour, the happy illustrations,
the felicitous exposition of Spanish
foibles and characteristics, the intimate
knowledge of the country and
its customs, which place the author
of the <cite>Handbook</cite> and <cite>Gatherings</cite>
amongst the very highest authorities
respecting modern Spain. But we
need not take up the cudgels for
Richard Ford, whose works will
stand upon their own bottom, and
whose acute and pungent pen is quite
able to defend his literary offspring,
should he think it worth his while,
even against his present formidable
assailant.</p>

<p class='c009'>There can be no doubt about the
disappointment of those persons who
open <cite>The Pillars of Hercules</cite> in
expectation of finding what the title
promises—a narrative of travel in
Spain and Morocco. These countries
are certainly mentioned here and
there in the two bulky octavos, but
quite subordinately to a variety of
other matters which had perhaps
better been treated elsewhere than in
the professed book of travels they
cumber and overload. Mr Urquhart,
who has published volumes and pamphlets
on innumerable subjects, social
and political, foreign and domestic,
appears to have had by him a heterogeneous
mass of essays and dissertations,
which he has now strung, pretty
much at random, upon the slender
thread of his Spanish-African ramble.
Wearisomely discursive and desultory,
he continually canters off
to distant regions, and to subjects
foreign to his text. Thus we have a
chapter on the invention and antiquity
of glass; another concerning the
magnetic needle; a third and fourth,
in which we are taken to America,
Ceylon, China, and other remote
places; one about the celebrated drug
hashish, which temporarily transports
its votaries into paradise. This is presently
succeeded by a dissertation on
buttered muffins; and shortly thereafter
we arrive at a long essay on
the early races of Spain and Mauritania,
which we take for granted to
be exceedingly learned and important,
and which we are quite sure is
awfully heavy and uninteresting.
Etymology is a hobby of this author’s,
and the portions of his work devoted
to it would, of themselves, make a
good-sized volume, by whose separation
the book would be greatly lightened
and advantaged. On the subject
of corporal purification he grows
positively eloquent and impassioned;
and so minute are his descriptions of
the scrubbing and scraping processes,
by which alone men become fit to live,
that he very rightly deems a prefatory
apology essential. On this head more
anon. We pause, for a specimen of
solemn trifling, at Chapter Nine, Book
the First, Volume the First. Nominally
an “Excursion round the Straits,” it
is actually an essay on costume, commencing
with Spanish petticoats, giving
a passing glance to the history and
origin of lace, asserting the identity of
the Moorish and Highland garb, and
closing with an argument in favour of
the importance and moral influence of
a national dress. The chapter opens
with praises of Cadiz, a city so long
accustomed to rhyme with “ladies,”
that it will hardly feel surprise or annoyance
at Mr Urquhart’s attributing
its charm less to the beauty of its
buildings than to the “swarm of women,”
with “fluttering eyes,” and
“silk blonde tresses,” covering the
floor of the cathedral. From tresses
to dresses the transition is easy, and
he proceeds to discourse upon the mantilla:
not a very novel subject certainly,
but one upon which he, nevertheless,
contrives to cast some new
lights—lights that would, we suspect,
rather dazzle and astonish the amiable
Gaditanas, whose habits and habiliments
he professes to describe. Whilst
stigmatising as “a bagged hood” the
most graceful and elegant description of
mantilla—that, namely, composed entirely
of lace, and which is in fact the
only kind worn by the higher classes
of Spanish women—he informs us that
“in windy weather the mantilla is
secured against the cheek by the tip
of the fan.” We laugh horribly as
we summon up, at this conjuror’s bidding,
a procession of mantilla-draped
dames and damsels tripping the Alameda
on a breezy day, each one of
them with the extremity of her fan
poked into her dexter jaw. Spanish
women know better how to use that
active little instrument of flirtation.
Passing over these and other slight
absurdities, we arrive at the hair-dressing
department. Here Mr Urquhart
is at first rather puzzled. But
he will not be baffled, and goes to the
very roots of the capillaries. “The
hair is dressed in two styles. One is
called <em>sarrano</em>. The only explanation
I could get for this name was, that
<em>sierra</em> means mountain, and that the
mountaineers dress in this way. But
neither does it seem to be the style
of the sierra, nor does the word <em>sarrano</em>
mean mountain: there is, indeed,
no such word in Spanish.”
When ascertaining this last fact by
reference to his dictionary, it is strange
that our traveller did not stumble
upon the word “<em>Serrano</em>, subs. mountaineer;
adj. pertaining to mountains,”
and which is, in fact, the very word
applied to the style of head-dress in
question, his ear having doubtless misled
him as to the <em>e</em> and <em>a</em>. This guides
us to two derivations. First, the one
furnished him by the natives, that the
style in question is or was particularly
affected by the dwellers in the Andalusian
sierras, as it still is by the
mountaineers of Catalonia. A second
explanation may be found in the form
of the comb that accompanies this
mode of head-dress, (but of which
Mr Urquhart makes no mention,) and
whose turreted or dentated crest,
rising full four inches perpendicularly
from the crown of the head, may have
suggested the term <em>serrano</em>, by its elevation
and imaginary resemblance to
a row of hill-tops. But such interpretations
as these are far too simple
and vulgar to suit Mr Urquhart, who
loves to journey by roundabout roads,
and would make, like Monkbarns,
a Roman sacrificing vessel out of a
kail-supper’s ladle. He bores and
proses away till he proves, quite to his
own satisfaction, that “sarrano head-dress
means neither more nor less
than Tyrian head-dress. Such an
etymology is by no means far-fetched.”
Certainly not, when compared with
others scattered through the book, although
even this one may be considered
rather <i><span lang="fr">tiré par les cheveux</span></i>: and,
moreover, the whole fabric is overthrown
by the word proving to be
serrano. But the hunting after derivations
is a passion with Mr Urquhart,
and leads him to the unearthing
of affinities which nobody else would
suspect. We confess ourselves so
overwhelmed by the flux of erudition,
by the multiplicity of languages
brought to bear, and by the extraordinary
etymons assigned to words
with which they have nothing visible
in common, that we resign ourselves
to believe in Urquhart, and are prepared
to admit, at his dictation, the
old derivation of cucumber from Jeremiah
King as perfectly valid, and
consonant to all received laws. So
fond is the honourable gentleman of
this grubbing for roots, that, when
once he stumbles on a derivation, he
goes on through a whole alphabet of
them; like a child who, having begun
to run down hill, is unable to stop till
it reaches the plain, or falls exhausted
by the road-side. We doubt if
many of his readers will share the avidity
with which he pursues his dry
and long-winded investigations, which
would be more in place in a dictionary
of derivations than in a narrative of
travel.</p>

<p class='c009'>Our intention, in bringing Messrs
Dumas and Urquhart into juxtaposition,
is by no means to compare
them, or to exalt either at the expense
of the other. Their books form the
strongest possible contrast. In one
respect only do they agree—in a propensity
to ramble from their subject.
We have hinted at the crotchets that
lead the Highlander from his track;
the Frenchman strays in quest of the
dramatic and romantic, and is beguiled
by his prodigious vanity into
the most divertingly egotistical details.
The one is an eccentric dogmatist,
full of crotchets, but unobtrusive
of his individuality; the other
never loses sight of himself, nor will
suffer his reader to do so. He is always
in the foreground of the picture, the
chief character on the canvass, the
hero of his own comedy; or, if for a
moment he retires from the foot-lamps,
it is that their light may shine
upon his son and heir, Alexander the
younger, a <i><span lang="fr">grand garçon blond</span></i>, and
one of the half-score artists and
literati who compose the suite of the
illustrious Monte-Christo. When the
travellers arrived at Cadiz, in November
1846, Mr Dumas junior was
suddenly discovered to be missing.
Fascinated by the bright eyes of a
Cordovan maiden, he had given his
friends the slip. Although somewhat
uneasy, his father contented himself
with detaching one of his staff in
quest of the truant, and went on
board the war-steamer Véloce, which
had been placed at his disposal by
the Minister of Public Instruction.
Some of our readers may remember
that, about three years ago, this circumstance
gave rise to a discussion
in the French Chamber, when some
doubt was thrown upon the fact of
M. Dumas being intrusted with a
government mission. This seems to
have annoyed the distinguished
dramatist, who repeatedly refers to
the subject, gives a copy of his passport
and of certain official letters; and
upbraids M. Guizot, whom he at last,
however, magnanimously forgives,
declaring he has forgotten his name.
He then protests against the envy
of which his eminent position has
rendered him the object, and concludes
his remarks, made in a tone of
dignified and chastened indignation,
with the following striking passage:—“The
steamer thus placed at my
disposal has made me more enemies
than <em>Antony</em> and <cite>Monte-Christo</cite>, which
is saying not a little. It was in 1823
or 1824, I believe, that Sir Walter
Scott, being then in bad health, expressed
a wish to make a voyage to
Italy. The English admiralty placed
its finest frigate at the disposal of the
author of <cite>Ivanhoe</cite>; and England applauded,
and the two houses of parliament
applauded, and the very
newspapers clapped their hands approvingly.
And it was well done;
for, for the first time perhaps, the
flag with the three leopards was
saluted in every port of the Mediterranean
by the enthusiastic acclamations
of the people. Were those
acclamations for the flag, or for the
man of genius it sheltered? for the
unknown captain of the frigate, whose
name I never heard, or for Sir Walter
Scott? True, I may be told that I
am not Sir Walter Scott; but to this
I reply, that it is the great misfortune
of living men in France not to know
what they are, so long as they <em>are</em>
living.”</p>

<p class='c009'>How very good is this quiet assertion
of merit and anticipation of posthumous
appreciation by an ungrateful
country. “The steamer,” continues
the possible future rival of Scott,
“was granted me—be it as a matter
of favour, or as an act of justice; and
Government consented to expend for
me some sixteen thousand francs’
worth of coal. It is right the world
should know that this voyage, which
caused such an outcry, cost the
Government sixteen thousand francs.
Just half what it cost me!” A paltry
eight hundred napoleons! Can
France regret it, when applied to the
service of her brightest literary ornament?
Let her read the <cite>Véloce</cite>, and
take shame for her shabbiness.
Astride upon his fiery charger, the
giant commenced his cruise. Need
we say that all eyes were upon him
as he boarded the steamer, and that
he took by assault the hearts of the
entire ship’s company, whom he
seized an early opportunity to convince
that his skill was as great with
the fowling-piece as with the pen.
“The Véloce was surrounded by a
flock of sea-fowl; on approaching the
vessel, desirous to give our future
companions a specimen of my dexterity,
I fired my two barrels at a
brace of gulls, both of which fell.
The yawl pulled to pick them up; and,
after this brilliant feat, we proceeded
triumphantly to the steamer.” This
is the first and least considerable of a
series of “brilliant feats” of the
same kind, recorded by M. Dumas of
himself in the pages of <cite>Le Véloce</cite>.
At Tangiers, his first landing-place in
Africa, he goes out shooting, and
encounters an Arab, the first he has
seen. This meeting furnishes a chapter—a
sort of parody of scenes in
Scott and Cooper, the parts of Robin
Hood and Leatherstocking by M.
Alexandre Dumas. He has just shot
a small bird, when the Arab appears
and doubts his having killed it on the
wing. A trial of skill ensues between
the Parisian and the Bedouin, the
former promising the latter, who is
unwilling to waste his powder, six
charges for every one he fires away.
The Arab fires at a plover and misses.
M. Dumas brings down a snipe. The
Arab smiles.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘The Frenchman shoots well,’ he
said; ‘but a true hunter uses not shot,
but a ball.’ The janissary translated
his words to me.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘’Tis true’ I replied; ‘tell him I
quite agree with him, and that, if he
will fix upon a mark, I engage to do
what he does.’</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘The Frenchman owes me six
charges of powder,’ quoth the Arab.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘True again,’ I replied; ‘let the
Arab hold out his hand.’ He held
it out, and I emptied into it about a
third of the contents of my flask. He
produced his horn, and poured in the
powder to the very last grain. This
done, he would evidently have been
well-pleased to depart; but that would
not answer the purpose of Giraud and
Boulanger, who had not yet finished
their sketches. Accordingly, at the
first movement he made,</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘Remind your countryman,’ said
I to El-Arbi-Bernat, ‘that we have
each of us to send a bullet somewhere,
whithersoever he pleases.’</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘Yes,’ said the Arab. He looked
about and found a stick, which he
picked up, and then again set himself
to seek for something. I had in my
pocket a letter from one of my
nephews, employed on His Majesty’s
private domain: this letter reposed
peaceably in its square envelope,
adorned with a red seal; I give it to
the Arab, suspecting he was looking
for it, or for something like it. The
letter was the very thing for a target.
The Arab understood at once; he
split the end of the stick with his
knife, stuck in the letter, planted the
stick in the sand, and returned to us,
counting twenty-five paces. Then he
loaded his gun. I had a double-barrelled
rifle, ready loaded; an excellent
weapon, made by Devisme: in
each of its barrels was one of those
pointed bullets with which one kills a
man at fifteen hundred metres, (an
English mile; well done, M. Dumas!)
I took it from Paul, its usual bearer,
and I waited.</p>

<p class='c009'>“The Arab took aim with a care
which showed the importance he
attached to not being vanquished a
second time. He fired, and his bullet
carried off a corner of the envelope.
Masters of themselves as Arabs generally
are, ours could not restrain a cry
of joy as he pointed to the rent in the
paper. I made sign that I saw it
perfectly well. He addressed to me
a few animated words.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘He says it is your turn,’ interpreted
the janissary.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘Certainly,’ I replied; ‘but tell
him that in France we do not fire at
so short a distance.’ I measured fifty
paces. He watched me with astonishment.
‘Now,’ said I, ‘tell him that,
with the first shot, I will hit the target
nearer the centre than he has done;
and with the second I will cut the
stick that sustains it.’</p>

<p class='c009'>“In my turn I took a careful aim;
I had not come to Africa to leave a
wrong prospectus; and, having declared
my game, I was bound to play
it well. The first ball sped, and broke
the seal. The second followed almost
immediately, and cut the stick. The
Arab threw his gun on his shoulder,
and walked away, without claiming
the six charges of powder he was entitled
to. It was evident he felt
crushed under the weight of his inferiority,
and that, at that moment,
he doubted of everything, even of the
Prophet. He followed the circular
road along the beach, leading to Tangiers,
and reached the town, I am certain,
without having once turned his
head. Two or three Arabs, who in
the meanwhile had crossed the Oued,
and who had witnessed the trial of
skill, departed as silently, and almost
in as great consternation, as their
countryman. All Morocco was humiliated
in the person of its representative.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Mr Urquhart and Mr Dumas each
made some stay at Tangiers, but, as
will easily be understood, they employed
their time very differently, and
have scarcely an idea in common on
the subject. The one talks politics,
dissects languages and makes antiquarian
investigations; the other, after
the shooting match above detailed,
and some rather high-flown attempts
at description of scenery, goes fishing
and boar-hunting, attends a Jewish
wedding, and purchases half the stock
in trade of David Azencot, an honest
Israelite, and a wealthy dealer in
sabres, burnous, scarfs, lamps, chibouks,
and a thousand and one other
Moorish curiosities. The Scot is didactic
and dull; the Frenchman frivolous,
but amusing. Of course they
both visit Gibraltar, and devote a
chapter to that remarkable fortress;
and here we must say that M. Dumas
carries it hollow, as far as pleasant
tone and good taste go. As is customary
with him, he is flippant and
good-humouredly impertinent; but he
shows himself grateful for a hospitable
reception, and does not rake up old
stories to the disadvantage of the
dead. He begins with the notable
discovery that Gibraltar has a foggy
atmosphere. The English, he says,
being used to a fog in their own country,
have manufactured one, by the
help of sea-coal, upon the coast of
Spain. The English, he affirms,
strive against and vanquish nature
herself. “They have produced dahlias
that smell like pinks, cherries
without stones, gooseberries without
grains, and they are now rearing oxen
without legs. Behold, for instance,
those of the county of Durham; they
have but one joint, and walk almost
upon their belly. Soon they will have
no joints at all, and will walk quite
upon their belly. Thus it is with the
fog. There was no fog at Gibraltar
before it belonged to the English; but
the English were accustomed to fog,
they missed it, and they made it....
On entering Gibraltar, I felt that I
quitted Spain. Tangiers, which we
had just left, was much more Spanish
than Gibraltar. Hardly had we
passed the gate, when we were transported
into England. No more
pointed pavements, no more latticed
houses and green <em>jalousies</em>, no more
of those charming <em>patios</em>, with marble
fountains in the midst of the shops:
but clothiers, cutlers, armourers, hotels
with the arms of Great Britain, flagged
footpaths, fair women, red officers,
and English horses. Tom Thumb
had lent us his boots, and each step
we had taken from the deck of the
Véloce had carried us seven leagues.
We entered a <em>restaurant</em>. We ate
raw beefsteaks, sandwiches, butter,
moistening them with ale and porter;
but when, after breakfast, we asked
for a glass of Malaga, they were
obliged to send out for it. On the
other hand, the tea was irreproachable.”
This is a very fair skit on the
Englishman’s habit of carrying his
country’s usages into climates for
which they are totally unadapted.
Although feeling, according to his
own account, far from at his ease in
this British military colony, of whose
warlike aspect and regulations he
sketches a ludicrous caricature, M.
Dumas would not leave it without
paying a visit to the governor; and,
lest the anonymous lady to whom his
African letters are addressed should
be unable to comprehend this unusual
(?) desire on his part to make
the acquaintance of those in high
places, he beguiles the time, till the
governor returns from his ride, by
telling the story of Lavalette. No
matter that it has been pretty often
told; related <i><span lang="fr">à la Dumas</span></i>, that is to
say, with a superabundance of detail,
it covers a few pages, and explains
his wish for an interview with the
English general. “Sir Robert Wilson,
a magnificent old man, sixty-six
or sixty-eight years of age, who still
breaks his own horses, and rides ten
leagues every day, gave me a charming
reception. I was so imprudent as
to express my admiration of some
Moorish pottery-wares upon his sideboard,
and I found them in my cabin
on returning to the Véloce. If anything
could have induced me to remain
another day at Gibraltar, it would
have been the pressing invitation Sir
Robert Wilson was kind enough to
give me. Impressed with a lively
sentiment of admiration, I left this
noble and loyal-hearted man. May
God grant long and happy days to
him, to whom another man was indebted
for long days of happiness.”
All his admiration of Lavalette’s
saviour was insufficient to detain him
in Gibraltar, which he declares himself
to have quitted with as strong a
sensation of relief as Napoleon’s ex-aide-de-camp
can have felt when,
thanks to Sir Robert Wilson’s chivalry,
he safely set foot across France’s
frontier. French and English are
now well used to each other’s jocular
sarcasm, and are never the worse
friends for it, because it is the interest
of both to remain in amity. There
is no venom in M. Dumas’ playful
satire, which one glances over with a
smile, quitting it with regret for the
croakings of Mr Urquhart. This
gentleman has some very peculiar
notions respecting Gibraltar, whose
restoration to Spain he strongly advocates,
and to whose retention by Great
Britain he ascribes a frightful catalogue
of evils, including sundry European
wars, fifty-five millions sterling unprofitably
sunk, and the undying hatred
of Spain towards this country—bringing
no less a witness than Napoleon
to the truth of this last assertion.
The fifty-five millions are “suggested
as a rough guess” at the actual outlay;
and besides them, we are assured,
hundreds of millions have been spent
on wars entailed by our possession of
Gibraltar. All this is too vaguely
put, seriously to challenge argument
or refutation; and as to the “undying
hatred,” why, the anti-English
party in Spain may occasionally bluster
about the hole in the national
honour, and so forth; but the great
majority of the nation never bestow a
thought upon the matter, and the
smuggling portion of the community—no
uninfluential class—find Gibraltar
exceedingly convenient for their
contraband traffic. But Mr Urquhart’s
statements on this head are
very loose, and some of them very
fallacious; and he attains the climax
of absurdity and misrepresentation
when he says, that “the fiscal regulations
of Spain, which sustain this
(contraband) traffic, would long since
have fallen but for its (Gibraltar’s)
retention by England. We therefore
lose the legitimate trade of all
Spain, for the smuggling profits (which
go to the Spaniards) at this port.”
The sort of jingle of plausibility in
these sentences will impose only upon
persons profoundly ignorant of the
subject. The assertion is made in the
teeth of notorious facts, and is opposed
alike to truth and to common sense.
The more difficult, dangerous, and
expensive smuggling could be rendered,
the less would be its injurious effect
on the Spanish revenue, and the
less likely would be a reduction of
duties. The smuggling facilities afforded
by Gibraltar, by the Portuguese
frontier and the Pyrenean line, (Mr
Urquhart, it has been seen, wholly
ignores the two latter channels, and
lays the high-duty system entirely at
the door of Gibraltar,) have, by limiting
the custom-house receipts to the merest
trifle, contributed, more than any
other cause, to fix the attention of the
Spanish government on the advantage
to be derived from reductions in their
monstrous tariff—reductions which the
last four months have beheld carried
out, although as yet but to an exceedingly
limited extent. This subject,
however, has of late been so fully discussed
in our pages that we shall not
here pursue it further, particularly as
it is evident that Mr Urquhart has
still to become acquainted with its
rudiments. It were more amusing,
although scarcely more profitable, to
dwell upon a subsequent chapter,
where, reverting to Gibraltar, the
honourable gentleman tilts at its late
governor, and raises the Russian
bugbear—a goblin which he would
doubtless always manage to evoke, in
whatsoever part of the world he
chanced to find himself. In portentous
italics he tells us as how
“a Russian steam-vessel of war
was admitted to the quay of her Majesty’s
vessels to get coal, which was
furnished her from the royal stores,
while French men-of-war were allowed
no such indulgence; on departing
she <em>was saluted by the fortress with
twenty-one guns</em>! This I witnessed
with my own eyes, and heard with my
own ears. The assembled crowd said,
‘<i><span lang="pt">Es loco</span></i>’—‘he is mad.’” Is Mr Urquhart
certain to whom the crowd’s
exclamation referred? His pet crotchet
is by this time pretty generally recognised;
and even his best friends, and a
few partial admirers, cannot choose
but smile at the tenacity of his monomania,
and at the moonshine illumination
he throws upon Russian designs
and their British abettors. Truly he
is a dead hand at a mare’s nest. With
a scuttle of coals and a blank cartridge,
he would build up a powder-plot,
and talks darkly and ominously
about “the system of government (in
England) by secresy and intrigue.”
We do think, however, he would have
done more gracefully to let Sir Robert
Wilson alone. “Since the above was
written,” he says, “Sir Robert Wilson
has disappeared from the scene. I do
not on that account suppress what I
have written, as I have not brought
any charge against him.” No new
charge; but he has revived and dragged
forth an old one, wellnigh forgotten under
the moss of years and the laurels
of the departed veteran. It is no
generous hand that will approach,
otherwise than kindly and with reverence,
the memory of the gallant soldier
of the Peninsula, the brave defender
of Portugal, the stout fighter
by Dresden, of whom it has so truly
been said, that “he ever was foremost
where danger was to be encountered
or glory won.”<a id='r8'></a><a href='#f8' class='c015'><sup>[8]</sup></a></p>

<p class='c009'>Totally dissimilar in character as
are the two works under examination,
the transitions from the one to the
other are yet astonishingly easy.
Thus Mr Urquhart’s Muscovite nightmare
leads us, in the most natural
manner possible, to a tale of a cotton
nightcap, related by his witty contemporary.
At Tunis, M. Dumas was
quite confounded by the prevalence of
this unpoetical but comfortable head-dress,
which he constantly met with
in the streets and on the quays.
Puzzled at its naturalisation in a clime
so remote from its native country, (an
honour which he claims for France,)
and being of an inquisitive turn of
mind, he instituted inquiries, and received
for explanation an anecdote,
which we shall here transcribe, as nearly
as possible, in his own phraseology.
We feel that we neglect Mr Urquhart,
and ought by right to give precedence
of extract to his muffin-investigation;
but really the nightcap story is much
more amusing, and quite as important,
although it may possibly owe
more to its narrator’s imagination.</p>

<p class='c009'>About twenty years ago, according
to M. Dumas, under the reign of a
former Bey, a ship bound from Marseilles
to Gibraltar, with a cargo of
cotton nightcaps, was driven by a gale
into Tunis roads. At that period a duty
was levied on vessels availing themselves
of the port of Tunis; and this
duty, depending on the caprice of the
Raïa-marsa, or captain of the port, was
very arbitrary. The Marseilles captain
was naturally subjected to this
impost; still more naturally the Raïa-marsa
fixed it at an exorbitant sum.
There was, however, no alternative
but to pay: the unlucky speculator in
nightcaps lay beneath the paw of the
lion. With the loss of part of his
skin, he slipped between the beast’s
claws, and ran to throw himself at the
feet of the Bey. The Bey hearkened
to the complaint of the Giaour. When
he had heard it, and had satisfied
himself that the amount of extortion
had been rightly stated by its victim,
he said:—</p>

<p class='c009'>“Do you desire Turkish justice or
French justice?”</p>

<p class='c009'>After long reflection, the Marseillese,
with a confidence that did honour to the
legislation of his native land, replied:</p>

<p class='c009'>“French justice.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“’Tis good,” replied the Bey; “return
to thy ship and wait.”</p>

<p class='c009'>The seaman kissed his highness’s
papooshes, returned to his ship, and
waited. He waited one month, two
months, three months. At the end
of the third month, finding the time
rather long, he went ashore, and
watched for the Bey to pass by. The
Bey appeared: the captain threw
himself at his feet.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Highness,” said he, “you have
forgotten me?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“By no means,” replied the Bey;
“you are the captain of the French
ship who complained to me of the
Raïa-marsa?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“And to whom you promised justice!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes; but French justice.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Certainly.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, of what do you now complain?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Of having waited three months
for it.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Listen,” said the Bey. “Three
years ago your consul treated me with
disrespect; I complained to your king,
claiming justice at his hands, and
three years have I waited for it: come
back in three years, and we will see.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“The deuce!” exclaimed the captain,
who began to understand; “and
is there no means of abridging the
delay, your highness?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“You asked for French justice.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“But if I had asked for Turkish
justice?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“That were different: it had been
done you on the instant.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Is it too late to change my mind?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“It is never too late to do wisely.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Turkish justice then, highness—grant
me Turkish justice!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“’Tis good. Follow me.”</p>

<p class='c009'>The captain kissed the Bey’s papooshes,
and followed him to his
palace. Arrived there: “How much
did the Raïa-marsa exact from you?”
inquired the Bey.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Fifteen hundred francs.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“And you consider that sum too
large?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Highness, such is my humble
opinion.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Too large by how much?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“By at least two-thirds.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“’Tis just; here are fifteen hundred
piastres, making exactly a thousand
francs.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Highness,” said the captain, “you
are the balance of divine justice,”
and he kissed the papooshes of the
Bey, and was about to depart. The
Bey stopped him.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Have you no other claim to prefer?”
he said.</p>

<p class='c009'>“One I certainly have, highness,
but I dare not.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Dare, and speak.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“It seems to me that I deserve
compensation for the time I have lost,
whilst awaiting the memorable decision
your highness has just pronounced.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“’Tis just.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“The rather,” continued the captain,
emboldened by the Bey’s approbation,
“that I was expected at Gibraltar
in the beginning of the winter,
which is now over, and the favourable
season for the sale of my cargo is
past.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“And of what does thy cargo consist?”
demanded the Bey.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Highness, of cotton nightcaps.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“What are cotton nightcaps?”</p>

<p class='c009'>The captain took from his pocket
a specimen of his goods, and presented
it to the Bey.</p>

<p class='c009'>“For what purpose is this utensil?”
said the latter.</p>

<p class='c009'>“To cover the head,” replied the
captain. And joining example to
precept, he put on the nightcap.</p>

<p class='c009'>“It is very ugly,” quoth the Bey.</p>

<p class='c009'>“But very comfortable,” retorted
the captain.</p>

<p class='c009'>“And you say that my delay to do
you justice has occasioned you a loss?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Of ten thousand francs, at least,
highness.”</p>

<p class='c009'>The Bey called his secretary. The
secretary entered, crossed his hands
upon his breast, and bowed to the
ground. Then he took his pen, and
the Bey dictated to him a few lines,
which, being in Arabic, were totally
unintelligible to the captain. When
the secretary had done writing:
“’Tis good,” said the Bey; “let this
decree be proclaimed throughout the
city.” Again the secretary crossed
his hands upon his breast, bent himself
to the earth, and departed.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Craving your highness’s pardon,”
said the captain, “may I venture to
inquire the substance of that decree?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Certainly; it is an order to all the
Jews in Tunis to cover their heads,
within twenty-four hours from this
time, with a cotton nightcap, under
penalty of decapitation.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Ah! <em>tron de l’air</em>!” exclaimed the
Marseillese; “I understand.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Then if you understand, return to
your ship, and make the best profit
you can of your goods; you will
soon have customers.” The captain
threw himself at the feet of the Bey,
kissed his papooshes and returned to
his ship. Meanwhile, by sound of
trumpet, and in all the streets of Tunis,
the following proclamation was made.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Praises to Allah, the universal, to
whom all things return!</p>

<p class='c009'>“The slave of Allah glorified, who
implores his pardon and absolution,
the Mouchir Sidi-Hussein-Pacha, Bey
of Tunis:</p>

<p class='c009'>“Forbids every Jew, Israelite, or
Nazarene, to appear in the streets of
Tunis without a cotton nightcap upon
his accursed and infidel head.</p>

<p class='c009'>“This, under pain of decapitation.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Giving to the unbelievers twenty-four
hours to provide themselves with
the said covering.</p>

<p class='c009'>“To this order all obedience is due.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Written under date of the 20th
April, in the year 1243 of the Hegira.</p>

<div class='lg-container-r'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>(Signed,) “<span class='sc'>Sidi Hussein</span>.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>You may fancy the sensation excited
in Tunis by such a proclamation
as this. The twenty-five thousand
Jews who compose the Israelite population
of the city looked aghast, and
asked each other what was this eighth
plague which thus descended upon
the people chosen of the Lord. The
most learned Rabbis were appealed to,
but not one of them had a clear notion
of what a cotton nightcap was. At last a
<em>Gourni</em>—it is thus the Leghorn Jews
are named—remembered to have once
seen the crew of a Norman ship enter
that port with the head-dress in question.
It was something to know the
article required; the next thing to
be ascertained was, where it could be
procured. Twelve thousand cotton
nightcaps are not to be picked up at
every street corner. The men wrung
their hands, the women tore their
hair, the children ate the dust upon
the highway. Just when the cries of
anguish were most piercing, and
the desolation at its climax, a report
spread through the multitude. It said
that a ship laden with cotton nightcaps
was then in the port. Inquiry
was made. It was, said rumour, a
three-master from Marseilles. The
question was, would there be nightcaps
enough? Were there twelve
thousand of them—a cotton nightcap
for everybody? There was a rush to
the water side; in an instant a flotilla
of boats, crowded almost to sinking,
covered the lake, and it was a hot
race out to the roads. At the Goulette
there was fouling, and four or five
boats were capsized; but as there are
but four feet of water in the lake of
Tunis, nobody was drowned. They
cleared the narrow passage, and approached
the good ship <em>Notre Dame de
la Garde</em>, whose captain was upon deck
expecting their arrival. Through his
telescope he had beheld the embarkation,
the race, the accidents—everything
in short. In less than ten minutes
three hundred boats surrounded his
vessel, and twelve thousand throats
vociferated, “Cotton nightcaps! cotton
nightcaps!” The captain signed
with his hand for silence, and the
noisy mob were mute as mice.</p>

<p class='c009'>“You want cotton nightcaps?”
said he.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes! yes! yes!” was the reply
on every side.</p>

<p class='c009'>“All very well,” said the captain;
“but you are aware, gentlemen, that
cotton nightcaps are just now in great
request. My letters from Europe
advise a rise in the article.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“We know that,” said the same
voices—“we know that, and ve vill
make a sacrifice.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Listen to me,” said the captain;
“I am an honest man.”</p>

<p class='c009'>The Jews trembled. The captain’s
words were their invariable exordium
when about to rob a Christian.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I will not take advantage of your
position to impose upon you.”</p>

<p class='c009'>The Jews turned pale.</p>

<p class='c009'>“The cotton nightcaps cost me two
francs apiece, one with the other.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Vell, it ish not too dear,” muttered
the Jews in their beards.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I will be satisfied with a hundred
per cent profit,” continued the captain.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Hosannah!” cried the Jews.</p>

<p class='c009'>“At four francs apiece, cotton nightcaps!”
said the captain, and twelve
thousand hands were extended. “Order!”
he continued; “come up on the
larboard side, and go down on the
starboard.” Every Jew crossed the
vessel in turn, carried away a nightcap,
and left four francs. The captain’s
receipts were forty-eight thousand
francs, whereof thirty-six thousand
were clear profit. The twelve
thousand Jews returned to Tunis,
every man plus a cotton nightcap, and
minus four francs.</p>

<p class='c009'>The next day the captain presented
himself at the palace of the Bey, at
whose feet he prostrated himself, and
kissed his papooshes.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well?” said the Bey.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Your highness,” said the captain,
“I come to thank you.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“You are satisfied?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Delighted.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“And you prefer Turkish justice to
French justice?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“There is no comparison between
them.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“This is not all,” said the Bey.
And, turning to his secretary, he bade
him take his pen and write at his
dictation. The writing was a second
decree, forbidding the Jews, under
pain of death, to appear in the streets
of Tunis with cotton nightcaps on
their heads, and granting them twenty-four
hours to dispose of their recent
purchases as advantageously as possible.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Do you understand?” said the
Bey to the captain.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh, highness!” cried the Marseillese
in an ecstasy of delight, “you
are the greatest of all Beys, past,
present, and to come.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Return to your vessel, and wait.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Half an hour later, the trumpets
sounded in the streets of Tunis, and
the town’s-people thronged to the unusual
summons. Amongst the listeners
the Jews were easily recognised
by their triumphant air, and by their
cotton nightcaps cocked over one ear.
The decree was read in a loud and
intelligible voice. The Jews’ first
impulse was to throw their nightcaps
into the fire. On reflection, however,
the head of the synagogue saw that
twenty-four hours were allowed to
get rid of the proscribed articles. The
Jew is essentially a calculating animal.
The Jews of Tunis calculated
that it was better to lose one half, or
even three quarters, than to lose the
whole. Having twenty-four hours to
turn in, they began by driving a bargain
with the boatmen, who on the
previous occasion had abused their
haste, and overcharged them. Two
hours later, the French ship was again
surrounded by boats.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Captain! captain!” cried twelve
thousand voices. “Cotton nightcaps
to shell! cotton nightcaps to
shell!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Pooh!” said the captain.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Captain, itsh a bargain; captain,
you shall have them sheap.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I have received a letter from
Europe,” said the captain.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Vell! vell!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“It advises a great fall in cotton
nightcaps.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Captain, ve vill looshe upon
them.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“So be it,” said the captain. “I
can only give you half price.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Ve vill take it.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I bought them at two francs.
Let those who will give them for one
come on board by the starboard gangway,
and depart by the larboard.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh, captain!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“It’s to take or to leave, as you
like.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Captain.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“All hands to make sail!” shouted
the captain.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Vat are you doing, captain? vat
are you doing?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Lifting my anchor, to be sure.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Ah now, captain, can’t you shay
two francs?”</p>

<p class='c009'>The captain continued to give
orders for sailing.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Vell, captain, ve must shay thirty
sous.”</p>

<p class='c009'>The mainsail expanded its folds,
and the capstan began to creak.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Captain, captain! ve vill take
your franc!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Stop,” cried the captain.</p>

<p class='c009'>One by one the Jews ascended the
starboard side and descended to larboard,
leaving their cotton nightcaps,
and receiving a franc apiece. For a
miserable three francs they had twice
saved their heads: it was not dear.
As to the captain, he had got back
his goods, and made a clear profit of
thirty-six thousand francs. As he
was a man who knew how to behave,
he put eighteen thousand francs in his
boat, went ashore, and presented himself
before the Bey, at whose feet he
again prostrated himself, and whose
papooshes he once more kissed.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I come to present my humble
thanks to your highness.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Are you satisfied?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Overjoyed.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Do you consider the indemnity
sufficient?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Too much. And I come to offer
your highness half my net profit of
thirty-six thousand francs.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Nonsense!” said the Bey. “Have
you forgotten that I promised you
Turkish justice?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I perfectly remember.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, Turkish justice is done
gratis.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“<em>Tron de l’air!</em>” cried the captain:
“in France a judge would not have
been contented with half; he would
have taken at least three quarters.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“You mistake,” said the Bey; “he
would have taken the whole.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Aha!” exclaimed the captain, “I
see you know France as well as I do.”</p>

<p class='c009'>And once more he went down into
the dust to kiss the Bey’s papooshes,
but the Bey gave him his hand. The
captain returned to his ship, and a
quarter of an hour later he left the
African coast under press of sail. He
feared lest the Bey might change his
mind.</p>

<p class='c009'>Their brief experience of the nightcap
convinced the Tunisian Jews of
its superiority to the yellow caps and
black turbans with which they were
wont to cover their infidel heads; and
upon the death of the Bey they obtained
permission from his successor
to adopt the cotton covering, whose
wear previously entailed decapitation.
Such, at least, is the explanation given
by the ingenious M. Dumas of the
naturalisation of Paris nightcaps on
the Barbary coast.</p>

<p class='c009'>Incidentally, and rather as things
told him than of his own knowledge,
Mr Urquhart gives some brief details
of the celebrated French campaign
against Morocco, in which Marshal
Bugeaud won his dukedom, and Admiral
Joinville immortalised his name.
His account of the affair of Isly is contemptuous
enough, and will assuredly
entail upon him the indignation of
France, or at least of that portion of
Frenchmen who believe, or affect to
believe, that there was a battle and a
victory—not a surprise and a scamper,
unexpected by the assailed, and bloodless
to the assailants. “On the 14th
August,” says Mr Urquhart, “the
son of the sultan is awakened by an
alarm, ‘<em>The French army is in sight</em>.’
He tells his people the marshal is
coming to pay him a visit, before his
departure; and after giving orders for
a tent to be pitched, and coffee—which
he knew the French liked—to be
sought for and prepared, he again
assumed, to use the phraseology of
Antar, ‘the attitude of repose.’ He
is again awakened—‘<em>The French are
on us</em>’—and the French <em>were</em> on them—found
<em>the coffee ready</em>, and, instead
of drinking, spilt it. The loss of the
Moors was eight hundred men by
<em>suffocation</em>.” Compare this statement
with the reflection of Alexander
Dumas, on approaching the mountains
of Djema-r’ Azaouat. “Behind yonder
hills,” he fervently exclaims, “are
two great mementos, equal to Thermopylæ
and Marathon—the combat
of Sidi-Ibrahim, and the battle of
Isly.” Funny Mr Dumas! how gravely
he says these droll things. How many
persons, out of France, remember to
have heard of this modern Thermopylæ?
We seriously suggest to
Mr Dumas, whose indefatigable pen,
although more particularly devoted to
romance and the drama, occasionally
flies at history, to write that of the
conquest and colonisation of Algeria,
in which would naturally be included
the episode of the campaign against
the Moors. We are quite sure his
account of the battle of Isly will differ
widely from that of Mr Urquhart: as
widely as, or still more so than that of
Admiral Bruat, which was addressed
to the inhabitants of the Society
Islands, in a proclamation quoted as
a note to <cite>The Pillars of Hercules</cite>, and
which Mr Urquhart declares, with
much truth, to be highly deserving of
a place in history. M. Dumas seems
to us to be exactly cut out for the
historian of his countrymen’s African
exploits. The razzias and crop-burnings,
the bloody skirmishes of
Zouaves and Bedouins, the constant
pursuit and many narrow escapes of
the Emir, will acquire additionally
romantic interest from the picturesque
handling of the author of the <cite>Mousquetaires</cite>,
who declares, in the pages of <cite>Le
Véloce</cite>, that he is not only a soldier’s
son, but himself a soldier at heart.
With what glowing eloquence will he
refute the various charges brought
against his countrymen in Africa! “If
Abd-el-Kader,” says Mr Urquhart,
“had not been playing a game, at all
events a game was played in his person.
He was necessary to the French
military system of Algiers. He is
known to have been three times in
their hands, and to have been suffered
to escape.” This accusation has frequently
been brought against the
French generals in Africa. If such
collusion existed, it was not subscribed
to, according to M. Dumas,
by Colonel Montagnac, who commanded,
in the year 1845, the garrison
of Djema-r’ Azaouat, and who had
repeatedly sworn to take the Emir or
lose his life. One day an Arab presented
himself at the colonel’s quarters.
He came from the chief of the
neighbouring tribe of Souhalias, who
was, he said, more devoted than ever
to the French cause; and who sent
word that, if the garrison would make
a sortie, and place themselves in ambuscade
on the territory of his tribe,
he engaged to deliver Abd-el-Kader
into their hands. Confiding in the
Arab’s promise, Montagnac issued
forth at the head of four hundred and
eight men and twelve officers, including
sixty-five cavalry. But on the second
day he found he was betrayed, and
that the promised capture was but a
bait to lure him from his stronghold.
The little band retraced their steps, and
were within five leagues of Djema-r’
Azaouat, when they were menaced by
an overwhelming force of Arabs and
Kabyles; and in the distance the Emir
himself, his banner displayed at the
head of his regulars, was seen descending
the hills. Two companies of
French riflemen remained to guard the
baggage; and the others, with the
cavalry, advanced against the foe.
After a desperate struggle, the main
body was cut to pieces, or made prisoners;
and a company, advancing
from the bivouac to its support, was
surrounded and exterminated. Of
these combats, Mr Dumas gives a
minute account, introducing dramatic
dialogues between the men and officers,
and imparting to the whole scene
his usual vivid and animated colouring.
Thus, when the company from
the baggage-guard is marching up,
only sixty strong, to the assistance of
its comrades, and is suddenly surrounded,
we find the following graphic
account of its proceedings:—</p>

<p class='c009'>“The commanding officer had but
just time to order formation of square.
The manœuvre was executed under
the fire of ten thousand Arabs (!) as
it would have been in the Champ-de-Mars.
Of all these men, only one
showed signs of regret—none of fear.
This was a young rifleman, twenty
years old, named Ismaël.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘Oh, <em>commandant</em>!’ he exclaimed,
‘we are lost!’</p>

<p class='c009'>“The commandant smiled upon the
poor lad; he understood that at twenty
years of age he knew so little of life
that he had a right to regret it.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘How old are you?’ he asked of
the young soldier.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘One-and-twenty,’ was the reply.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘Well, you will have eighteen
years less to suffer than I have had;
look at me, and learn how to die with
firm heart and head erect.’</p>

<p class='c009'>“He had scarcely spoken, when a
bullet struck his forehead, and he
fell as he had promised to fall. Five
minutes later, Captain Burgaud had
likewise fallen.</p>

<p class='c009'>“‘Come, my friends,’ said the non-commissioned
adjutant Thomas, ‘one
step forward: let us die upon the
bodies of our officers.’</p>

<p class='c009'>“These were the last distinct words
that were heard; the death-rattle followed
them, then the silence of the
grave. In its turn, the second company
had disappeared. All that now
remained was the company under
Captain de Géreaux, left in charge of
the camp.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Mr Dumas’ habit of writing melodrama
renders him very effective in
this sort of romantic military chronicle,
which is pretty well received in
France, where people are used to the
style. It is compounded upon the
plan of all his historical romances and
romantic histories, with the sole difference
that, in these, he frequently
audaciously perverts historic truth;
whilst the African business is so recent
that he cannot venture to be
unfaithful to the outline, and confines
himself to filling up and extending
with his own fantastic details. Having
been on the spot, and one of the
first to welcome the few survivors of
the prisoners taken in the above
bloody affair, when they were ransomed
from the Arabs, he doubtless
picked up a number of the tales that
always circulate in such cases; and
these he has very cleverly amalgamated
and patched up into a consecutive
narrative—perhaps the most
amusing section of those two volumes
of <cite>Le Véloce</cite> which alone as yet have
reached us. His account of the fate
of the last company—the one that
stopped with the baggage—is the best
bit of all, although certainly very
French, and strongly impregnated
with that peculiar flavour of theatrical
fanfaronade which is inseparable from
the character of our vain and volatile
neighbours, which they cannot see,
and consequently are not likely to lose,
and which stirs the gall of prejudiced
and untravelled Englishmen, and
brings a smile to the lip of those who,
with greater justice and in a better
spirit, will not allow peculiarities of
tone and manner to blind them to the
good qualities of a gallant and ingenious
nation, whose soldiers, although
of late years they have more than
once been employed in wars and
expeditions unworthy of their prowess,
have never lost an opportunity of
proving that, in valour at least, they
are no way degenerate from their
fathers who fought under the banners
of Napoleon the Great. And although
one cannot but be amused at the
ambitious comparison with Thermopylæ,
the affair of Sidi-Ibrahim was
unquestionably most honourable to
the handful of brave fellows who
defended the Marabout of that name
against fifty times their number.
The term <em>Marabout</em> is applied, in
Africa, not only to a saint, but to the
small, round-roofed, stone edifice
which serves as his mausoleum after
death, and, not unfrequently, as his
habitation during life. In a building
of this description, after driving out
the Arabs that occupied it, and when
the cessation of the musketry warned
them that their comrades were slain
or prisoners, the last company of Colonel
Montagnac’s ill-fated detachment
took refuge, under the orders of its
captain, de Géreaux, and there withstood
the fierce and reiterated attacks
of a host of Arabs and Kabyles. Abd-el-Kader
himself approached the little
fortress, and was wounded in the cheek
by a French bullet. He offered quarter
on surrender: it was refused.
Thrice he summoned the handful of
beleaguered warriors, who spurned his
proposals, and would not trust themselves
to the word of an Arab. Then
the combat recommenced and lasted
till night, whose arrival found the
French still in possession of their post.
At daybreak, hostilities were resumed,
and continued till ten o’clock in the
forenoon, when Abd-el-Kader took his
departure, and the Arabs, whose loss
was very heavy, converted the siege
into a blockade. Night returned,
and Captain de Géreaux, who was
on the watch, saw an Arab creeping
stealthily towards the Marabout.
He awoke Dr Rosagutti,
the interpreter; they called to the
Arab, who came to them; they gave
him all the money they had about
them, and a letter to take to the
camp of Lalla Maghrnia. The Arab
was faithful; he delivered the letter;
but none knew the signature of Captain
de Géreaux; a stratagem was
suspected, and no relief was sent.
Hope of succour, however, buoyed up
the spirits of the besieged of Sidi-Ibrahim,
and they waited another
day, without bread or water, almost
without ammunition, their gaze fixed
in the direction of Lalla Maghrnia.
But the next morning at six o’clock,
despairing of relief, they resolved to
sally forth and cut their way to
Djema-r’Azaouat. There were four
leagues to get over, and thousands of
Arabs were echeloned along the route.
With desperate courage, the fifty-five
or sixty Frenchmen repulsed numerous
attacks, forming square when hard
pressed, receiving many wounds, marking
their track with corpses, but still,
by their steadiness and deadly fire,
keeping the undisciplined Arabs at
bay. Some five-and-twenty succeeded
in arriving within half a league of
Djema-r’Azaouat, but then their ammunition
was expended; the Arabs
pressed upon them, and a volley at
twenty paces stretched half their number,
including the brave de Géreaux,
lifeless in the dust. The remainder
dispersed, and sought concealment
and safety amongst the copsewood
and bushes. Three of them reached
the lines of Djema-r’Azaouat, told the
sad tale, and died, unwounded, of
mere exhaustion. A sortie was made,
and five or six men, who had escaped
the Kabyle sabres, were brought in.
Eight men were all that survived of
the gallant eighth battalion of the
Chasseurs of Orleans. The disaster,
however, was signally revenged. The
Arabs who had brought it about, by the
false message sent to Colonel Montagnac—the
tribe of the Beni-Snanen—were
cooped up by General Cavaignac
on a narrow projection of the coast, and
driven into the sea or put to the sword,
to the number of four or five thousand.
“The furious soldiers gave no quarter,”
adds M. Dumas, “and General
Cavaignac perilled his popularity with
the army by saving a remnant of this
unfortunate tribe. The trumpeter,
Roland, the only survivor of the massacre
of the m’Louïa, (when the prisoners
taken by Abd-el-Kader were
put to death in cold blood,) was in
this affair: he had a terrible revenge
to take, and he took it, and declared
himself satisfied, for he had slain with
his own hand more than thirty Arabs.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Great as is the press of more important
matter, and prolonged though
this paper has been by the extracts to
which the diverting Dumas has tempted
us, we yet cannot close it without
a glance at Mr Urquhart’s remarkable
chapter, entitled “<span class='sc'>The Bath</span>.” On
this subject his notions and prepossessions
are completely Oriental. His
residence in the East has given him a
distaste for the modes of washing
customary in Western Europe, and
which he styles “dabbling in dirty
water.” Nothing less than the running
stream can come up to his standard
of cleanliness. And as it is not
always practicable to have fountains
in dwelling-houses, he tells us how he
manages without one. “I find the
most convenient substitute a vase
holding about two gallons of water,
with a spout like that of a tea-urn,
only three times the length, placed on
a stand about four feet high, with a
tub below: hot or cold water can be
used; the water may be very hot, as
the stream that flows is small. It runs
for a quarter of an hour or twenty
minutes.” This is his plan in the
West, we understand; but when the
member for Stafford gets amongst
Mussulmans, oh, how he revels in the
shampoo! The gusto of his descriptions
positively makes us shudder. The
bathman, we are told, “stands with
his feet on the thighs and on the
chest, and slips down the ribs; then
up again three times; and, lastly,
doubling your arms one after the
other on the chest, pushes with both
hands down, beginning at the elbow,
and then putting an arm under the
back and applying his chest to your
crossed elbows, <em>rolls on you across till
you crack</em>. You are now turned on
your face, and, in addition to the
operation above described, he works
his elbow round the edges of your
shoulder-blade, and with the heel
plies hard the angle of the neck; he
concludes by hauling the body half up
by each arm successively, while he
stands with one foot on the opposite
thigh. You are then raised for a
moment to a sitting posture, and a
contortion given to the small of the
back, and a jerk to the neck by the two
hands holding the temples.” This has
rather a dislocating, formidable, and
certainly a most disgusting sound; but
Mr Urquhart assures us the process
is delightful, and particularly gentle
compared with the mode of operation
in a Moorish bath, where, practised
bather though he is, he shrieked under
the rough usage of his manipulator.
The conclusion of this latter bath he
describes as follows:—“Thrice taking
each leg and lifting it up, he placed
his head under the calf, and raising
himself, scraped the leg as with a rough
brush, <em>for his shaved head had the grain
downwards. The operation concluded
by his biting my heel.</em>” We should
like to see any human being, whether
Turk, Pagan, Jew, or Christian, attempt
such revolting liberties with our
person. By the bones of Belshazzar!
we would brain him with the bath-brush.
The member for Stafford
should be ashamed of himself. He
positively makes us scunner. We
have a firm and wholesome faith in
the efficacy and cleanliness of a British
spunging-bath and rough towel; we
repel with abhorrence Mr Urquhart’s
manipulatory innovations, and feel
intense disgust at the Mahometan
kneading, pummelling, trampling,
sweating, soaping, and scraping,
which he dwells upon with such nauseous
minuteness, and whose results
he describes as so wonderfully salubrious
and delightful. We really
hesitate at transferring to our page
any more of his nasty details. We
venture, however, to present him to
our readers in the character of Marsyas,
undergoing the flaying process
which, it appears, forms an essential
stage of the Turkish bathing operation.
With a glove of camel’s hair, the
bathman “commences from the nape
of the neck in long sweeps down the
back till he has started the skin; <em>he
coaxes it into rolls</em>, keeping them in
and up, till within his hand they
gather volume and length; he then
successively strikes and brushes them
away, and they fall right and left as if
spilt from a dish of macaroni. The
dead matter which will accumulate in
a week forms, when dry, <em>a ball of the
size of the fist. I once collected it and
had it dried—it is like a ball of chalk.</em>”
Well may the honourable gentleman
declare the human body “a fountain
of impurities,” when he can back the
assertion by such a startling statement
of the weekly amount of his own
cuticular incrustations. No wonder
he commiserates the condition of the
unwashed portion of his countrymen,
and urges the establishment of public
baths on a scale more magnificent than
practicable. Cleanliness is so nearly
a virtue, that all deserve well of their
country who efficaciously promote its
spread amongst classes by whom it is
too often neglected. But the carrying
out of such plans must devolve
upon philanthropists of a more practical
stamp than this fantastical theorist
and crotchety M.P. It were ridiculous
to suppose that all the advantages
would be realised which he predicts,
from the adoption in this country
of a universal system of bathing; but
so manifold and enormous are they,
that, if only a tithe of them were
guaranteed, it would suffice to make
us sigh for the days when in London
there should be “no gin palaces, but
a thousand baths!”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>GOLDSMITH.<br> PART II.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>From the character of the man, we
turn to the character of the author—from
the life to the works of Goldsmith.
What we said of the well-known
events of his career would apply
equally to his writings; it would
be a tedious and superfluous office to
pass in formal review performances so
familiar, and which appear to be as
justly appreciated as they are widely
circulated. All that we propose doing,
is to add a few miscellaneous observations,
hints, and fragments of
criticism, which may be interesting to
those who like to examine also, as
well as to admire. For these we
could find no space in our previous
Number: we throw them together
here in the best order their miscellaneous
nature permits.</p>

<p class='c009'>In the <cite>Citizen of the World</cite>, Goldsmith
tells us of a man who earned
his livelihood by making wonders—curiosities
of nature or of art—and
exhibiting them to the world. “His
first essay in this way was to exhibit
himself as a wax-work figure, behind
a glass door at a puppet-show. Thus,
keeping the spectators at a proper
distance, and having his head adorned
with a copper crown, he looked extremely
natural, and very like the
life itself.” This would be no bad
illustration of what his critics have
often pointed out as Goldsmith’s own
proceeding, in the manufacture of his
literary wonders and curiosities.
When he wanted a fictitious character
for his novel, or his play, he sate
himself down behind the glass door,
with some copper crown, or other
slight disguise upon his head, and
all the world confessed that it “looked
extremely natural, and very like the
life itself!”</p>

<p class='c009'>His Good-natured Man, in the
comedy of that name; Young Marlow
in <em>She Stoops to Conquer</em>, the Philosopher
Vagabond, the Man in Black, and
others that could be named, are all
Goldsmith sitting behind the glass
door. There is a strong personal resemblance
in all his characters; they
are portraits of himself, drawn with
the features widened into broad
humour, or elongated into saturnine
wisdom. His Beau Tibbs seems to
have been created by looking at, and
magnifying, some of his own foibles;
his Dr Primrose, by drawing forth
those grave and kindly feelings,
which, notwithstanding those foibles,
lay, he knew, at the bottom of his
heart.</p>

<p class='c009'>The incidents of his life, too, supplied
very often the plot or story; and
memory took the place of invention.
Yet, in this respect, considering the
varied and adventurous nature of
his life, we are rather surprised that
he did not draw more copiously from
himself, and from his past history.
We should have thought that the
curious scenes he must have witnessed
in that wild journey of his—footing
it through Europe, now as
medical student, now as itinerant musician,
at one time playing the tutor
(he the tutor!) to some junior scapegrace;
at another, furbishing up all
the Latin and logic he was master of,
to dispute at Padua for bed and supper—would
have supplied him with
many an incident for a novel. We
are persuaded, that if he had lived in
these days, when the value of an incident
is better known, and it is more
the fashion than it was formerly to
put to literary profit the experience
and events of private life, he would
have made much greater use than he
has done of such materials.</p>

<p class='c009'>But it is not only thus that we
trace the life of Goldsmith in his
writings. We trace the influence of
his career in the formation of his intellectual
character. Travel had
stood with him in the place of philosophy.
It had enlarged his sphere
of thought, had broken up national
prejudices, and given him an insight
into many a matter which otherwise
would never have attracted his
attention. But travel is far more
effective in dispersing error or prejudice,
than in lending assistance to
the formation of settled opinions. It
confirmed him in a desultory mode of
thinking, uncertain and undecided.
His horizon was extended, but his
vision was not distinct. Yet as
Goldsmith was never devoted to the
discipline of philosophy, and would
never, perhaps, have pursued any
systematic study, he was, upon the
whole, a great gainer by his varied
vagrant life, and the cosmopolitan
temper it had generated. A philosopher
he never would have been: it
was something to feel as a citizen of
the world.</p>

<p class='c009'>Goldsmith was of a quick apprehensive
intellect, open to receive impressions,
with ready faculty to give them
forth again; but to continuous
thought, to close and prolonged examination
of any subject, he was by no
means addicted. With him the philosophers
were more talked of than
read. Abstract thinking and severe
reasoning were not his vocation. It
thus happens that the solitary observation,
simply asserted, is often excellent,
and carries with it our cordial
assent. He only discovers his weakness
when he undertakes to convince
us by his reasoning. On those occasions
when he puts forth a thesis, and
solemnly begins to demonstrate it, his
thesis may be good, but it will stand
none the firmer for his argument.</p>

<p class='c009'>Let us give an instance of this from
the <cite>Vicar of Wakefield</cite>. Nothing could
be more just, or more happily expressed,
than the opening observation
we are about to quote. The reasoning
which follows, and is intended to
support it, is as weak and fantastical
as, on so beaten a subject, it well
could be.</p>

<p class='c010'>“And it were highly to be wished,”
says the Vicar, “that legislative power
would thus direct the law rather to reformation
than severity; that it would seem
convinced that the work of eradicating
crimes is not by making punishment familiar,
but formidable. Then instead of
our present prisons, which find or make
men guilty, which enclose wretches for the
commission of one crime, and return
them, if returned alive, fitted for the perpetration
of thousands—we should see, as
in other parts of Europe, places of penitence
and solitude, where the accused
might be attended by such as could give
them repentance, if guilty, or new motives
to virtue, if innocent. And this, but not
the increasing punishment, is the way to
mend a state.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Now, if the good Vicar had stopped
here, he would have expressed a truth
much needed at the time, in a simplicity
and elegance of language which
could not be improved. But the Vicar
enters into abstract reasoning to prove
his thesis, grows argumentative, and,
at the same time, grows weak.</p>

<p class='c010'>“Nor can I,” he continues, “avoid
even questioning the validity of that right
which social combinations have assumed
of capitally punishing offences of a slight
nature. In cases of murder their right is
obvious, as it is the duty of us all, from
the law of self-defence, to cut off that
man who has shown a disregard for the
life of another. Against such all nature
rises in arms; but it is not so against him
who steals my property. Natural law
gives me no right to take away his life, as
by that the horse he steals is as much his
property as mine. If, then, I have any
right, it must be from a compact made
between us, that he who deprives the
other of his horse shall die. <em>But this is
a false compact; because no man has a
right to barter his life any more than to
take it away, as it is not his own. And,
besides, the compact is inadequate, and
could be set aside even in a court of modern
equity, as there is a great penalty for a
trifling inconvenience, since it is far better
that two men should live than that one man
should ride.</em> But a compact that is false
between two men is equally so between a
hundred and a hundred thousand; for as ten
millions of circles can never make a square,
so the united voice of myriads cannot
lend the smallest foundation to falsehood.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Logic such as this, even if set forth
in Latin, would hardly have earned him
his supper and his bed in the University
of Padua.</p>

<p class='c009'>We are told that at Dublin University
Goldsmith manifested great repugnance
to the study of mathematics.
The conduct towards him of the mathematical
tutor did not tend to diminish
this aversion. In one of his miscellaneous
essays, he thus revenges himself
on the science and on its professors:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“A youth incapable of retaining one
rule of grammar, or of acquiring the least
knowledge of the classics, may nevertheless
make great progress in mathematics;
<em>nay, he may have a strong genius for the
mathematics without being able to comprehend
a demonstration of Euclid</em>; because
his mind conceives in a peculiar manner,
and is so intent upon contemplating the
object in one particular point of view,
that it cannot perceive it in any other.
We have known an instance of a boy who,
while his master complained that he had
not capacity to comprehend the properties
of a right-angled triangle, had actually,
in private, by the power of his genius,
<em>formed a mathematical system of his own</em>;
discovered a series of curious theorems,
and even applied his deductions to practical
machines of surprising construction.”—<cite>Essay
on Taste.</cite></p>

<p class='c007'>But although Goldsmith could commit
the most surprising blunders when
he invades the region of abstract or
severe reasoning, yet the credit must
be given to him of <em>thinking for himself</em>.
With undisciplined powers, and
but slenderly equipped for the task,
we still see him engaging in the solution
of social and political problems.
He does not merely repeat from books
the ideas of others; nor is he a
thoughtless spectator of the world.
One subject especially our homeless
wanderer, who had looked up at society
from the last round of the ladder,
is frequently observed to be canvassing.
His opinions on it are far from
settled; his conclusions are often diametrically
opposed; his reasonings
never very clear; but he is, at all
events, seen from time to time pondering
it with great interest. It is
the subject of luxury—the gratifications
and pleasures of the wealthy in
a state of civilisation. The rule admits
of exceptions; but, in general,
he condemns luxury in his poetry,
and defends it in his prose. In neither
case is he very successful in his reasonings.
When he assails, he appears
to be under the influence of a mere
sentiment; when he defends it, he
seems to be dealing with a half-learned
philosophy, and such as is
generally understood to be rather a
native of France than of England.</p>

<p class='c010'>“Examine,” says the <cite>Citizen of the
World</cite>, “the history of any country remarkable
for opulence and wisdom, you
will find that they would never have
been wise had they not been first luxurious:
you will find poets, philosophers,
and even patriots, marching in luxury’s
train. The reason is obvious. <em>We then
only are curious in knowledge, when we
find it connected with sensual happiness.</em>
The senses ever point out the way, and
reflection comments upon the discovery.
Inform a native of the desert of Kobi of
the exact measure of the parallax of the
moon, he finds no satisfaction at all in
the information; he wonders how any
could take such pains, and lay out such
treasures, in order to solve so useless a
difficulty; but connect it with his happiness
by showing that it improves navigation—that
by such an investigation he
may have a warmer coat, a better gun, or
a finer knife, and he is instantly in raptures
at so great an improvement. In
short, we only desire to know when we
desire to possess; and, whatever we may
talk against it, luxury adds the spur to
curiosity, and gives us a desire of becoming
more wise.”—Letter XI.</p>

<p class='c007'>Not true, Dr Goldsmith!—only a
mere fragment of the truth; and your
astronomical illustration singularly
unfortunate. For the science of astronomy
has been all along a labour of
love—from the time when Chaldæan
shepherds, quite heedless of navigation,
watched the stars, and marked
out the planet (the <em>wanderer</em>) amongst
the fixed and stationary lights, to these
our own days, when the profound
<em>mathematician</em>, calculating, in the
midst of revolutionary Paris, his disturbances
on the remote boundaries of
our planetary system, writes to the
skilful <em>observer</em>, and bids him direct
his great tube to a certain spot in the
heavens, and he will find a new <em>wanderer</em>
there, as yet unseen and unsuspected.
The observer points his
telescope as he is told, and discovers
it that very night, in that very spot.</p>

<p class='c009'>Still less will his reasoning hold
together, or prove “refutation-tight,”
when, as in the <cite>Deserted Village</cite>, he
finds that the wealth of our merchants
has occasioned the desertion of the
country, and the depopulation of the
land. “In regretting,” he says, in
the preface to that poem, “the depopulation
of the land, I inveigh against
the increase of our luxuries.” Happily
no one, in reading that poem,
thinks of the political economy of the
<cite>Deserted Village</cite>. Happily, also, there
is often a greater truth in the poet’s
general enunciations, than he himself
is able to explain, or accurately to
develop. The reader may adopt his
language, and apply it to a more correct
conception than was present to
the author’s mind. The very paragraph
which might be quoted for its
manifest blunder in the rudiments of
political science, opens with these
admirable lines, which every one, in
a sense of his own, will readily
adopt:—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey</div>
      <div class='line'>The rich man’s joys increase, the poor’s decay,</div>
      <div class='line'>’Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand</div>
      <div class='line'>Between a splendid and a happy land.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>What follows will not easily bear a
wise interpretation. Goldsmith speaks
of commerce as if ships came in laden
with nothing but gold—with “loads
of freighted ore”—and finds that this
imported wealth converts the ploughed
fields into parks and pleasure-grounds.
The writer of a history of England
might have called to mind the Forest
Laws, and the wide tracts of country
kept waste, and, in some cases, <em>laid
waste</em> by our rude ancestors, for their
rude sports.</p>

<p class='c009'>There is amongst the essays of
Goldsmith a tale or allegory, which
our readers may remember to have
read in their youth, in some Speaker,
or collection of Elegant Extracts.
We are quite sure they have no acquaintance
with it of a later date.
This tale we will venture to revive.
It belongs to so old-fashioned a species
of literature, that it must needs be a
novelty. We would quote it as an
instance illustrative of the remarks
we have made on the intellectual
character of Goldsmith. It is wrong—argumentatively
and logically wrong—yet
no man would say that he was
a mere repeater of other men’s words,
who wrote <em>Asem, an Eastern Tale; or
a Vindication of the Wisdom of Providence
in the moral government of the
World</em>. No one can read it without
being prompted to think, which is
good proof that the author thought
when he wrote it—though he did not
think very accurately.</p>

<p class='c009'>In the time of Goldsmith, the
fashion was not extinct of seeing
moral visions, and dreaming sagacious
dreams. Wisdom delighted to
speak in allegory. There were still
to be found in those days, here and
there, retired hermits, with long
beards, hiding in solitary caves, and
living on the simplest herbs—cold water
and a salad; and there were still
lingering on the earth genii, or other
stupendous and supernatural beings,
who occasionally visited these favoured
mortals, teaching them surpassing
wisdom, and illustrating their lessons
in the most marvellous manner. Asem
was such a hermit. Yet, all hermit
and Mussulman as he was, he bears
a strong resemblance to the Goldsmith
family. “From the tenderness
of his disposition, he exhausted all
his fortune in relieving the wants of
the distressed.” Having reduced
himself to want, he is shocked to find
that one who comes to beg, is not so
welcome as when he came to give.
Accordingly, he turns with wrath
from an ungrateful world.</p>

<p class='c010'>“He began to view mankind in a very
different light from that in which he had
before beheld them; he perceived a thousand
vices he had never before suspected
to exist; wherever he turned, ingratitude,
dissimulation, and treachery contributed
to increase his detestation of them.
Resolved, therefore, to continue no longer
in a world which he hated, and which
repaid his detestation with contempt, he
retired to a region of sterility, in order to
brood over his resentment in solitude, and
converse with the only honest heart he
knew—namely, his own.”</p>

<p class='c007'>But the contemplation of this only
honest heart was not sufficient consolation
for that prospect of a wicked
world which perpetually haunted him,
and which filled him with doubts on
the wisdom or the beneficence of
Allah. He finally resolved on suicide.
He was about to plunge into
the lake, when—</p>

<p class='c010'>“He perceived a most majestic being
walking on the surface of the water,
and approaching the bank on which he
stood!</p>

<p class='c011'>“‘Son of Adam!’ cried the Genius,
‘stop thy rash purpose: the Father of
the Faithful has seen thy justice, thy
integrity, thy miseries, and hath sent me
to afford and administer relief. Give me
thine hand, and follow without trembling
wherever I shall lead. In me behold
the Genius of Conviction, kept by
the Great Prophet, to turn from their
errors those who go astray, not from curiosity,
but a rectitude of intention. Follow
me, and be wise!’”</p>

<p class='c007'>Such an invitation, and from so
imposing a personage, was not to be
declined. The Genius of Conviction
conducts Asem along the surface, and
to the centre of the lake: here the
waters open, and close on them; they
descend into another world, where
human foot had never trod before.</p>

<p class='c010'>“‘The rational inhabitants of this
world,’ the Genius tells him, ‘are formed
agreeably to your own ideas; they are
absolutely without vice. If you find this
world more agreeable than that you so
lately left, you have free permission to
spend the remainder of your days in it.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“‘A world without vice! Rational
beings without immorality!’ cried Asem
in a rapture. ‘I thank thee, Allah!—thou
hast at length heard my petitions:
this—this, indeed, will produce happiness,
ecstasy, and ease. Oh for an immortality
to spend it among men who
are incapable of ingratitude, injustice,
fraud, violence, and a thousand other
crimes that render society miserable!’</p>

<p class='c011'>“‘Cease thine exclamations!’ replied
the Genius. ‘Look around thee.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“They soon gained the utmost verge
of the forest, and entered the country inhabited
by men without vice; and Asem
anticipated in idea the rational delight
he hoped to experience in such an innocent
society. But they had scarcely left
the confines of the wood, when they beheld
one of the inhabitants flying with
hasty steps, and terror in his countenance,
from an army of squirrels that
closely pursued him. ‘Heavens!’ cried
Asem, ‘why does he fly? What can he
fear from animals so contemptible?’ He
had scarcely spoken, when he perceived
two dogs pursuing another of the human
species, who, with equal terror and haste,
attempted to avoid them. ‘This,’ cried
Asem to his guide, ‘is truly surprising;
nor can I conceive the reason for so
strange an action.’—‘Every species of
animals,’ replied the Genius, ‘has of late
grown very powerful in this country; for
the inhabitants, at first, thinking it unjust
to use either fraud or force in destroying
them, they have insensibly increased, and
now frequently ravage their harmless
frontiers.’ ‘But they should have been
destroyed!’ cried Asem: ‘you see the
consequence of such neglect.’—‘Where is
then that tenderness you so lately expressed
for subordinate animals?’ replied
the Genius, smiling; ‘you seem to have
forgot that branch of justice.’ ‘I must
acknowledge my mistake,’ returned
Asem. ‘I am now convinced that we
must be guilty of tyranny and injustice
to the brute creation, if we would enjoy
the world ourselves. But let us no
longer observe the duty of man to these
irrational creatures, but survey their connexions
with one another.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“As they walked farther up the country,
the more he was surprised to see no
vestiges of handsome houses, no cities,
nor any mark of elegant design. His
conductor, perceiving his surprise, observed,
that the inhabitants of this new
world were perfectly content with their
ancient simplicity; each had a house,
which, though homely, was sufficient to
lodge his little family; they were too
good to build houses, which would only
increase their own pride and the envy of
the spectator; what they built was for
convenience, and not for show. ‘At least,
then,’ said Asem, ‘they have neither
architects, painters, nor statuaries in
their society; but these are idle arts, and
may be spared. However, before I spend
much more time here, you should have
my thanks for introducing me into the
society of some of their wisest men: there
is scarcely any pleasure to me equal to a
refined conversation; there is nothing of
which I am so much enamoured as wisdom.’—‘Wisdom!’
replied his instructor;
‘how ridiculous! We have no wisdom
here, for we have no occasion for it: true
wisdom is only a knowledge of our own
duty, and the duty of others to us; but of
what use is such wisdom here? Each
intuitively performs what is right in itself,
and expects the same from others. If by
wisdom you should mean vain curiosity
and empty speculation, as such pleasures
have their origin in vanity, luxury, or
avarice, we are too good to pursue them.’
‘All this may be right,’ said Asem,
‘but I think I observe a solitary disposition
prevail among the people; each
family keeps separately within their own
precincts, without society, or without intercourse.’—‘That,
indeed, is true,’ replied
the other; ‘here is no established society,
nor should there be any: all societies are
made either through fear or friendship;
the people we are among are too good to
fear each other; and there are no motives
to private friendship, where all are
equally meritorious.’ ‘Well, then,’ said
the sceptic, ‘if I am to spend my time
here—if I am to have neither the polite
arts, nor wisdom, nor friendship in such
a world, I should be glad, at least, of an
easy companion, who may tell me his
thoughts, and to whom I may communicate
mine.’—‘And to what purpose should
either do this?’ says the Genius. ‘Flattery
or curiosity are vicious motives, and never
allowed of here; and wisdom is out of
the question.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“‘Still, however,’ said Asem, ‘the inhabitants
must be happy; each is contented
with his own possessions, nor avariciously
endeavours to heap up more than
is necessary for his own subsistence; each
has, therefore, leisure for pitying those
that stand in need of his compassion.’
He had scarcely spoken when his ears
were assaulted by the lamentations of a
wretch who sat by the way-side, and, in
the most deplorable distress, seemed
gently to murmur at his own misery.
Asem immediately ran to his relief, and
found him in the last stage of a consumption.
‘Strange,’ cried the son of
Adam, ‘that men who are free from vice
should thus suffer so much misery without
relief!’—‘Be not surprised,’ said the
wretch who was dying; ‘would it not be
the utmost injustice for beings who have
only just sufficient to support themselves,
and are content with a bare subsistence,
to take it from their own mouths to put
it into mine? They never are possessed
of a single meal more than is necessary;
and what is barely necessary cannot be
dispensed with.’ ‘They should have been
supplied with more than is necessary,’
cried Asem. ‘And yet I contradict my
own opinion but a moment before: all is
doubt, perplexity, and confusion.’”</p>

<p class='c007'>After some other attempts to find
happiness in this world without vice,
Asem exclaims—“Take me, O my
Genius! back to that very world I
have despised!” And hereupon the
triumphant Genius, “assuming an air
of terrible complacency, called all his
thunders around him, and vanished in
a whirlwind.” Asem found himself
at the very place, and (with such
rapidity had these scenes passed in
review) almost at the very instant of
time, in which the Genius had at first
accosted him. “His right foot was
still advanced to take the fatal plunge,
nor had it been yet withdrawn.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Who would dare to contend with
the <cite>Genius of Conviction</cite>?—who venture
to prescribe laws of reasoning to
so majestic a being,—one who walks
upon the waters, calls his thunders
about him, and has a whole subterranean
world wherewith to demonstrate
his theory of morals? Nevertheless,
if we were quite sure that the Genius
were out of hearing, we should be
disposed to question whether he had
ever framed an accurate definition of
virtue. If, in a virtuous world, men
must be chased by squirrels, and devoured
by dogs, live in penury, and let
their neighbours starve, either we, or
the Genius of Conviction, have been
in error all this time as to what virtue
really <em>is</em>.</p>

<p class='c009'>As a critic, it is confessed on all
hands that Goldsmith lamentably
failed. As a politician, he had this
honourable peculiarity, that his speculations
had very little reference to the
party feuds of the day. He had contracted,
probably from his Continental
travels, a bias in favour of monarchical
power. He seems to have embraced
the opinion which Burke combated
in his <cite>Thoughts on the Present
Discontents</cite>; namely, that the houses
of parliament, or the aristocracy
through their influence in these houses,
were dangerously encroaching on the
royal prerogative. At least this is the
best explanation we can give of the
expressions that he, from time to
time, throws out upon this subject.</p>

<p class='c009'>The only grudge we owe his politics
is, that they occasioned the introduction
of the weakest and most confused
passage in his noble poem of
<cite>The Traveller</cite>. When discoursing upon
foreign countries—on Holland, France,
or Italy—he naturally and wisely restricts
himself to certain general characteristics
of the people and of their
governments—general views which
admit of vigorous and poetic enunciation,
and are not likely to raise cavil
or controversy. But when he lands
upon his native country, these home
politics beset him, and he gets entangled
in a train of thought but half made
out, of too controversial a character,
and which does not easily lend itself
to the harmony of verse, and the simple
force of poetic expression.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms,</div>
      <div class='line'>Except when fast approaching danger warms:</div>
      <div class='line'>But when contending chiefs blockade the throne,</div>
      <div class='line'>Contracting regal power to stretch their own;</div>
      <div class='line'>When I behold a factious band agree</div>
      <div class='line'>To call it freedom, when themselves are free;</div>
      <div class='line'>Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw,</div>
      <div class='line'>Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law;</div>
      <div class='line'>The wealth of climes where savage nations roam,</div>
      <div class='line'>Pillaged from slaves to purchase slaves at home;</div>
      <div class='line'>Fear, pity, justice, indignation start,</div>
      <div class='line'>Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart;</div>
      <div class='line'><em>Till half a patriot, half a coward grown,</em></div>
      <div class='line'><em>I fly from petty tyrants to the throne</em>.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>Yet the whole passage must be forgiven
for the sake of the two last lines.
Of these the second is repeatedly
quoted; but there is much significance
and extreme felicity of expression in
the preceding line—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“——half a patriot, half a coward grown.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>It is a pity they should be so often
separated.</p>

<p class='c009'>Having mentioned <cite>The Traveller</cite>,
let us turn at once to this and to its
exquisite companion—the two poems
which give to Goldsmith his secure
and eminent position in the literature
of England. Our few detached criticisms
on these old favourites shall
not, at all events, be wearisome by
their length. His comedies we design
to leave untouched; they cannot be
criticised without some review, however
rapid, of the literature of the
stage, and for this we have at present
neither space nor inclination. A glance
at <cite>The Citizen of the World</cite> and <cite>The
Vicar of Wakefield</cite> will bring our subject
to its conclusion.</p>

<p class='c009'>Every one remembers the anecdote
connected with the first line of <cite>The
Traveller</cite>—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>Mr Irving shall relate it for us.</p>

<p class='c010'>“The appearance of <cite>The Traveller</cite> at
once altered Goldsmith’s intellectual
standing in the estimation of society; but
its effect upon the club, if we may judge
from the account given by Hawkins, was
almost ludicrous. They were lost in astonishment
that a ‘newspaper essayist,’
and a ‘bookseller’s drudge,’ should have
written such a poem. On the evening of
its announcement, Goldsmith had gone
away early, after ‘rattling away as
usual;’ and they knew not how to reconcile
his heedless garrulity with the serene
beauty, the easy grace, the sound good
sense, and the occasional elevation of his
poetry. They could scarcely believe that
such magic numbers had flowed from a
man to whom in general, says Johnson,
‘it was with difficulty they could give a
hearing.’ ‘Well,’ exclaimed Chamier,
‘I do believe he wrote this poem himself;
and, let me tell you, that is believing
a great deal.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“At the next meeting of the club,
Chamier sounded the author a little about
his poem. ‘Mr Goldsmith,’ said he,
‘what do you mean by the last word in
the first line of your <cite>Traveller</cite>, “remote,
unfriended, melancholy, <em>slow</em>?” Do you
mean tardiness of locomotion?’—‘Yes,’
replied Goldsmith inconsiderately, being
probably flurried at the moment. ‘No,
sir,’ interposed his protecting friend
Johnson, ‘you did not mean tardiness of
locomotion; you meant that sluggishness
of mind which comes upon a man in solitude.’—‘Ah!’
exclaimed Goldsmith,
‘<em>that</em> was what I meant.’ Chamier immediately
believed that Johnson himself
had written the line, and a rumour became
prevalent that he was the author of
many of the finest passages.”</p>

<p class='c007'>With due deference to the great
critic, and to the author himself, he
<em>did</em> mean tardiness of movement; but
the epithet, joined as it is with others,
tells us also that this slowness of
motion was the result of heaviness of
heart, and indicative of a sad and
pensive spirit. It means all that Dr
Johnson said; but it means also, and
first of all, the slow pace of the solitary
poet. Goldsmith was more probably
“flurried at the moment,”
when he so readily adopted the interpretation
of Dr Johnson, than when
he gave his first natural answer. He
found the passage explained for him
so authoritatively, and so much to the
satisfaction of those present, that he
could not hesitate in accepting the
explanation. But had he taken time
and <em>courage</em> to reflect a moment, he
would have seen that there was no
discrepancy between his own answer
and what Dr Johnson had added.
Take away the image of the slow
moving poet, and you take away all
<em>picture</em> from the passage. The pensive
sadness is depicted in what Captain
Chamier calls, in seeming imitation
of the great man he is conversing
with, “tardiness of locomotion.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Remote—unfriended—melancholy—slow.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>Every word comes from the heart.
Many a time, without a doubt, had
our wandering poet, at a distance
from his country, walked by the side
of some foreign stream—alone—unfriended—with
nothing for his portion
upon earth but genius and poverty.</p>

<p class='c009'>“We cannot, for our part, see the
point of Captain Chamier’s question.
He might, with just as much reason,
have put the same query to Petrarch,
who opens one of his sonnets in a very
similar manner.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span lang="it">Solo e pensoso, i più deserti campi</span></div>
      <div class='line'><span lang="it">Vo misurando, a passi tardi e lenti.</span>”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>He would have found here also “tardiness
of locomotion,” and the languor
of the pensive man, united in the same
description.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Where’er I roam, whatever realms to see,</div>
      <div class='line'>My heart untravell’d fondly turns to thee;</div>
      <div class='line'>Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,</div>
      <div class='line'>And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>The same image is made use of in the
<cite>Citizen of the World</cite>. The reader may
like to contrast the prose with the
poetic version. “The farther I travel,”
says Lien Chi Altangi to his correspondent,
“I feel the pain of separation
with stronger force; those ties
that bind me to my native country
and you, are still unbroken. <em>By every
remove I only drag a greater length of
chain.</em>” We prefer the prose. Indeed
the metaphor is not so much to
our taste as that we should have
thought it worth using a second time,
and in the greater work. It suited
Lien Chi Altangi very well, and with
him it might have remained. It is
too cumbrous—too material. What
are we to do with this “lengthening
chain” which he “drags” along the
earth? and where, in imagination,
are we to fasten it? To his ankle?
It would make a felon of him. To
his waist? Ridiculous! But, you will
say, we are not to see the chain at all—only
to hear it clank a little in the
verse—only to have some dim idea of
lengthening ligature. Very good;
and thereupon we honestly respond—if,
whilst reading the line you feel no
irresistible tendency to look down
upon the ground for this chain—if you
do not see it at all, then to you the
metaphor is quite unobjectionable.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“And find no spot of all the world my own!”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>The natural feeling of the homeless,
unprovided wanderer, looking over a
great stretch of country. How finely
is it contrasted with the sentiment
which follows! No spot his own!
It is all his! He has taken sympathetic
possession of the whole.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendour crowned;</div>
      <div class='line'>Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round;</div>
      <div class='line'>Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale;</div>
      <div class='line'>Ye bending swains that dress the flowery vale—</div>
      <div class='line'>For me your tributary stores combine;</div>
      <div class='line'><em>Creation’s heir, the world, the world is mine!</em>”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>Having thus wrought himself into
proper mood for his philosophic purpose,
the poet commences his survey
of the several regions of the earth,
and nations of mankind. The train
of thought is, at starting, somewhat
perplexed, from the author being occupied
with two separate reflections,
which, until they are closely examined,
appear contradictory. We have them
in close juxtaposition in the following
lines:—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,</div>
      <div class='line'>To see the hoard of human bliss so small;</div>
      <div class='line'>And oft I wish amidst the scene to find</div>
      <div class='line'><em>Some spot to real happiness consigned</em>,</div>
      <div class='line'>Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest,</div>
      <div class='line'>May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.</div>
      <div class='line'>But where to find that happiest below—</div>
      <div class='line'>Who can direct, when <em>all pretend to know</em>?</div>
      <div class='line'>The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone</div>
      <div class='line'>Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own.”</div>
      <div class='line'>&#38;c., &#38;c.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>So far, then, from the hoard of happiness
being small, every country
proclaims itself to be specially and
pre-eminently blest. The philosophic
poet has no reason for his sorrow: he
wanted one happy spot, and he has
found every spot is happy—supremely
happy.</p>

<p class='c009'>But the apparent incongruity vanishes
on a closer examination. Each
nation boasts its pre-eminence over
other nations; but man nowhere boasts
much of being man. Every people is
proud and self-congratulatory whilst
it compares itself with other people;
but its pride and gratulation are only
sustained by this comparison. Every
congregation of men who merely contemplate
themselves as with the earth
beneath them, and the sky above, are
heard to fill the air with lamentations
and discontent. So that the philosopher,
notwithstanding these several
vaunts of every nation, civilised and
savage, may still search, if he thinks
fit, for the spot “to happiness consigned.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Our poet seems to find an equal
proportion of good and evil in every
clime, people, and government. Sometimes
he is guilty of a little overcharge
in this or that particular, in
order to keep the balance even. Only
thus can we account for the very severe
language with which he takes leave of
Holland. He had found the people of
that country so very comfortable that
it was absolutely necessary to abuse
them as—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“A land of tyrants and a den of slaves,”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>or the due proportion of evil would
not have been preserved.</p>

<p class='c009'>It is observable, and characteristic
of the age in which Goldsmith wrote,
that, beautiful as are his descriptions
of the several countries of Europe,
there is very little in them which betrays
that he himself had ever visited
those countries. There are few of
those picturesque circumstances which
the eye of an observer detects, and
which the memory, or the note-book,
preserves. Unfortunately, it was the
habit of the day to trust more to the
knowledge acquired from books than
to the eyesight: <em>learning</em> had not
lost that undue influence which it naturally
acquired at the restoration of
letters; poets chose rather to describe
what had been described before, and
adhere to traditional feelings and
classical models, than to consult their
own experience. The descriptions of
scenery in <cite>The Traveller</cite> are so general,
and consist of broad outlines so well
known to all educated men, that they
might have been written in Green
Arbour Court, by one who had lived
there all his life. Switzerland itself
does not provoke him to quit the
beaten track of broad generalities.
He even describes what he did <em>not</em> see,
because it harmonises with the ideas
obtained from books. Thus,—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>—“The bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread,</div>
      <div class='line'>And force a churlish soil for scanty bread;</div>
      <div class='line'>No produce <em>here</em> the barren hills afford,</div>
      <div class='line'>But man and steel, the soldier and his sword.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>Switzerland has been long celebrated
for the mercenary troops she
supplied to foreign courts; but there
is no country where less is seen of the
soldier and his sword; nor can
“scanty bread” be said to be the lot
of those who cultivate its soil.</p>

<p class='c009'>While our eye is on this part of
the poem, can we possibly resist quoting
the following half-a-dozen lines?
They are perfect:—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>—“Those ills that round his mansion rise</div>
      <div class='line'>Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.</div>
      <div class='line'>Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,</div>
      <div class='line'>And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;</div>
      <div class='line'>And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,</div>
      <div class='line'>Clings close and closer to the mother’s breast—</div>
      <div class='line'>So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind’s roar,</div>
      <div class='line'>But bind him to his native mountains more.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>Perhaps the happiest of all these
national portraits is that of France.
He sympathised with the French; his
pen is often employed in defending
them from absurd attacks, and combating
the prejudices of the John Bull
of his day. The concluding lines are
peculiarly happy: there is a refinement
of analysis expressed in the
most graceful diction.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>—“Honour</div>
      <div class='line'>Here passes current; paid from hand to hand,</div>
      <div class='line'>It shifts in splendid traffic through the land;</div>
      <div class='line'>From courts to camps, to cottages it strays,</div>
      <div class='line'>And all are taught an avarice of praise;</div>
      <div class='line'>They please, are pleased; <em>they give to get esteem</em>,</div>
      <div class='line'>Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>His praise of England we must not
appear so deficient in patriotism as to
quarrel with. But just as one is
curious to know where an artist stood
who has taken some captivating sketch
of an old familiar spot, which never
appeared to us so very charming before—so
one might feel a little curious
to discover where it was, in town or
country, that Goldsmith took his stand
when he saw—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“The lords of human race pass by;</div>
      <div class='line'>Intent on high design—a thoughtful band.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>Was it on London Bridge or at Temple
Bar that he read the marks of “high
design” in the “thoughtful band”
that we were rushing past him like  a
mill-stream? Or was he far off in the
country, and did the squire and his
tenantry sit for the picture?</p>

<p class='c009'>We already find in <cite>The Traveller</cite>
that strange hallucination which
seems to have haunted him, and which
he more fully expressed in the subsequent
poem of <cite>The Deserted Village</cite>—that
England was being depopulated!
What could have conducted
him to a conclusion so utterly at variance
with the fact, it is useless to
inquire. It was his crotchet. He
had probably seen decay in some
places, and took no calculation of the
more than proportionate increase of
others. For Goldsmith did not limit
himself to the mistaken notion, which
many had expressed, that the towns
were growing large at the expense of
the country, but entertained—what to
us must seem the strangest of paradoxes—entertained
the conviction
that the population of the whole country
was wasting away.</p>

<p class='c009'>Happily, as we have already remarked,
no one thinks of the theory
of depopulation, or over-population,
or any other theory of political economy,
whilst reading <cite>The Deserted
Village</cite>. We have all learned to love
“Sweet Auburn” long before any
idea connected with so crabbed and
distressful a subject entered our minds.
Indeed the village, with all its accessories,
is brought with such distinctness
before us, that even the decay of
Auburn itself, is not the most prominent
impression which the poem produces.
The deserted Auburn is made
to live again so vividly in the imagination,
that the desolation in which it
lies only occurs occasionally to the
mind, throwing a feeling of sadness
and melancholy over the picture. For
ourselves, we can well remember that
when we first became acquainted with
the village of Auburn, we always
thought of it—notwithstanding the
use of the past tense—as somewhere
still existing. It existed, at all events,
very palpably in the imagination.</p>

<p class='c009'>The scene is English: it is, in the
main, a description of an English village;
but because the poet has also
drawn materials from the recollections
of his early home, some of his critics
have been resolved to place Auburn
in Ireland, and to identify what is
clearly an ideal picture with the definite
locality of Lissoy. On this
ground they have even proceeded to
convict him of an error for introducing
the nightingale in one of his descriptions,
there being no such bird in Ireland.</p>

<p class='c009'>This line, in which the nightingale
is introduced, we should venture to
quarrel with on quite another ground.
Here is the passage. No one will
object to read it again, though he has
read it fifty or twice fifty times.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Sweet was the sound when oft, at evening’s close,</div>
      <div class='line'>Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;</div>
      <div class='line'>There as I passed with careless steps and slow,</div>
      <div class='line'>The mingling notes came soften’d from below:</div>
      <div class='line'>The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung,</div>
      <div class='line'>The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;</div>
      <div class='line'>The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool,</div>
      <div class='line'>The playful children just let loose from school;</div>
      <div class='line'>The watch-dog’s voice, that bayed the whispering wind;</div>
      <div class='line'>And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;</div>
      <div class='line'><em>These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,</em></div>
      <div class='line'><em>And fill’d each pause the nightingale had made</em>.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>Have not our readers already felt
how much better the description would
have been if the last couplet had been
omitted? This nightingale takes us
by surprise. We thought we were
listening to the sounds of the distant
village, and find that we have been
attending to the song of the nightingale,
and that these had only filled up
the pauses of her song. What had
been the chief and prominent subject
is suddenly reduced to this subordinate
part. But, what is more to the purpose,
the description becomes unfaithful,
and ceases to reflect a real experience,
when this nightingale is introduced.
If that shy bird were heard
singing while the milkmaid and the
schoolboy were still audible, there
would be no pleasing, but a very displeasing
effect produced by the
mingling of sounds of so very different
a nature. They would by no means
harmonise. We should listen with
pleasure to the milkmaid and to the
distant schoolboy, (he must be very
distant,) and we should listen with
pleasure to the nightingale, but with
very little pleasure to all these at
once.</p>

<p class='c009'>Goldsmith was a genuine lover of
nature; but nevertheless he had not
quite escaped that taste of the day
which often led to the sacrifice of the
truthfulness of a picture to what was
deemed the perfection of the verse.
He too can sometimes desert the
<em>sense</em> for the <em>sound</em>. And this word
<em>sound</em> reminds us of rather an amusing
instance where he introduces some
geographical names for no earthly
reason except the array of sonorous
syllables they present. “Farewell,”
he exclaims to poetry,—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Farewell, and oh! where’er thy voice be tried,</div>
      <div class='line'><em>On Torno’s cliffs, or Pambamarca’s side</em>.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>Had we been in Captain Chamier’s
place at the club, and wished to puzzle
our friend Goldsmith, we should have
asked him why he sent the muse to
Pambamarca? and where, indeed,
Pambamarca lay? We suspect that
Goldsmith must have answered, that
he knew nothing about it, except that
it was a great way off, and sounded
very majestically.</p>

<p class='c009'>There is one instance where the poet
has introduced a reminiscence from
Ireland, which we do not recollect to
have seen noticed. In the inimitable
description of the village schoolmaster,
he says,—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,</div>
      <div class='line'>And e’en the story ran—<em>that he could gauge</em>.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>Now the rustics of an English village
were not at all likely to select this accomplishment
of gauging as one to
bestow upon their prodigy of learning.
We were tempted to explain this
choice in the poet by the necessity of
rhyme, which too often has manifestly
determined him in the selection of his
epithets, till it occurred to us that his
mind had been travelling back to the
<em>Irish</em> village, where the illicit still may
have brought even to the ragged
urchins of the place some rumours of
the science of the exciseman.</p>

<p class='c009'>In the whole range of English heroic
verse, there is nothing more beautiful
or more complete than the description
of the village pastor,—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>——“The man to all the country dear,</div>
      <div class='line'>And passing rich with forty pounds a-year.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c017'>Indeed, of the entire poem, it may be
deliberately said, that it has more
tenderness and pathos, gives more of
picture to the eye, and of feeling to
the heart, than any other in the language
which is written in the same
verse or metre. The polished couplets
of Pope are nowhere else seen
united with so much of the genuine
essence of poetry. How perfect, in
every way, are such lines as these,—</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“But in his duty prompt at every call,</div>
      <div class='line'>He watched and wept, he pray’d and felt for all;</div>
      <div class='line'>And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,</div>
      <div class='line'>To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,</div>
      <div class='line'>He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,</div>
      <div class='line'>Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>One more remark, one other brief
quotation, and we quit this most fascinating
poem, which nestles deeper
in the English heart than perhaps any
other. What a bland, gentle, loving
humour it is which occasionally steals
over the picture of <cite>The Deserted Village</cite>,
giving here and there charming
touches, as of gay sunshine breaking
out upon the several points of a shaded
landscape, yet never disturbing the
sweet serenity and sadness of the
whole. Never did humour wear so
gentle an aspect. We go from the
pastor’s house, and the pastor himself,
to the village inn, and there is no
abruptness in the transition. What
a quiet, observant, tolerant humour it
is that sees those—“broken tea-cups,
<em>wisely kept for show</em>.” What else
could they serve for? And they may
still do to be looked at.</p>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“Vain transitory splendours! could not all</div>
      <div class='line'>Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall?</div>
      <div class='line'>Observe it sinks, nor shall it more impart</div>
      <div class='line'><em>An hour’s importance to the poor man’s heart</em>.</div>
      <div class='line'>Thither no more the peasant shall repair,</div>
      <div class='line'>To sweet oblivion of his daily care;</div>
      <div class='line'>No more the farmer’s news, the barber’s tale,</div>
      <div class='line'>No more the woodman’s ballad shall prevail;</div>
      <div class='line'>No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,</div>
      <div class='line'><em>Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear</em>.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>But why continue the quotation, when
half our readers could complete it from
their own memory?</p>

<p class='c009'>We proposed to ourselves a glance
at <cite>The Citizen of the World</cite> and <cite>The
Vicar of Wakefield</cite>. It can only be a
glance.</p>

<p class='c009'>Is this really the same—we are
tempted to ask ourselves—is this
really the same <cite>Citizen of the World</cite>
that, on our first introduction to the
acquaintance of books, we read,
amongst the <cite>British Essayist</cite>, with so
grave attention, and so implicit a
faith? Yes, it is the same; for here
is the Man in Black, and here is the
unmistakeable Beau Tibbs. Can we
possibly forget the invitation to dinner—on
the first floor down the chimney—something
elegant, a turbot or
an ortolan, which finally resolves itself
into “a nice little piece of ox-cheek,
piping hot, which Mrs Tibbs shall
dress herself with that sauce the Duke
dotes upon,”—and which dinner, if his
hungry guest will but wait, shall be
“ready in at least two hours.” Yes,
here is Beau Tibbs as full of life as
ever. But the Chinese philosopher—he
is gone;—there is left of <em>him</em>, or of
China, nothing but his name, and the
suspicious name of his correspondent,
“Fum, the son of Fo.” Instead
thereof, we have Oliver Goldsmith
writing his series of clever <cite>Idlers</cite>
and <cite>Spectators</cite>.</p>

<p class='c009'>Pity this Chinaman ever made his
appearance. All the humour and satire
of the piece might have been preserved,
if some simple Englishman,
some Parson Adams or Dr Primrose,
had been the writer of the letters; and
we should have been spared the constant
incongruity of a Chinese who is
not only a palpable European, but a
European of the literary class. So
completely versed is this Chinese philosopher
in the feuds and vexations of
critics and authors, that we must suppose
him commissioned by the Grub
Street of Pekin, to inquire into the
condition of distressed poets and discontented
playwrights amongst the
“outer barbarians.” We should have
been spared also those episodes, or
adventures, which <em>his</em> Eastern correspondents
detail to him, and which,
indeed, are neither European nor
Eastern, but very tedious stories.</p>

<p class='c009'>In vain does the Chinaman assume
the prejudices of his country: he may
amuse us; but he cannot even get a
momentary credit for the outlandish
taste he affects. He cannot disparage
the beauty of Englishwomen, without
insinuating his praise of them. There
is as much flattery as abuse, when he
says:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“I shall never forget the beauties of
my native city of Nanfew. How very
broad their faces! how very short their
noses! how very little their eyes! how
very thin their lips! how very black their
teeth. Here a lady with such perfections
would be frightful: Dutch and Chinese
beauties, indeed, have some resemblance,
but Englishwomen are entirely different;
red cheeks, big eyes, and teeth of a most
odious whiteness, are not only seen here,
but wished for; and then they have such
masculine feet, as actually serve some for
walking.”</p>

<p class='c007'>That which constitutes the greatest
charm of the work is the subdued and
chastened satire one occasionally
meets with. Not a rude and boisterous,
a cutting or malicious satire, but
such as requires to be read with some
attention before the full force of its
sly inuendos, and of slight circumstances
mentioned as if in passing, is
fully perceived. Take the following
instance, and note how the effect is
heightened by a number of little details,
thrown in as if by accident.</p>

<p class='c010'>“A few days ago, passing by one of
their prisons, I could not avoid stopping
in order to listen to a dialogue which I
thought might afford me some entertainment.
The conversation was carried on
between a debtor through the grate of
his prison, a porter who had stopped to
rest his burden, and a soldier at the
window. The subject was upon a threatened
invasion from France, and each
seemed extremely anxious to rescue his
country from the impending danger.
‘For my part,’ cries the prisoner, ‘the
greatest of my apprehension is for our
freedom: if the French should conquer,
what would become of English liberty?
My dear friends, liberty is the Englishman’s
prerogative; we must preserve
that at the expense of our lives: of that
the French shall never deprive us; it is
not to be expected that men who are
slaves themselves, would preserve our
freedom should they happen to conquer.’
‘Ay, slaves,’ cries the porter; ‘they are
all slaves, fit only to carry burdens, every
one of them. Before I would stoop to
slavery, may this be my poison, (and he
held the goblet in his hand,) may this be
my poison—but I would sooner list for
a soldier.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“The soldier, taking the goblet from
his friend, with much awe fervently cried
out, ‘It is not so much our liberties as
our religion that would suffer by such a
change: ay, our religion, my lads. May
the devil sink me into flames (such was
the solemnity of his adjuration) if the
French should come over, but our religion
would be utterly undone.’ So saying,
instead of a libation, he applied the goblet
to his lips, and confirmed his sentiments
with a ceremony of the most persevering
devotion.”</p>

<p class='c007'>There are some works so simple in
their structure, and so highly popular,
that on both grounds they defy criticism.
Their faults lie so open and
undisguised, that the critic who would
pertinaciously insist upon them, would
get neither credit nor thanks for his
pains. In this category is <cite>The Vicar
of Wakefield</cite>. To expose its improbabilities
of plot or character would
be an easy and most ungracious task.
We love the good Vicar, and he shall
be allowed to tell his tale to the end
of time just as he pleases. To be
sure, this odd notion he entertains,
that a clergyman ought by all means
to marry once, and by no means more
than once, is very like a monomania.
He is so staunch a <em>monogamist</em>, as he
calls it, as to be resolved on convincing
his old friend and fellow-clergyman,
Mr Wilmot, who has been married
three times. But this, and all
the wonderful things which the
Thornhills, nephew and uncle, contrive
to do, who cares to cavil at?
The genuine feelings of human nature
are portrayed in the novel,—kind,
homely, unpretending feelings which
all can sympathise with—and when
the attention is once fixed by this
species of truth, a thousand improbabilities
may pass without challenge.
It is always thus. The writer of fiction,
whether it be fable or romance,
and whether he deal with man or
monster, or spirit of the air, has
always found that if he can present a
faithful reflexion of the human heart,
he may give almost any conceivable
license to the imagination.</p>

<p class='c009'>What most struck us on a late
perusal of <cite>The Vicar of Wakefield</cite>, was
the very low level, in point of refinement,
on which all the female characters
are placed. The love and the
courtship are of the rudest sort,
without the least trace of sentiment
or the poetry of the passion.  Mrs
Primrose, notwithstanding the excellence
of her gooseberry wine, and the
liberality with which she dispenses it,
is, we are sorry to say, decidedly a
vulgar personage. That her learning
and accomplishments were those
which we should now assign to the
housekeeper, rather than to the wife
of a wealthy vicar, (for such is Dr
Primrose when we are first introduced
to him,) is no part of our objection;
this the difference of times and systems
of education may sufficiently explain.
Mrs Primrose is vulgar <em>at the
heart</em>. She lacks those feelings of
refinement which sometimes grow up
spontaneously even in the peasant’s
hut.</p>

<p class='c009'>Recall to mind the manner in which
she receives back her unfortunate
daughter Olivia. Let it be remembered
that she had been practising her
petty blundering artifices, her most
visible palpable manœuvres, to catch
the rich young squire. It was her
plot, her scheme for elevating the
family; in which scheme her daughter
was of course to co-operate. Yet
this is her speech upon the occasion.
It is true human nature, but it is human
nature of a very vulgar description.
“Ah, Madam,” cried her mother,
“this is but a poor place you are come
to after so much finery. My daughter
Sophy and I can afford but little entertainment
to persons who have kept
company only with people of distinction.
Yes, Miss Livy, your poor
father and I have suffered very much
of late; but I hope Heaven will forgive
you.”</p>

<p class='c009'>This Olivia herself is not made interesting
to us by any one trait in her
character. Her beauty, and the cruel
treatment she meets with from her
coarse and brazen seducer, is all she
has to depend upon for any claim to
our sympathy. Affliction has its worst
effect upon her, the effect it has on the
selfish and unrefined. “Every tender
epithet bestowed on her sister brought
a pang to her heart, and a tear to her
eye; and as one vice, when cured,
ever plants others where it has been,
so her former guilt, though driven out
by repentance, left jealousy and envy
behind.” It is just as well we do not
get more intimate with the female part
of the family, for it is evident that in
proportion as we knew them better,
we should like them less.</p>

<p class='c009'>Had the life of Goldsmith brought
him acquainted with no higher specimens
of the sex? Had his fair cousin
Jane, the daughter of good Uncle
Contarine, with whom he used to
practise music, and talk poetry, left
with him no more refined impression
of female society than we see reflected
in <cite>The Vicar of Wakefield</cite>? Or,
must we understand his portraits as
fair specimens of the women of his
time? Or, shall we seek a third explanation
in the want of refinement in
the literature of that period? We
suspect the last has much to do with
it.</p>

<p class='c009'>Here we must bring to a conclusion
our necessarily detached and desultory
criticisms on the works of Goldsmith.
As a <em>prose</em> writer, it would be in vain
for any too partial biographer or critic
to elevate him to the rank of those who
guide or confirm opinion, and teach us
to reason and to judge. But how
many a familiar truth has he clothed
in clear and graceful diction! How
often, too, the isolated observation,
thrown out as if by happy chance,
stimulates the mind to reflection!
What a master he is of <em>form</em>—of the
pleasing art which moulds the style!
But his two principal <em>poems</em> are the
works which raise him to the rank of
<em>the immortals</em>. We can easily understand
that many ardent admirers of
our contemporaneous poetry—replete
as it is with the philosophic speculations
of the age, its subtle and ambitious
thinking—may be disposed to
look down with an air of condescension,
and a sort of gentle disdain, upon
the poetry of Goldsmith. But time
passes on, and brings new modes of
philosophising; the subtleties of one
age do not always charm the next;
and it may happen that much which
is now held in highest repute, as the
most <em>poetical</em> of poetry, shall have
grown dim and obsolete, whilst
mothers shall be still teaching to their
children, and old men still repeating
to themselves, the descriptions of <cite>The
Traveller</cite> and of <cite>The Deserted Village</cite>.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>TO BURNS’S “HIGHLAND MARY.”</h2>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in20'>I.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>O loved by him whom Scotland loves,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Long loved, and honoured duly</div>
      <div class='line'>By all who love the bard who sang</div>
      <div class='line in2'>So sweetly and so truly!</div>
      <div class='line'>In cultured dales his song prevails,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Thrills o’er the eagle’s aëry,—</div>
      <div class='line'>Ah! who that strain has caught, nor sighed</div>
      <div class='line in2'>For Burns’s “Highland Mary?”</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>II.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>I wandered on from hill to hill,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>I feared nor wind nor weather;</div>
      <div class='line'>For Burns beside me trode the moor,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Beside me pressed the heather.</div>
      <div class='line'>I read his verse—his life—alas!</div>
      <div class='line in2'>O’er that dark shades extended:—</div>
      <div class='line'>With thee at last, and him in thee,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>My thoughts their wanderings ended.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>III.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>His golden hours of youth were thine—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Those hours whose flight is fleetest;</div>
      <div class='line'>Of all his songs to thee he gave</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The freshest and the sweetest.</div>
      <div class='line'>Ere ripe the fruit, one branch he brake,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>All rich with bloom and blossom;</div>
      <div class='line'>And shook its dews, its incense shook,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Above thy brow and bosom.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>IV.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>And when his Spring, alas, how soon!</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Had been by care subverted,</div>
      <div class='line'>His Summer, like a god repulsed,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Had from his gates departed;</div>
      <div class='line'>Beneath the evening star, once more,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Star of his morn and even!</div>
      <div class='line'>To thee his suppliant hands he spread,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And hailed his love “in heaven.”</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>V.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>And if his spirit in “a waste</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Of shame” too oft was squandered,</div>
      <div class='line'>And if too oft his feet ill-starred</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In ways erroneous wandered;</div>
      <div class='line'>Yet still his spirit’s spirit bathed</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In purity eternal;</div>
      <div class='line'>And all fair things through thee retained</div>
      <div class='line in2'>For him their aspect vernal.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>VI.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Nor less that tenderness remained</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Thy favouring love implanted;</div>
      <div class='line'>Compunctious pity, yearnings vague</div>
      <div class='line in2'>For love to earth not granted;</div>
      <div class='line'>Reserve with freedom, female grace</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Well matched with manly vigour,</div>
      <div class='line'>In songs where fancy twined her wreaths</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Round judgment’s stalwart rigour.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>VII.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>A mute but strong appeal was made</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To him by feeblest creatures;</div>
      <div class='line'>In his large heart had each a part</div>
      <div class='line in2'>That part had found in Nature’s.</div>
      <div class='line'>The wildered sheep, sagacious dog,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Old horse reduced and crazy,</div>
      <div class='line'>The field-mouse by the plough upturned,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And violated daisy.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>VIII.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>In him there burned that passionate glow,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>All Nature’s soul and savour,</div>
      <div class='line'>Which gives its hue to every flower,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To every fruit its flavour.</div>
      <div class='line'>Nor less the kindred power he felt,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>That love of all things human,</div>
      <div class='line'>Whereof the fiery centre is</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The love man bears to woman.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>IX.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>He sang the dignity of man,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Sang woman’s grace and goodness;</div>
      <div class='line'>Passed by the world’s half-truths, her lies</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Pierced through with lance-like shrewdness.</div>
      <div class='line'>Upon life’s broad highways he stood,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And aped nor Greek nor Roman;</div>
      <div class='line'>But snatched from heaven Promethean fire</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To glorify things common.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>X.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>He sang of youth, he sang of age,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Their joys, their griefs, their labours;</div>
      <div class='line'>Felt with, not for, the people; hailed</div>
      <div class='line in2'>All Scotland’s sons his neighbours:</div>
      <div class='line'>And therefore all repeat his verse—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Hot youth, or graybeard steady,</div>
      <div class='line'>The boat-man on Loch Etive’s wave,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The shepherd on Ben Ledi.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XI.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>He sang from love of song; his name</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Dunedin’s cliff resounded:—</div>
      <div class='line'>He left her, faithful to a fame</div>
      <div class='line in2'>On truth and nature founded.</div>
      <div class='line'>He sought true fame, not loud acclaim;</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Himself and Time he trusted:</div>
      <div class='line'>For laurels crackling in the flame</div>
      <div class='line in2'>His fine ear never lusted.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XII.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>He loved, and reason had to love.</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The illustrious land that bore him:</div>
      <div class='line'>Where’er he went, like heaven’s broad tent</div>
      <div class='line in2'>A star-bright Past hung o’er him.</div>
      <div class='line'>Each isle had fenced a saint recluse,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Each tower a hero dying;</div>
      <div class='line'>Down every mountain-gorge had rolled</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The flood of foemen flying.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XIII.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>From age to age that land had paid</div>
      <div class='line in2'>No alien throne submission,</div>
      <div class='line'>For feudal faith had been her Law,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And freedom her Tradition.</div>
      <div class='line'>Where frowned the rocks had Freedom smiled,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Sung, mid the shrill wind’s whistle—</div>
      <div class='line'>So England prized her garden Rose,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>But Scotland loved her Thistle.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XIV.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>The land thus pure from foreign foot,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Her growing powers thus centred</div>
      <div class='line'>Around her heart, with other lands</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The race historic entered.</div>
      <div class='line'>Her struggling dawn, convulsed or bright,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Worked on through storms and troubles,</div>
      <div class='line'>Whilst a heroic line of kings</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Strove with heroic nobles.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XV.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Fair field alone the brave demand,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And Scotland ne’er had lost it:</div>
      <div class='line'>And honest prove the hate and love</div>
      <div class='line in2'>To objects meet adjusted.</div>
      <div class='line'>Intelligible course was hers</div>
      <div class='line in2'>By safety tried or danger:</div>
      <div class='line'>The native was for native known—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The stranger known for stranger.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XVI.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Honour in her a sphere had found,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Nobility a station,</div>
      <div class='line'>The patriots’ thought the task it sought,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And virtue—toleration.</div>
      <div class='line'>Her will and way had ne’er been crossed</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In fatal contradiction;</div>
      <div class='line'>Nor loyalty to treason soured,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Nor faith abused with fiction.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XVII.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Can song be mute where hearts are sound?</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Weak doubts—away we fling them!</div>
      <div class='line'>The land that breeds great men, great deeds,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Should ne’er lack bards to sing them.</div>
      <div class='line'>That vigour, sense, and mutual truth</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Which baffled each invader,</div>
      <div class='line'>Shall fill her marts, and feed her arts,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>While peaceful olives shade her.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XVIII.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Honour to Scotland and to Burns!</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In him she stands collected.</div>
      <div class='line'>A thousand streams one river make—</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Thus Genius, heaven-directed,</div>
      <div class='line'>Conjoins all separate veins of power</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In one great soul-creation;</div>
      <div class='line'>And blends a million men to make</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The Poet of the nation.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XIX.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Honour to Burns! and her who first</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Let loose the abounding river</div>
      <div class='line'>Of music from the Poet’s heart,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Borne through all lands for ever!</div>
      <div class='line'>How much to her mankind has owed</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Of song’s selectest treasures!</div>
      <div class='line'>Unsweetened by her kiss, his lips</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Had sung far other measures.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XX.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Be green for aye, green bank and brae</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Around Montgomery’s Castle!</div>
      <div class='line'>Blow there, ye earliest flowers! and there,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Ye sweetest song-birds, nestle!</div>
      <div class='line'>For there was ta’en that last farewell</div>
      <div class='line in2'>In hope, indulged how blindly;</div>
      <div class='line'>And there was given that long last gaze</div>
      <div class='line in2'>“That dwelt” on him “sae kindly.”</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XXI.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>No word of thine recorded stands;</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Few words that hour were spoken:</div>
      <div class='line'>Two Bibles there were interchanged,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>And some slight love-gift broken.</div>
      <div class='line'>And there thy cold faint hands he pressed,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Thy head by dewdrops misted;</div>
      <div class='line'>And kisses, ill-resisted first,</div>
      <div class='line in2'>At last were unresisted.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
 <div class='line in20 c005'>XXII.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Ah cease!—she died. He too is dead.</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Of all her girlish graces</div>
      <div class='line'>Perhaps one nameless lock remains:</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The rest stern Time effaces—</div>
      <div class='line'>Dust lost in dust. Not so: a bloom</div>
      <div class='line in2'>Is hers that ne’er can wither;</div>
      <div class='line'>And in that lay which lives for aye</div>
      <div class='line in2'>The twain live on together.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>MY PENINSULAR MEDAL.<br> BY AN OLD PENINSULAR.<br> PART IV.—CHAPTER X.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>Next morning, I commenced my
regular attendance at the office; all
hands employed in counting money.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, Mr Y—,” said my commanding
officer, “I fear you find the
gentleman with whom you lodge rather
dull company.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Particularly lively, sir; never
met with a more pleasant person.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Thought he was rather morose,”
replied Mr Q—. “That’s the character
he bears amongst his acquaintance
here.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Quite cheerful and obliging, sir;
sings a good song. Yesterday he invited
a couple of friends to meet me
at dinner. Does all he can to make
me comfortable, even to his own
inconvenience. Last night, as we
were short of blankets, he forced me
to take his greatcoat, which he generally
puts upon his own bed. Offered,
as a favour, to sell it me, as I
am going up to the army. Only asks
ten dollars.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, yes; he’s always trying to
bargain. That’s what has got him
such a bad name here. Constantly
on the look-out to turn a penny.
Well, do you buy the pony?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, sir,” said I; “we settled
about that this morning at breakfast.
Shall have to trouble you for the needful,
as he would like to be paid in the
course of the day.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“In the course of the day? Oh,
very well. The cashier may as well
give it you at once. Stop; I’ll write
you an order. At the same time, I
feel it my duty to say this to you;
mind and take a receipt. How much
will you draw?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I suppose, sir, the usual allowance
granted by Government, eighty dollars.
That, he said, of course.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“What! Eighty dollars for that
beast of a pony? Why, Mr Y—,
one would think you had come out
direct from England! Saddle and
bridle in? Of course.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No, sir; we are to settle about the
saddle and bridle to-morrow. Said he
didn’t know what he <em>ought</em> to ask for
them.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Ought!—a rascal! He knows very
well, when you’ve got the pony, you
<em>must</em> have the saddle and bridle.
Don’t know of a saddle that would
suit Sancho, in all Passages. Well,
Mr Y—; I feel it my duty to say this
to you—it’s a regular take-in. Sixty
dollars I should call a high figure,
saddle and bridle included. If you
can sell at headquarters for forty,
you may think yourself well off.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Hadn’t I better go and pitch into
him, sir?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Pitch into him? Nonsense. That
won’t do here, Mr Y—. Besides, a
bargain’s a bargain, you know. If
you have said eighty, it must be
eighty. Have you looked out for a
fresh billet?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Didn’t know there was any occasion,
sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“You don’t expect to pass another
night in your present quarters, after
you have paid for Sancho? If you
complete the purchase this morning,
depend upon it, you’ll have to get other
accommodation before bed-time.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I’m rather at a loss how to proceed,
sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Why, let me see. I must consider.
Go and tell him—yes—go and tell
him, for that money you ought to
have saddle and bridle in. Tell him
so, from me. We must try and be a
match for this gentleman. Don’t
think it right that your uncle’s
nephew, the moment he joins, should
be pigeoned at this rate. Stop—tell
him, at the same time, you can’t
purchase till the day you’re off. Under
all the circumstances of the case,
I feel it my duty to say this to you;
till then, I shall keep the eighty dollars
in the military chest. While
you’re here, he may as well have the
bother of keeping Sancho as you.
And, besides, while the bargain’s open—don’t
you see?—you won’t be disturbed
in your quarters. If you lose
them, the place is so crowded, ten to
one I shall be forced to accommodate
you <em>myself</em>.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Charged with what promised to
prove an awkward negotiation, I
walked off to find my friend. Nothing
of the kind. He took it all with
the greatest good-humour; consented
with alacrity to throw in the saddle
and bridle; and as to the money,
why, if it wasn’t forthcoming at once,
he could wait till it was.</p>

<p class='c009'>Three hands of us, counting dollars
till dinner-time, did a good stroke of
work:—only that plaguy “small
mixed” was a serious addition to our
labours. Fancy a bag of small silver,
a thousand dollars in amount, shot
out before you on the table; a heap
of mingled coin, specimens of every
fraction of a dollar, that ever issued
in silver from the Spanish mint; the
whole lot to be sorted, counted, and
made right. A single bag took us
often two or three hours. As to
counting a bag of whole dollars, that
was a far easier job. Count ten; set
them on the table in a pile. Ten
such piles in a row make a hundred;
ten such rows in a square make one
thousand:—the bag is counted. Unluckily,
though, your last pile is sometimes
nine, or eleven, instead of ten.
Ah, you’re a greenhorn; you’ve counted
wrong. Then down goes your
nose to the edge of the table; your
eye glances over the summit of the
piles. Discover, if you can, a pile
higher or lower than the rest: the
error is then detected. Should you
fail, there’s no remedy: “Mr Snooks,
you had better count the whole
again.” Still wrong? then some
older hand is set to count. Can’t he
get it right? Why, then, the bag is
wrong. Set it on one side and count
another. Fingers sore, about the
third day. With the first day’s
counting they get a little black; on
the second, rough, and painful; third,
cracked, and begin to bleed. About
this time comes a thundering letter,
blowing up the whole department sky
high, for not having the money ready
to pay the troops. What your
fingers are, if the counting goes on a
day or two longer, especially with the
encouraging accompaniment of a rap
on the knuckles, I leave you to guess.
We had a military guard; four Germans,
one of them a corporal. The
man on duty as sentry walked up
and down in the passage, while the
other three sat over a small fire in an
adjoining room. They could sing in
parts—sang well. One of them
struck up, the others followed, the
sentry joined in as he paced the lobby.
Sometimes it was a national song,
sometimes a hymn. Nothing, in sacred
music, like those German hymns.
But then, take notice, you must have
German voices to do them justice.
The men of our guard were quiet,
sober, well-conducted fellows; always
willing to make themselves
useful; rendered us great assistance
in helping the carpenter to open and
close the boxes, and in lifting the
bags from the boxes to the table, and
<em>vice versâ</em>. Mr Q—, as an acknowledgment,
made a handsome addition
to their supper.</p>

<p class='c009'>Our dinner was strictly departmental,
very much to my taste; quite
a sort of family party. No one was
present save the gentlemen of our
own office at Passages. Mr Q—, I
rather suspect, wanted to give me
some idea of my duties, in the responsible
charge of conducting treasure to
headquarters through the enemy’s
country. Perhaps he thought a little
chat amongst ourselves would be the
best mode of instruction.</p>

<p class='c009'>Towards the close of the evening,
as we sat talking over departmental
matters, each with his tumbler before
him—hot,—our conversation was interrupted
by a tap at the door.
“Come in,” said Mr Q—.</p>

<p class='c009'>The door opened; and in the doorway
appeared one of our German
guard. With an earnest but somewhat
vacant look, and his hand spread
out upon his breast, he stood erect,
his appearance that of a man who
wants words, but is very anxious to
speak. At length he began: “<em>Mine
haarrt ist folle.</em>” Just at that moment
the corporal appeared behind, seized
the orator by the shoulders, and cut
short his harangue by spinning him
round into the passage, and closing
the door. “Oh, I see how it is,”
said Mr Q—. “The extra allowance
has got into his head. He wants to
return thanks for his supper; that’s
all.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Presently there was a scuffle outside.
Again the door opened; and again the
same individual made his appearance,
commencing as before, with pathos and
much gravity, “<em>Mine haarrt ist folle.</em>”
The corporal interposed once more;
but another scuffle ensued in the passage,
followed by a third visit, with
similar results.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Better get him to turn in,” said
Mr Q—; but that was more English
than the corporal understood. Recollecting
a few German words, I
contrived to make the command intelligible;
and partly by force, partly
by persuasion, our grateful friend was
stowed away for the night; still exclaiming,
from time to time, “<em>Mine
haarrt ist folle</em>,” and making strenuous
efforts to break away from his comrades,
come back, and finish his oration.
When all was quiet, I took my
leave for the night. The sound of my
footsteps caught his ear, and set him
off again. His voice grew louder as
my distance increased; and “<em>Mine
haarrt ist folle</em>” resounded in the street.
Next morning he came up to me,
looking very sheepish and compunctious;
and commenced a long discourse
in German, expressive of his
profound regret. This at his request
I interpreted, as far as able, to his
“Excellenz” the “Haupt.”</p>

<p class='c009'>At length arrived the day, the
important day, of my departure to
join the army. It was arranged that
the treasure should be conveyed up
the harbour in boats to the bridge of
Oyarzun, with a guard of soldiers.
At Oyarzun we were to sleep the first
night; and there, also, we were to
meet the rest of our escort, and the
mules intended to convey the money.
My friend and I had arranged it together,
that he was to bring Sancho
to the office in the course of the morning,
saddled and bridled. I was then
to pay the purchase-money, and the
pony would be mine. My friend was
punctual to his time; Sancho stood at
the door; and I applied to Mr Q— for
the eighty dollars.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh yes, of course,” said he; “may
as well give it you at once. Is the
pony at Oyarzun?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No, sir; he’s here, at the door.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Here at the door? Then how do
you mean to get him to Oyarzun?”
I had never thought of that.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Can’t he go with us, in one of the
boats, sir?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh yes, certainly; yes, yes. If
they were horse-boats, of course he
could. But as they are common
ship-boats, borrowed for the occasion
from the transports in harbour, how
will you get him in, and how will you
get him out? Not to mention that he
might take to kicking; and kick out
a plank from the bottom of the boat,
as you were pulling up the harbour.
In that case, the treasure would have
a short voyage, and you too.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Hadn’t I better mention it to my
friend, sir?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Why, yes; I think you had.
Stop; let me see. Suppose you request
him to step in. I’ll speak to
him myself.”</p>

<p class='c009'>I invited my friend into the office.
He entered smiling—rubbed his hands—looked
sleeky and resigned—evidently
thought he was going to realise.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, sir,” said Mr Q—, addressing
my friend, “this is an awkward
business about the pony. I don’t
see how the purchase can be
completed.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Completed, sir?” said my friend,
rather taken aback, and losing his
temper. “I thought it <em>was</em> completed,
all but paying the money.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Very true, sir,” said Mr Q—;
“but that, you know, makes all the
difference. The money is not paid;
and, more than that, it’s not issued.
And, sir, under all the circumstances
of the case, I feel it my duty to say
this to you; unless I see everything
straight, I don’t intend to issue it.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, sir,” said my friend, “I
conceive everything <em>is</em> straight, so far
as I am concerned. There stands the
pony, at the door.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, I know he does. But how
is he to be got to the head of the harbour?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Of course I supposed Mr Y—
would ride him, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No, no; that’s out of the question.
The treasure goes by water; and of
course, being in charge, Mr Y— must
go with it.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, sir,” replied my friend, “if
that’s all, my servant shall take the
pony.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh, very well, sir,” said Mr Q—,
“if you think you can trust your servant
to receive and bring back the
purchase-money.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No occasion for that, sir; I can
receive it here, sir, if you’ve no objection.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“None whatever, when I know that
the pony is delivered at Oyarzun.
Not before delivery, of course.”</p>

<p class='c009'>My friend was seized with a fit of
musing;—looked rather at a loss. At
length he found his tongue.</p>

<p class='c009'>“The long and the short of it is, I
think, sir, I had better ride the pony
to Oyarzun myself, and make the delivery
in person.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Very well, sir,” said Mr Q—.
“I think so too. Then, on receiving
the pony at Oyarzun, Mr Y— will pay
you the eighty dollars. Will you
favour us with your company? We
are just going to lunch.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Thank you, sir; much obliged.
Think I had better be off at once.
Mr Y— will not reach Oyarzun till
late; and it’s out of the question my
returning to Passages after dark,
especially on foot, and with a lot of
dollars.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh, certainly; and by such a
horrid, cut-throat, out-of-the-way
road, too. You’d certainly be robbed
and murdered; that is, if you get safe
there. Better secure a night’s lodging
at Oyarzun, if there’s one to be had,
sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, and come back to-morrow
by daylight. Well, the sooner I’m off
the better. Good morning, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Good morning, sir.” My friend
mounted Sancho at the door, and set
off forthwith to Oyarzun.</p>

<p class='c009'>Mr Q—, laughing heartily, then
handed me my route, made out in due
form.</p>

<p class='c009'>While I was making the necessary
arrangements for my start in the afternoon,
Mr Q— summoned me into his
private apartment. He had doffed
his blue frock with black velvet collar,
and now appeared in full fig,
departmental coat, epaulet on his
shoulder, staff-hat on the table. His
manner was serious, but friendly.</p>

<p class='c009'>“You are probably aware, Mr
Y—,” said he, “that the Allied army
is not likely to resume active operations
for some days.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“So I have understood, sir,” said I.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I presume, however, you are not
acquainted with the cause of this temporary
inactivity.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Can’t say I am, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“It is, I believe I may venture to
inform you, principally the want of
money. That deficiency your arrival
will supply. You will readily perceive,
then, how much depends on
your conducting the treasure safely,
and delivering it by the time when it is
looked for. Your route lies through the
enemy’s country; but the population
is now comparatively quiet; the date
of your departure is known at headquarters,
and, I have no doubt, every
requisite arrangement has been made
to secure the safety of your convoy.
All such arrangements, however, proceed,
and must proceed, on one supposition—namely,
that the officer in
charge is, on his part, competent to
the task committed to him, obeys his
orders, and does his duty properly.
You will readily perceive, then, that
some measure of responsibility rests
upon your own shoulders.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, sir; and, in the course of
the last few days, I have been thinking
on that subject more than once.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“All the better. Mr Y—, if you
had ever discharged this duty before,
I should now merely wish you a pleasant
journey, and send you off. But
this is your first expedition; it is one,
to speak candidly, of greater risk than
any that has hitherto fallen to our
department. The army is considerably
in advance in the French territory;
you have before you six or
seven days’ march upon French
ground; it will, of course, be discovered
that you carry money—there
is no concealing that; a convoy like
yours will naturally excite the cupidity
of partisans and marauders; from
St Jean de Luz to headquarters you
will not find a single officer of our
department to give you the benefit of
his experience; and, under all the
circumstances of the case, I feel it my
duty to say this to you—mind what
you are about; on no account separate
from your convoy; let nothing
induce you to deviate from the written
route; always reach the specified station
at the specified time; keep your
escort sober, if you can; keep your
muleteers in good-humour; keep your
mules well together on the line of
march; and, if you are asked questions,
don’t be lavish of information.
The French, Mr Y—, though an inquisitive
people, are not apt to interrogate
official persons out of mere
curiosity. If, therefore, any individual
should pester you with inquiries,
depend upon it he has a motive.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I suppose, sir,” said I, “in such
a case, it will be as well to return some
sort of a general reply, just to avoid
the appearance of mystery.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Exactly that,” said Mr Q—.
“When a gentleman makes an inquiry,
you are bound, by etiquette, to
give him a <em>reply</em>. Whether you give
him an <em>answer</em> is optional, and a matter
of discretion.</p>

<p class='c009'>“By the bye,” added Mr Q—, after
a pause, “I shouldn’t wonder if you
missed the pony, after all—no great
harm if you do. To be sure, you must
march on foot, the first day or two;
but you won’t mind that; and you
will have your eighty dollars. Put
twenty to them, and I shouldn’t wonder
if you pick up a very tolerable
mule, which will answer your purpose
far better. Then, if at headquarters
you wish to come out well mounted,
and choose to buy a horse, a mule,
you know, will always fetch its value.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I hope, sir,” said I, “we shall
have a good escort.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh, yes—the escort. That is
one of the subjects I wish to mention.
Well, Mr Y—, you must do the best
you can with them. Your escort consists
of twenty men; not, I am sorry
to say, twenty men of any one corps,
but twenty men of twenty different
regiments; men who have been in
hospital at Vittoria, sick or wounded—have
recovered, and are now on
their return to headquarters—not
exactly the guard I should have
wished to provide, but the best I
could get for you. The worst is, I
have seen the officer who is to command
them, and don’t like him at all.
Hope you will like him better than I
do. Hope he won’t give you trouble,
or prove incompetent. Should he
turn out not quite the person you
wish, or should your escort appear
insufficient, say nothing till you reach
St Jean de Luz, up to which point I
consider you as safe as if travelling in
England. Then wait upon old Colonel
B—, the commandant; state your
case to him; and he, I have no doubt,
will make the best arrangements in his
power, for the security of your subsequent
progress. Come, Mr Y—, after
dinner, we’ll see you into the boat.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Perhaps, sir,” said I, “you will
oblige me with a line to the commandant,
to be presented if the case
requires.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No need of that,” said he, “I
wrote to the Colonel yesterday, after
seeing the gentleman who goes with
you.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Before leaving the room, I very
heartily thanked my commanding
officer for all his good advice, forethought,
and kind attentions. We
then shook hands upon it, in the usual
English style; and I held by the
paw as worthy a little man as ever
trod shoe-leather, and as smart an
officer as ever drew rations.</p>

<p class='c009'>The dinner was again departmental,
and so was the talk. “It is the boast
of our department,” said Mr Q—,
“that, since we have served in the
Peninsula under our present commander-in-chief,
no treasure in our
keeping, not even a single mule’s load
of specie, has ever been captured by
the enemy. Recollect that, Mr Y—,
and keep up our character.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Didn’t we once lose a box of
papers, sir?” said one of my fellow-clerks.</p>

<p class='c009'>“We did,” said Mr Q—; “but, two
days after, it was recaptured, and all
the papers found right. That was on
the retreat, subsequent to the battle
of Talavera. I see nothing of the
boats,” he added, rising, and walking
to the balcony. “Hope they’ll be
here in time.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Get him to tell about that campaign,”
whispered the senior of my
fellow-clerks, winking to the junior.
“Did you ever hear him tell it, Mr
Y—?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I think, sir, in the course of that
campaign,” said the junior, addressing
Mr Q—, on his return to the table,
“the whole department together, chest
and all, had a narrow escape from
being captured.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Not exactly,” said Mr Q—, “because
we obeyed orders. Had we not,
we should have had no escape at all:
we must have been taken, every man
of us. The boats are not in sight, so
I’ll just tell you how it was. Gentlemen,
try this Madeira. We halted
one evening, after a weary march, in
a village. The rain was coming down
in torrents. We unloaded the treasure,
and housed it, glad enough to
get a little rest. Just at that moment,
Mr Y—, an order came to your
uncle, to load again, and be ready to
move on at a moment’s warning, but
not to stir till further notice. Well,
sir, we made ready again, with all
expedition; the night closed in; the
rain fell, heavier than ever; and an
anxious time we had of it. Parties
of stragglers, one after the other, came
hurrying through the village—one set
assuring us the enemy were close at
their heels, another telling us we had
better be off, another warning us, if
we stayed there, we should all be
taken, and serve us right. I own I
felt rather nervous; but the Governor
would not budge. He had got his
directions, he said, not to proceed
without further orders; and there he
should wait, treasure and all, till the
orders came. Presently, in a mighty
bustle, up rode a general officer.
Begged to know, in a tone of
authority, why we were waiting
there. The Governor replied as before.
‘Well, but it was perfectly
absurd. The enemy were close at
hand—on our flanks, right and left.’
Couldn’t move the Governor. The
general grew angry, swore, almost
threatened. ‘Will you move on, sir,
or will you not?’ Then clapped spurs
to his horse, in a towering passion,
and rode away with a wave of his
hand, as if saying, ‘I leave you to
your fate.’ Well, gentlemen, we
waited, waited till midnight. No
order came. Waited on till morning
dawned. Then, at length, came a
staff-officer, with a message from his
lordship, directing us to proceed. We
did so; and found the general quite
right in one thing—the French had
been on our flanks. But not only
that; they had been in our front.
During the night, they had occupied
in force the very road by which we
were to pass. Had we started sooner,
we should have walked right into
them.”</p>

<p class='c009'>The boats now made their appearance,
and were soon alongside the
jetty. A working party embarked
the treasure, packed, as before, in
boxes. I then said farewell, and
took my seat. With three boat-loads
of treasure, and a guard of a corporal
and six soldiers, we pulled away for
the bridge of Oyarzun. There we
found three individuals expecting our
arrival—Captain Rattler, who was appointed
to command our escort, my
friend, and Sancho.</p>

<p class='c009'>I completed the purchase of
Sancho, by handing over to my friend
the eighty dollars, and receiving an
acknowledgment of the same, which
he had brought in his pocket. Just
at that moment, my attention was
called from my friend, by something
in the boats. The next instant I
turned, to resume our conversation—he
had vanished! By the dim ray of
evening at length I caught sight of
him in the distance, walking down
the road towards the town. My
friend! My jolly, good-humoured,
hospitable friend! My friend, who
could sing a good song! My friend,
who laughed indiscriminately and immoderately
at all my jokes! He had
got his money. It was all he wanted.
He was off, without staying to say
“Good night!”</p>

<p class='c009'>CHAPTER XI.</p>

<p class='c009'>The departure of my friend was
soon followed by that of the boats.
The treasure was then placed in security
for the night, in charge of two
sentries; and Captain Rattler politely
offered me accommodation in his
quarters, as well as stable-room for
Sancho. We accordingly started together,
I leading the pony; when one
of the soldiers stepped up, and, saluting
in due form, took hold of the bridle.
“Well,” said I, “just lead him to the
stable, will you?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, sir,” said he smartly; “and
take care on him too, sir. Git across
him, sir, if you’ve no objections, sir.
Got a bullet in my leg, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Suiting the action to the word, and
not waiting for leave, he then mounted
the pony, or, as he had more
graphically described the process,
“got across” him. That is, laying
hold with both hands, he took a
spring, and brought the pit of his
stomach upon the saddle; then,
wriggling forwards, got one leg over,
dug his heels into Sancho’s side before
he was well in his seat, and started
off at a trot, his legs dangling, and
the stirrups too. As he mounted and
rode away, I noticed a hard, droll sort
of leer, on the weather-beaten countenances
of his comrades. Jones, it
soon became apparent, was both the
wag and the butt of the whole escort.</p>

<p class='c009'>The corporal, meanwhile, was receiving
his instructions from Captain
Rattler. “Fraser of the 42d?” said
the captain. “Oh, very well. You
will see to the whole party. We
haven’t another corporal in the escort.
Turn them out to-morrow in good
time; and be sure to have them here
by eight o’clock, when we load the
mules.”</p>

<p class='c009'>While the captain and I were seated
at our tea, Jones entered without
knocking, twitched his forelock, and
with a savage look made a plunge at
my boots, and walked away with
them. Jones, it was clear, had made
up his mind to be my personal attendant,
as long as I and he marched in
company. That being the case, I
here beg leave to give you his character,—though
I fear it would not gain
him admittance into your service.</p>

<p class='c009'>Jones went among his comrades by
the name of Taffy, and certainly was
not wronged by the legend, which
says “Taffy was a thief.” Take a
trait. On the march, he stole a Dutch
cheese, sold it me for a dollar, and
ate it himself. He was conversable,
and couldn’t keep his own counsel:
<em>e. g.</em> not satisfied with realising both
dollar and cheese, he ostentatiously
pleaded guilty to the original theft,
walking by the side of my pony.
Jones was no raw recruit:—had
served in the Peninsula, if his word
was to be trusted, through five successive
campaigns; got his wound at
Pampeluna, and was now returning
from hospital to join his regiment.
In active service, he had acquired all
the good and bad qualities of an old
campaigner; united with which were
some of both sorts, that were properly
his own. His oddities he did not attempt
to hide, though they constantly
exposed him to the jeers of his comrades.
He was susceptible, touchy,
testy—not quarrelsome. Felt ridicule
very acutely; if laughed at, complained
bitterly—expostulated—but
was not to be laughed out of his own
ways. He was somewhat undersized;
a smart, wiry, hard-featured light-infantry
man: had, to an excess,
that wriggle in his gait, which was
imparted to our foot-soldiers by the
awkward set of their accoutrements—straightening
their back, stretching
their neck, fixing their head, projecting
their chin, and throwing all the
action, in walking, into their loins,
thighs, and shoulders. His first appearance
was by no means a letter of
recommendation. He carried the
gallows in his countenance,—in short,
had that sort of look which helps to
get “oudacious” boys a “larrupping;”
desperate, dogged, abject, and
impudent at the same time. He was
capable of any sort of atrocity:—you
might turn him by a word. Had a
perpetual wolf—yet didn’t care
much for eating, when he could get
drink. Never refused a tumbler of
wine—but preferred something short.
His tact was considerable. He soon
found out just what I disliked, and
what I liked—accommodated his
likings to mine. With a constant
eye to self, was my intensely devoted
humble servant. Never resisted—always
gave up a point at once, when
he couldn’t carry it—yet often contrived
to have his own way. Much
preferred riding to walking: seldom
suffered a day to pass, without finding
more than one opportunity to “get
across” Sancho in the course of the
march. If I was off, he was on. Took
an amazing liking to “the pony,”—and
sold his corn. Hated the French,
but not so much as he hated our own
horse-soldiers. Jones, often offended,
was never saucy. Took a jobation as
a matter of course. Looked savage
at the moment; the next, was larking
with the muleteers. The muleteers
took to him amazingly. For endless
neglects and trespasses, he had one
plea, always ready—“Got a bullet
in my leg, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Next morning, just as we had done
breakfast, Corporal Fraser entered to
announce the men ready, the mules
arrived, and all prepared for loading.
The captain and I proceeded to the
spot, and the loading commenced.
Corporal Fraser made himself universally
useful; I soon discovered that,
in him, we had an acquisition. Leaving
the superintendence, for a moment,
to the captain and him, I stepped
back to the billet, for the purpose of
stowing, in my already overcharged
portmanteau, a lot of loose dollars,
part of my own ready cash, which I
found a drag. Just as I had piled
them on the table, to the number of
forty, and was forcing them in amongst
shirts, shaving materials, and portable
dictionaries, who should enter but the
captain? “Ah!” said he, “don’t
trouble yourself; you haven’t room.
You’ll ruin your things. Here; my
portmanteau is open.” So saying, he
laid hands on the dollars, counted
thirty, and whipped them into his box.
“Thirty,” said he—“there, they’ll
go safe. Remember. Thirty.” It
was done in the twinkling of an eye.
“Rather cool,” thought I; “but of
course it’s all right.”</p>

<p class='c009'>We returned together. A few of
the soldiers were placed as sentries.
The rest had piled their arms, and
stood waiting about, ready to fall in
and march when the mules were
loaded. Something out of the usual
course was evidently going on: the
men were all on a broad grin. I
walked into a sort of court-yard, and
at once discovered the cause of the
general mirth. On a money-box sat
Jones, and before him stood a goat.
“Purty creatur!” said Jones.
“Purty thing—isn’t she, sir?” He
held out a bit of biscuit. She playfully
made a show of butting, advanced,
and took it—“It’s mine, sir,” said
he: “follows me about like a dog, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No wonder,” said I, “so long as
the biscuit lasts.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No, sir; ’tisn’t that, sir,” replied
Jones. “It’s ’cause I speaks to her
as goats understands, sir; same as we
speaks to ’em in the Principality, sir.
Only see, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Jones then knelt down, put his nose
close to nanny’s, and, with a coaxing
voice and a most affectionate look,
gave utterance to a few low guttural
sounds, in a language to me unknown.
Nanny rose on her hind legs, and again
made play with her head; then, just as
I expected to see Jones punched and
prostrate, arched her neck gracefully
on one side, descended on her fore-feet,
stepped back, cut a caper, ran up to
Jones again in a butting attitude, and,
instead of knocking him over, put her
nose close to his, and uttered a short
bleat. “There, sir,” said Jones;
“see that, sir?—understands me
every word, sir.” It certainly did
look very much as if nanny understood
Welch.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, what did you say to her?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Why, I said this, sir. ‘Nanny,’
says I, ‘we’re off directly instant,’ says
I; ‘and you must come along with us,’
says I; ‘and I’ll milk you morning and
evening,’ says I. ‘And then the cappn,
and this here hommerble jeddleham
what’s present,’ says I, ‘won’t never
not want milk for their tea,’ says I,
‘nor yet for their breakfast nayther,’
says I.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, and what does nanny say?”
asked I, almost laughing at this stroke
of generalship.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Please, sir,” replied Jones, “she
says she’s quite agreeable, sir; that is,
if you are, sir. That’s what she says,
sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh, very well.” Had Jones and
I been better acquainted, I might
have felt it needful to ask first, how
nanny had passed into his possession.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Thank yer honour,” said Jones,
springing on his feet. “That’s jest the
very thing as I was a-going to aast
yer honour. Much obleeged to yer
honour. Purty creatur! Nothing
to her, a day’s march, sir. Won’t
mind it the least in the world, sir.
Come in quite fresh, sir.” As I was
walking out of the yard, Jones ran
after me,—“Please, sir, if the cappn
makes any objections, when he siz
nanny coming on along with us, sir,
please just tell him she’s a nanny, sir;
that is, I means to say, a femmel, sir,
and giz milk, sir. Then he won’t have
nothing to say against her, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Nanny did actually accompany our
march to headquarters; and not only
gave us milk, regularly twice a-day,
but on one occasion rendered us a far
more important service. She became
the pet of the men, and soon knocked
up an acquaintance with the pony.
Sancho and nanny travelled side by
side; except that nanny’s line of
march was now and then excursive;
on which occasions the pony expressed
his uneasiness by turning his head to
look, with an impatient snort. Nanny
was certainly not undeserving of
Jones’s commendations of her beauty.
Not one of that homebred race, of vulgar
aspect, ungainly form, and short,
coarse coat, so common both in this
country and abroad—a race that lose
all their sprightliness when they cease
to be kids, and become full-grown
goats;—in form she resembled the
antelope; her step was that of goats
that haunt the precipice, the pinnacle,
and the glacier; elegance was in all
her movements; and her hair, fine,
flowing, and luxuriant—in colour a
beautiful light orange-tawny, softening
into an amber yellow, pale and
delicate—with its snow-white fringe
almost sweeping the ground. A dainty
hussy, too, was Miss Nanny. She had
her luxuries, and scorned to browse
on common grass: culled her tidbits
by the road-side, as she trotted
along—a nibble here, and a nibble
there; was partial to biscuit broken
small, and wouldn’t refuse a crumb
of cheese. Didn’t care for bread, except
when she could steal it—her only
vice—off the table before dinner; an
object which she easily effected, by
raising herself on her hind-legs. At
the end of the march, as Jones had
predicted, she always came in as fresh
as she started; and proved it, wherever
we were, by commencing an immediate
perambulation of the house
and premises, in search of anything
she could pick up. This sometimes
brought her into odd positions, and
gave us trouble.</p>

<p class='c009'>Where are we? Oh, loading the
money for our start from Oyarzun.
Just as I was coming out of the court-yard,
a soldier entered it, with a look
of execration, muttering. Didn’t at all
like appearances, when I got into the
road. All the men looked sulky; the
muleteers, perfectly vicious. The loading
was going on, but without method,
and not by any means with despatch.
Of all the party, the only man that
didn’t show ill blood was Corporal
Fraser. He was doing his best, but
looked serious, and somewhat nonplussed.
The cause of all was soon
apparent. The captain, for some
reason or other, had worked himself
into a perfect fury, to which he was
giving expression in a regular stream
of abuse and imprecations; discharging
it indiscriminately on the muleteers
and the escort, in Portuguese, Spanish,
and English, as though he had rifled
and ransacked the vocabularies for
every bullying and blasphemous expression
in the three languages. He
had already got matters into a little
bit of a mess—was ordering, counter-ordering—bothering
the whole party
out of their wits—in short, obstructing
everything, and thereby indefinitely
delaying our departure. This particularly
enraged the muleteers: for you
must know, first, they take the packing
upon themselves, understand their
business, and like to be let alone at
it; secondly, they have a notion that
nothing ruins their mules like keeping
a beast standing, when once he has
got his load on his back; and some
of the first loaded were a couple of
hours in this predicament, before we
got off. We started at last, and
passed through Oyarzun in no very
military order: soldiers, mules, and
muleteers, all jumbled together, like
beef, pork, onions, and mutton-chops,
in a Saturday’s pie. Fraser’s smartness
saved us more than once from a
jam, as we threaded the narrow street;
and at length we emerged on the high
road to St Jean de Luz.</p>

<p class='c009'>Although, in our transition to
French from Spanish ground, we
mounted not to the regions of perpetual
snows, we did certainly pass
over some very high ground, both
before and after crossing the Bidassoa;
and our second elevation gave
us a splendid prospect of the fertile
plains of France. “Shan’t want for
nothing to eat, sir,” said Jones,
“when we gits down there, sir. Shocking
bad country, Spain, for poor soldiers,
sir. Starvation country, I calls
it, sir. Nothing but lean ration beef,
as tough as hides, sir; and couldn’t
always get that, sir. Dreadful hard
work up these hills, sir. Got a bullet
in my leg, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Beyond Irun, we passed over an
irregular eminence, which had been
the scene of a sharp conflict with the
enemy. Nothing, however, now indicated
the field of combat, save a
few dead horses, that lay scattered on
the bare side of a hill. “What are
those smaller animals,” said I to Jones,
“lying about there, among the horses?
Can’t be goats, can they?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Thim’s dogs, sir,” said Jones.
“They goes and gits a good blowout
off the horses, sir; then they
crawls a little way off, and lies down
a bit, jest to choe the quid, sir; and
then they goes back again, and takes
another pull, sir. That’s jest how
three or four on us did at Vittoria,
sir, when we come upon the Frinch
Ginneral’s dinner, sir, which he hadn’t
time to stop and eat sir. Please
sir, it’s not correct, what the men
jeers me about the goats where I
comes from, sir. Niver see’d nobody
a-riding of a goat in the Principality,
sir; nayther man, nor yet woman,
sir; no, nor a babby nayther, sir; let
alone a clergyman, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Perhaps, my dear reader, as this is
our first day on the road, I may as
well give you here a description of our
regular order of march; that is, so far
as we marched in any order at all.
We had eighty mules, then, in twenty
strings, of four mules each. The
muzzle of the second mule was connected
with the <i><span lang="pt">albarda</span></i> (or pack-saddle)
of the first, by a thong of
leather. The third mule was attached
to the second in like manner, and the
fourth to the third. Each of these
strings of mules had its own muleteer—twenty
muleteers in all. The twenty
were divided into two parties of ten;
and over each of these ten was a sort
of master-muleteer, called a Capataz.
Of the four mules in each string, three
carried money, and the fourth carried
nothing but his <i><span lang="pt">albarda</span></i>. We had
thus twenty unloaded mules, and
sixty charged with treasure: that is,
fifty-eight with dollars, and two with
doubloons. Now, as each mule carried
two boxes, and each box contained
two bags of a thousand, I think
you will find, reckoning the dollar at
only 4s. 6d. (the value at which it was
issued to the troops,) and reckoning
sixteen dollars to the doubloon, that
we were marching to headquarters
to the tune of eighty-one thousand
pounds sterling. If, however, you
prefer calculating the dollar at what it
was then and there worth in buying
bills on England—say from 6s. 6d. to
7s. 6d.—why then, of course, the value
of our load comes to so much the
more. What a catch for a Frenchman—one
of our mules!</p>

<p class='c009'>Supposing us, then, to march in
due order, the mules proceed in single
file, each string of four attended by
its own muleteer. Of the soldiers,
some precede the line of march, others
follow it, and others, again, march at
intervals on the flanks: and so we
walk on at mules’ pace, which is
steady and uniform, convenient for
marching, and gets over the ground
at a very satisfactory rate; so that we
cover our sixteen or twenty miles a-day
with tolerable facility, going
straight on from end to end. But we
don’t always get on so pleasantly. If,
not keeping the single file, one string
of mules comes up abreast of that
next in advance, then there is a
thronging, which soon leads to confusion.
Or if the load of one of your
mules gets wrong, then there is a
stoppage. Those in the rear come
crowding up, and are brought to a
halt; those in advance walk on.
Thus a division takes place, your line
is broken, and your cavalcade of mules
(“bad English!”—It’s good Portuguese,)
no longer kept well together
as it ought to be, becomes extended
over an undue length of road, and
cannot be looked after and kept regular.
Should you ever march with such
a convoy, you will soon make the discovery
that order, though excellent in
theory, is not always reducible to
practice. It won’t at all mend the
matter, if you happen to have such a
commander as ours was: a battered
dandy of forty, a military <em>roué</em>, who
carried in his countenance the marks
of rough weather and hard drinking—for
his face was not only bronzed by
the elements, but pimpled with brandy—and
whose continual language, all
through the march from starting to
halting, was just nothing but one
stream of oaths, vituperations, and
contradictory orders. And yet this
same officer, I make no doubt, had we
been placed in a position of real
danger, would have conducted himself
with coolness, energy, and judgment.
As it was, he started us in confusion,
and kept us in it all day. The muleteers,
who set out in ill-temper, hadn’t
one chance given them of recovering
their amiability. The soldiers first
walked along in dogged silence—then,
finding what sort of a gentleman they
had to deal with, began to take things
easy, joked among themselves, talked
loud, and, when he commanded them
with an oath to hold their tongues,
all but laughed in his face. Discipline
was gone. One fellow, a Yorkshire
lad, almost amused me with his
provoking insolence. He was a red-faced
chap with flaxen hair, white
eyebrows, and a merry but malevolent
eye;—could look, in a moment, either
impudent or sedate—just kept himself
steady under the captain’s immediate
inspection; the moment it was off
him, recommenced his antics—was
clown, harlequin, and scaramouch, all
in one—cut the double-shuffle, winked,
twisted his mouth, broke out singing,
and was dumb in a moment; cracked
jokes, raised a roar, made believe to
quarrel, kicked up every devisable
sort of row. At length he deliberately
disobeyed orders, and the captain put
him under arrest; in other words, he
was deprived of his musket. Whispered
audibly, “It was just what he
wanted; now one of the mules could
shoulder arms”—set half-a-dozen
fellows laughing. Yet this man afterwards,
when we were differently commanded,
was as well-conducted as
any soldier of the escort.</p>

<p class='c009'>We at length reached St Jean de
Luz, after a long, and, to me, very
anxious march—the more so as it
was my first. Towards our journey’s
end, the question was uppermost in
my thoughts, “Is it thus we are to
march, when the road is insecure?”
Marching as we did now, far from
being prepared to meet Marshal Soult,
I should have felt it far from agreeable
to meet another distinguished
commander that shall be nameless.
There certainly were periods, during
the day, when a few resolute assailants
might easily have driven off part
of our convoy, money and all; nay,
when one or other of our own muleteers,
had they been so disposed,
might have slipped down one of the
cross-roads with his string of mules,
and made his escape among the hills.
These uneasy reflections brought to
my mind the advice given me at
Passages by Mr Q—; and I resolved
to wait on the commandant immediately
on my arrival, in the hope
of effecting some more satisfactory
arrangement for our subsequent progress.</p>

<p class='c009'>We reached a large house assigned
to our department on the outskirts of
St Jean de Luz, stowed the treasure
in safety under a guard, and dismissed
the rest of the men to their quarters;
Jones only excepted, who remained
in charge of the pony. Captain
Rattler took his leave, with a polite
“<i><span lang="fr">Au revoir.</span></i>” Having seen the moneyboxes
all right, secured accommodation
for the mules and muleteers, and
ascertained that dinner would be ready
in half-an-hour, I stepped on at once
to the commandant’s, and found him
in his office.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I have waited on you, sir, to
announce my arrival from Oyarzun,
with a convoy of treasure for headquarters.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh yes; Mr Y—, I presume.
Mr Y—, pray take a chair. Happy
to see you, Mr Y—, especially on
such an occasion. If you arrive safe,
I trust we shall all get a little of it;
for it’s what we’re all in want of. Can
I render you any assistance, Mr Y—?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Should feel much obliged, sir, if
you could increase the strength of our
escort. For eighty mules, twenty men
will hardly be sufficient.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Why, no; certainly not, Mr Y—,
if you don’t happen to find the country
quiet. Well, what sort of an
addition would you like to have?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“At Passages, sir, we had a guard
of Germans; so steady and well-conducted,
I should be very glad to have
some more like them. As to number,
I would leave that to you, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Sorry to say we have no Germans
going up at present, Mr Y—.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, sir, we have with us a Scotch
corporal, decidedly the steadiest man
in our party. Perhaps you could give
me some Scotsmen.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“My dear sir, I’d go with you
myself, if I could, with the greatest
pleasure. Unfortunately, though, we
have no Scotch regiment in the place.
Suppose I could give you—say twenty
or thirty men, heavy cavalry.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, sir, I think cavalry, joined
with our infantry, would be the best
escort we could have.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Very good, sir. Well, now you’ll
want an officer to command them.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Why, sir, the truth is, I wished
to consult you on that subject. The
present commander of our party is
Captain Rattler.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Your present? Say your late.
He’s off.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“He was with me within the last
half-hour, sir. Said nothing about
leaving.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, I don’t know anything
about that. All I know is this—he
was here just before you; got his
route changed. By this time, I should
think, he’s on his way to St Jean
Pied de Port. Very well, Mr Y—.
Load to-morrow, and start with your
present escort. At what hour may I
expect you to pass here, in your way
through the town?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Probably about ten o’clock,
sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Very well, Mr Y—. Then,
to-morrow morning, by ten o’clock,
I’ll have your additional escort here
in readiness for you. As to the officer
that’s to command the party, we’ll
talk about that when we meet. Let
me see. I hardly know how to settle
it. At present, I have only one that’s
going to join, and he’s young—your
junior, I should say, by three or four
years; has never seen service—a
cornet, fresh from England. Well, if
you can’t have another, you know,
you must have him. Very well, Mr
Y—; to-morrow morning, if you
please, at ten o’clock.”</p>

<p class='c009'>I withdrew, satisfied with the result
of my visit, not at all sorry to have
got rid of the captain by his own act,
and without any complaint on my
part—a little surprised, however, at
the precipitancy of his retreat, especially
after his last words, “<i><span lang="fr">Au revoir.</span></i>”
Suddenly a thought came
plump—“My thirty dollars! The
caitiff! he’s off, and I am once more a
victim!”</p>

<p class='c009'>It didn’t turn out quite so bad as
it looked, though. On my return to
our office, I was met by Jones, who,
with a face of famine, announced
“dinner ready,” and handed me the
following letter:—</p>

<div class='lg-container-r'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>St Jean de Luz</span>, <em>March 1814</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c009'>“Dear Sir—As unexpected circumstances
have induced me to alter my
route, I adopt this hurried method of
wishing you a safe and pleasant journey
to headquarters. It would have
afforded me much gratification to
accompany you, or at any rate to
have said farewell in person. You
will, however, I am sure, pardon the
little omission, as I am compelled to
start without delay.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I have thirty dollars belonging
to you in my portmanteau. <em>They are</em>
<em>safe.</em> I was about to forward them
by the bearer of this, but, not feeling
entire confidence in such a mode of
conveyance, I beg to enclose you an
order on England for the amount.
Believe me to remain, dear sir, faithfully
yours,</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c019'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>R. Rattler</span>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“P.S.—Excuse haste.</p>

<div class='lg-container-l c019'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line in12'>G. Y—, Esq.,</div>
      <div class='line'>Army Pay Department, St Jean de Luz.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c007'>“<i><span lang="fr">Au revoir!</span></i>” Never, from that
time forward, have I and the captain
met. Sly rogue! His <em>modus operandi</em>,
how dashing, yet how cool!
To say nothing of his walking off with
my dollars in his box, and thus securing
a little hard cash at my expense,
when cash was so scarce, how civilly
he took leave of me at the door of our
office! Thence he must have cut
away direct to the commandant’s,
resolved to be off forthwith—in plain
English, to bolt! “Excuse haste!”
And then in the morning, too, at
Oyarzun, how smartly he whipped
up my dollars, stowed them in his
own portmanteau without asking my
leave, and locked them up before my
eyes. “<i><span lang="fr">Au revoir!</span></i>” Yes; “<em>they
are safe!</em>”</p>

<p class='c009'>Well, the less said about my dinner,
that day, the better. In the course
of the afternoon, though, Miss Nanny-goat
thought fit to indulge herself in
a bit of a spree. She walked, in
search of varieties, into an old gentleman’s
garden. Jones pursued—wanted
to milk her for tea. The proprietor
followed; I joined the chase. Nanny,
for the fun of the thing, sprang on the
wall, walked up the roof of the summer-house,
ran along the ridge,
pedestalled herself on the gable-end
which rose in a peak, and there stood,
looking down on us in defiance, her
four little feet gathered up within the
compass of a crown-piece. Jones
called, coaxed, spoke Welsh, held out
successively cabbage-leaf, lettuce-leaf,
vine-leaf, all in vain. “Ah!” said
the old Frenchman; and, toddling off
to his geraniums, culled a scarlet
cluster of aromatic flowers. That
was irresistible. One jump brought
Nanny down upon the wall, another
landed her easy on the ground. Before
you could say Jack Robinson,
she was nibbling the nosegay out of
the Frenchman’s hand. Next morning
he loaded us, when we took leave,
with a blushing bouquet of geraniums—shed
tears, poor old gentleman,
when Nanny departed—put his arms
round her neck—a true Frenchman—and,
<i><span lang="la">hi oculi viderunt</span></i>, kissed her.</p>

<p class='c009'>The morning after our arrival at
St Jean de Luz, I rose betimes,
breakfasted, and descended into the
road to superintend the loading of the
mules—a much more expeditious process
without the captain’s aid than
with it. We got off with the convoy
in good time, and soon reached the
commandant’s. In that part of the
town the street widened into a sort of
“place;” and there, drawn up and
awaiting our arrival, I had the pleasure
of discovering a party of dragoons,
in number four-and-twenty.
Being fresh from winter-quarters, they
had turned out in capital order; presentable,
as to dress and accoutrements,
at a Windsor review; their
horses, too, in good condition, though
rather undersized for the men, none of
them being English. At the door of
the commandant’s office stood two
horses, held by a groom, both of them
serviceable, and rather showy animals,
apparently recent arrivals from
home. I alighted, and ascended to
the office.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Punctual to your time,” said the
commandant. “This, Mr Y—, is
the officer who will command your
party—the Hon. Mr Chesterfield.”
Did the introduction in due form.</p>

<p class='c009'>In the military undress of his regiment—viz.
cap with tassel and gold
band, said cap hiding one side of the
head and face, and leaving the other
bare, long greatcoat, redundant in
frogs, belt and sabre, enormous boots,
and formidable spurs—I saw before me
a youth of eighteen, slight in form,
elegant in manner, who quietly returned
my salutation, and, shortly
after, walked down stairs and mounted.
“I have explained to Mr C. the
nature of the duty,” said the colonel.
“He is quite fresh from England; but
he seems to have no nonsense about
him; and, at any rate, I trust you
will find the change for the better.
Well, Mr Y—, we mustn’t keep the
mules standing; so I now wish you a
pleasant journey.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Thank you, sir. Much obliged
to you for this arrangement. Good
morning, sir.”</p>

<p class='c009'>It soon became apparent, as we proceeded
on our march, that matters
were greatly mended since the day before.
Our new commander said little;
but, young as he was, seemed to know
what he was about; and all went on
much to my satisfaction. He never
interfered needlessly; and his directions,
when given, were much to the
purpose. Managed the cavalry himself,
and the infantry through Corporal
Fraser. Things began to grow
right of their own accord, and a great
load was taken off my mind. The
men, finding they were now <em>commanded</em>,
were orderly and well-conducted.
Even our jolly Yorkshireman
behaved himself—that is, with the exception
of an occasional caper or grimace
when he felt himself safe. Nothing
more was said about his arrest.
Consequently he had to carry his
musket through the rest of the march;
for, seeing what kind of a person he
now had to deal with, he was too
wise to try over again the game of
the day before. The muleteers, too,
recovered their good-humour. Muleteers
are like live lobsters—very tractable,
if you know how to handle them.
The delays were now few. And
though, with such a mixture of men
and mules, we could not keep perfect
order, if anything got wrong, it was
soon set right.</p>

<p class='c009'>We reached at length that point in
our march where a lane struck off to
the left, from the high road which we
were following, and which led direct
to Bayonne. Our route, with official
brevity, assigned Bayonne as our
halting-place for the night. But as
Bayonne happened just then to be
occupied by the French, we proposed
directing our course toward the headquarters
of Sir John Hope, who commanded
the besieging army. The
aforesaid lane to the left soon brought
us out on a heathy eminence, covered
with fieldworks completed or in progress,
and affording us a splendid
view of the beleaguered city, of the
river Adour, and of the bridge of
boats thrown across it near the sea.
Headquarters were at a small hamlet,
on the right or opposite bank of
the river.</p>

<p class='c009'>Yes, we saw that famous bridge.
The Duke was always great in passing
rivers. Witness his services in India.
Witness the Douro, the Bidassoa, the
Nivelle, the Nive, and now the
Adour. Sufficient attention, perhaps,
has not been directed to this subject.
Take two feats out of the number,
and view them together—the passage
of the Adour, and the passage of the
Bidassoa: both original ideas; both
ideas that no mere tactician would
have conceived or brought to bear;
and both vindicating their claim to a
distinguished record, by taking an
able, gallant, and vigilant opponent
by surprise. Who, but the Duke,
would have dreamed of passing the
Bidassoa at its mouth, without a
bridge? Who, but the Duke, would
have dreamed of passing the Adour
at its mouth, by such a bridge as we
now beheld? One thing is clear:
<em>Soult</em> did not dream of either one
passage or the other. Obs. 1.—The
execution, in each case, was off-hand,
dashing, and daring. The preparation,
in both, was deliberate, mature,
and secret. Obs. 2.—The distinguishing
excellence of the Duke’s
strategy did not, however, consist in
the mere exploit of throwing an army
across a wide and rapid stream, in
the face of an enemy assembled in
force—though this, in itself, is among
the most difficult operations of war;
but in the combined, extensive, and
successful movements which uniformly
attended the achievement. In
short, the subject claims a distinct
volume. All the Duke’s passages of
rivers, effected in the face of the
enemy, should be brought into one
view, and studied together. Such a
work, properly executed, would merit
a place in every military library.
However, don’t think I’m going to
inflict on you a detailed description
of the oft-described bridge which we
had now to pass. Suffice it to say,
the bridge consisted of small vessels,
moored side by side, all across the
river. These vessels answered the
purpose of piers; that is, they supported
the gangway of planks, which
formed the passage across.</p>

<p class='c009'>It may be deemed extraordinary,
that this idea of floating piers has not
been more generally adopted. But I
suppose the real objection is an inconvenience,
to which the method is unavoidably
liable, and which we experienced
on the present occasion, in
passing with our mules and moneyboxes;
namely, the variation of the
bridge’s altitude, with the rise and
fall of the water. This, in the Adour,
at spring-tides, is fourteen feet. You
must know, the river was now low.
The consequence was, that the level
of the bridge was considerably beneath
the level of the banks on each side;
while its two extremities were two
boarded slopes, connecting the higher
level with the lower. It was a ticklish
business, passing these two slopes with
our mules four in a string—one of them
light, three loaded. In going <em>down</em>-hill,
to get on the bridge, the mules
managed admirably—let them alone
for that. Seeing that this part of the
process was proceeding satisfactorily,
I left an injunction with Senhor Roque,
the chief Capataz, not to send on the
mules too fast—for this might have
led to a jam, which would probably
have consigned some of our boxes to
the bottom of the Adour—and pushed
on for the opposite bank, to be ready
to superintend the ascent. This was
the real bother, the going <em>up</em>-hill. In
coming to the rise, which was somewhat
abrupt, the first mule of the first
string stumbled and fell. The muleteer
got him on his legs again—his
load happily not unshipped—and,
taking him by the head, was about to
lead him up. But this, it was clear,
wouldn’t do. The beast had sense to
see it wouldn’t, and declined moving.
It might have answered very well for
a single mule; but was no security for
the ascent of the other three, that
followed in the same category; and,
unless all ascended together, we were
undone. Under these circumstances,
the leading mule, not choosing to compromise
himself, refused the ascent.
Meanwhile, the other strings of mules
came crowding up; and we should
soon have had them all of a heap,
shouldering one another into the water.
It was a nervous moment. I shouted
to the muleteer, “<i><span lang="pt">Anda para detraz,
homem, e falla</span></i>”—(Old fellow, go behind,
and speak to them.) “Si, si,
Senhor,” said he, catching the idea at
once, and promptly adopting it. The
moment the mules heard, behind them,
the well-known “<em>árre</em>” of their driver,
they bolted simultaneously; and,
scrambling up like cats, soon reached
the summit of the slope, and stood on
<em>terra firma</em>. Thus, though they could
not have done it walking, they did it
with a run. The other muleteers, as
they came up in succession, adopted
the same expedient each with his own
team; and thus we effected the passage
of the Adour, without either jam,
crowding, confusion, or capsize.</p>

<p class='c009'>Before we go any further, though,
I must let you into the use of that
magical word “<em>árre</em>,” which, on the
present occasion, effected so much in
our favour. It is the word used by
drivers to their beasts, to set them off,
or increase their speed. Please to
pronounce it with a lengthened rattling
of the <em>r</em>—ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re. Only remember
this: pronounce it ever so
correctly, you yourself can never do
anything with it: for, if twenty persons
sing out ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re, neither
horse, mule, nor donkey will move the
faster, till they hear the ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re
of their own driver. This they distinguish
among a hundred, and bolt
forthwith. The knowledge of this
singular fact in animal psychology
tends greatly to enliven an Almada or
Cintra donkey-party. Upon an occasion
of this kind, my friend John G—,
being the longest fellow of the party,
thought fit to appropriate the tallest
donkey. This was deemed a usurpation,
and, as such, meriting castigation.
A hint was therefore given to
the driver of his (John’s) donkey.
John was suffered to get one foot
quietly into the stirrup; but, before
he had got the other over the Albarda,
ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re was heard behind;
away went the donkey through the
village of Almada; and away went
John, one hand holding by the Albarda,
the other by an ear—one toe in the
stirrup, the other now hopping along
the ground, now describing circles
aloft, in vain attempts to get across.
John, how unjustly I need not say,
imputes the Almada exhibition to my
contrivance, and bides his time. Presently
we enter a sandy lane—John
warns me I shall be in the dust ere
we get out of it—advises to take feet
out of stirrups. Advice followed, in
defiance. Again the cry is heard,
ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re; but now in a different
key. This time, it is my driver.
Donkey bolts—away we go—ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re
is heard once more—donkey
can gallop no faster, so begins to kick.
I stoop forward—hug him round the
neck; both donkey and rider are soon
rolling in the dust. “Now,” says
John, as he trots exulting by, “you
and I are quits.” “Yes,” says Frank
Woodbridge, passing at a canter;
“one Johnny has avenged the other.”
<em>Mem.</em>—As, in an English donkey-race,
no one rides his own donkey, and
the donkey last in wins; so, in those
Almada donkey-parties, each paid
another man’s driver, no man paid his
own. That driver got most whose
donkey spilt his rider oftenest.</p>

<p class='c009'>To proceed. All our party having
passed the bridge, I was viewing with
some satisfaction the train of mules,
as they walked off from the river
towards the hamlet, cheerily switching
their tails—the animals’ usual
practice after accomplishing any extraordinary
<em>tour de force</em>—when I
noticed, not far from the bridge-head,
in a long military frock-coat, quietly
eyeing me with folded arms, a stately
officer of the engineers. Who, do you
think?—who, but my fellow-passenger
from England a year before,
Captain Gabion? We exchanged
greetings with mutual cordiality.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Much obliged to you, Mr Y—,”
said he; “you have saved me some
trouble.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Happy to hear it, sir: don’t
exactly understand how, though.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Why, the fact is,” replied the
Captain, “I was here waiting to see
the convoy safe over—if needful, to
render assistance. But really you
got them so handily up the bank, I
had no occasion to interfere. Famous
plan, that, of sending them up with a
run: shan’t soon forget it. That
ár-r-r-r-r-r-r-re starts them capitally,—acts
like a brad-awl.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Were you not on the bridge just
now, towards the other side of the
river, sir?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, yes; but I saw you were
getting them on well; so I came over
to this end, to see how you would get
them off.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“What I most feared,” said I,
“was their crowding up, in passing
the bridge.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“No, no,” said the captain, “no
danger of that. Had I seen the least
tendency to confusion, I should have
passed a command by signal. Effectual
means would then have been
taken at once, to keep back those
coming on, till those in front were
clear. Well, what do you think of
our bridge?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“I was thinking how I could destroy
it—that is, if I was General
Thouvenot, shut up in Bayonne with
thirteen or fourteen thousand men.
That’s what I began to think of, as
soon as I saw it; and that’s what
I’ve been thinking of ever since.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Destroy it?” said the Captain;
“destroy the bridge? Come, that’s
a good one. Destroy it, indeed! I
should like just to know, now, how
you would go to work to do that.
Why, Thouvenot did come down
and attack, on our first arrival here;
got well pounded, though. Don’t
think it very probable he’ll try that
again.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Now, it’s too late, perhaps. Besides,
he committed two great mistakes;
he attacked with an insufficient
force, and he came down only
on one side of the river. If, instead,
when the bridge was first thrown
over, he had come down on both sides,
and that with adequate—”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Going up with the treasure to
headquarters, Mr Y—?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“That’s our destination, sir. This
afternoon, though, we halt where we
are.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“What, halt here?” said the Captain.
“Let me look at your route.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Our route says Bayonne, sir; but
of course we came here.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Yes, yes; very right; exactly;
just so. Sorry to say, though, Mr
Y—, I fear you’ll find no accommodation
where you are. Every house,
every cottage, every shed, is as full
as it can cram. If it was only yourself,
pony, and goat, I would give you
accommodation most willingly. I
sleep on a deal table. Would give
you half with pleasure. But such a
lot of you—about seventy bipeds, I
guess, and more than a hundred
quadrupeds—why, where could we
put you all?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, then,” said I, “we must
make a bivouac of it, I suppose.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Bivouac? Nonsense!—bivouac!
How would those fine fellows stand a
bivouac, I wonder, with their white
gloves and horsehair plumes? Besides,
it’s beginning to rain. Bet you
a dollar, it rains all night. Besides
that, where would you put your
money? If General Thouvenot should
take your advice, ‘come down on
both sides,’ and find your boxes
ranged along that bank by the road-side—and
that’s the only place to put
them I know of—a pretty catch he’d
make of it. No, no, Mr Y—; your
only plan is to go on. Follow the
lane till it brings you back into the
high road above Bayonne. You will
then soon find a village, which will
afford you accommodation for the
night.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Very well, sir. I suppose, then,
the sooner we move the better. Will
you have the goodness, though, to put
me in the way of getting the men
their rations?”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Oh yes,” said the Captain; “yes,
yes: I’ll set all that straight for you,
in no time. I see you’re rather a
young campaigner; and the officer of
your escort, I suspect, is younger still.
You can’t stay here to-night, that’s
certain. Better see the General,
though, before you move on; just
report yourself, you know, and hear
what he says about it. Step on to
his quarters, that small house with a
white front, and I’ll be after you
directly.”</p>

<p class='c009'>I turned to remount; but what had
become of Sancho? Two minutes
before, I held his bridle in my hand.
Now, he was nowhere to be seen.
At length, in the distance, I caught
sight of Jones’ legs, dangling from
the pony’s side, as he trotted off towards
the houses, with Nanny cantering
after him.</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>THE GREEN HAND.<br> A “SHORT” YARN.<br> PART IX.</h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>“More than once that night,” resumed
Captain Collins, “I woke up
with a start, at thought of our late
adventures in the river Nouries—fancying
I was still waiting for the turn
of tide to bring down the boats or the
schooner, and had gone to sleep, when
that horrible sound through the cabin
skylight seemed full in my ears again.
However, the weltering wash of the
water under the ship’s timbers below
one’s head was proof enough we were
well to sea; and, being dog-tired, I
turned over each time with a new
gusto:—not to speak of the happy sort
of feeling that ran all through me, I
scarce knew why; though no doubt
one might have dreamt plenty of delightful
dreams without remembering
them, more especially after such a perfect
seventh heaven as I had found
myself in for a moment or two, when
Violet Hyde’s hand first touched mine,
and when I carried her in after she
had actually saved my life. The
broad daylight through our quarter-gallery
window roused me at last altogether;
and on starting up I saw Tom
Westwood half dressed, shaving himself
by an inch or two of broken looking-glass
in regular nautical style—that’s
to say, watching for the rise of
the ship—as she had the wind evidently
on her opposite beam, and
there appeared to be pretty much of
a long swell afloat, with a breeze brisk
enough to make her heel to it; while
the clear horizon, seen shining through
the port to north-westward, over the
dark blue heave of water, showed it
was far on in the morning. “Well,
Ned,” said Westwood, turning round,
“you seemed to be enjoying it, in
spite of the warm work you must have
had last night on board here! Why,
I thought you had been with us in the
boats, after all, till I found, by the
good joke the cadets made of it, that
that puppy of a mate had left you still
locked up, on account of some fancy
he had got into his head of your being
in partnership with the schooner!
For heaven’s sake, though, my dear
fellow, wash your face and shave—you
look fearfully suspicious just
now!” “No wonder!” said I: and
I gave him an account of the matter,
leaving out most of what regarded
the young lady; Westwood telling me,
in his turn, so much about their boat
expedition as I didn’t know before
from the planter. Everything went
to certify what I believed all along,
’till this sudden affair in the river.
The schooner’s people had plainly some
cue in keeping hold of our passengers,
but hadn’t expected to see us so soon
again, or perhaps at all—as was shown
by their hailing the boats at once in
a pretended friendly way, whenever
they came in sight up the creek; while
Ford and the rest shouted with delight,
off her bulwarks, at sound of the
mate’s voice.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I tell you what, Collins,” continued
Westwood, “this may be all
very well for <em>you</em>, who are continually
getting into scrapes and out of them,
and don’t seem to care much whether
you ship on board an Indiaman or a
corn-brig—you can always find something
to do—but to me the service is
<em>everything</em>!” “Well, well,” said I
hastily, “I’m much mistaken if we
don’t find something to do in India,
Tom,—only wait, and that uncle of
yours will make all right; for all we
know, there may be news from Europe
to meet us, and I must say I don’t
like the notion of being born too late
for turning out an admiral! I’m
sure, for my part, I wish old Nap well
out of that stone cage of his!” “No,
no, Ned,” said Westwood, “I ought
to clear myself at home first, and sorry
I am that I gave in to you by leaving
England, when I should have faced
the consequences whatever they were.
Running only made matters worse,
Collins!” “No doubt,” I said; “and
as it was my fault, why, deuce take
me, Tom, if I don’t manage to carry
you out scot-free! Depend on it,
Captain Duncombe’s friends would
have you strung up like a dog, with
the interest he had, and sharp as discipline
is just now.” Westwood shuddered
at the thought. “I fear it
would go hard with me, Ned,” said
he, “and I shan’t deny that these few
weeks have brought me back a taste
for life. But, in spite of all, I’d deliver
myself up to the first king’s ship we
speak, or go home in some Indiaman
from the Cape—but for one thing,
Collins!” “Ah!” said I, “what’s
that?” Westwood gave me a curious
half look, and said—“One <em>person</em>, I
mean, Ned—and I shouldn’t like <em>her</em>
to hear of me being—” “Yes, yes,”
said I stiffly, “I know.” “It must
have been by guess, then!” answered
he. “Often as we’ve talked of her
during the voyage, I thought you
didn’t know we had met frequently in
London before you came home, and—and—the
fact is, I wasn’t sure you
would like <em>me</em> to—” “Westwood,”
said I quickly, “Tom Westwood—what
I have to ask is—do you love
her?” “If ever a man loved a woman,
Ned,” was his answer, “I do <em>her</em>; but
if <em>you</em>—” “Have you any chance,
then?” I broke out. “Ay, true—true
enough, you have the best of chances—your
way is as clear as could be, Westwood,
if you knew it! Only I <em>must</em> know
if she is willing—does she—” “I got
leave to write to her in London,”
answered Westwood, “and I did so
pretty often, you may be sure; but I
only had one short little note in
answer to the last, I think it was—which
I had in my breast that morning
on Southsea beach, when I expected
the bullet would come through
it!” Here Westwood stooped down
to his trunk, and took out a rose-coloured
note wrapped in a bit of
paper; I standing the while fixed to
the deck, not able to speak, till he
was handing it to me. “No, no!”
said I, turning from him angrily,
and like to choke, “that’s too much,
Mr Westwood—pray keep your own
love-letters for your own reading!”
“There’s nothing particular in it,
Ned,” answered he, flushing a little,
“only there’s a few words in it I’d
like you to see—don’t look at it just
now, but tell me afterwards what you
think—you ought to see it, as the
matter seems to depend on you, Ned;
and if <em>you</em> object, you may be sure, so
far as I’m concerned, ’tis all over!”
Somehow or other, the look of the
little folded piece of paper, with the
touch and the scent of it, as Westwood
slipped it into my hand, made it stick
to me. I caught one glance of the
address on the back, written as if
fairy fingers had done it, and I suppose
I slipped it into my coat as I went
out of the berth, meaning to go aloft
in the foretop and sicken over the
thought at my leisure, of Violet Hyde’s
having ever favoured another man so
far, and that man Tom Westwood.
The strangeness of the whole affair,
as I took it, never once struck me;
all that I minded was the wretched
feeling I had in me, as I wished I
could put the Atlantic betwixt me and
them all; in fact a hundred things
before we sailed, and during the passage,
seemed all at once to agree with
what I’d just heard; and I’d have
given thousands that moment it had
been some one else than Westwood, just
that I might wait the voyage out coolly,
for the satisfaction of meeting him at
twelve paces the first morning ashore.</p>

<p class='c009'>On the larboard side of the berth-gangway,
opposite our door, I saw the
old planter’s standing half open, and
Mr Rollock himself with his shirt and
trousers on, taking in his boots.
“Hallo, Collins, my boy,” he sang out
eagerly, “come here a moment, I’ve
got something to show you!” “Look,”
said he, standing on tiptoe to see
better through the half-port, “there’s
something new been put in my picture-frame
here overnight, I think—ha!
ha!” The first thing that caught my
eye, accordingly, was the gleam of a sail
rising from over the swell to windward,
far away off our larboard quarter;
seemingly rolling before the south-easter;
while the Indiaman hove her
big side steadily out of water, with her
head across the other’s course, and
gave us a sight of the strange sail
swinging to the fair wind, every time
we rose on the surge. “What is it,
eh?” said the planter turning to me,
“back or face, Collins? for, bless me,
if I can distinguish tub from bucket,
with all this bobbing about—great
deal of capital indigo wasted hereabouts,
my dear fellow!” “Why, you
may make out the two breasts of her
royals,” said I—“a brig, I think, sir.”
“Not that abominable schooner in
her first shape again, I hope!” exclaimed
he, “perhaps bringing back
the Yankee.” “Too square-shouldered
for that, Mr Rollock,” I said; “in fact
she seems to be signalling us; yes, by
Jove! there’s the long pennant at her
fore-royal mast-head—she’s a brig of
war. They’re surely asleep, on deck,
and we shall have a shot directly, if
they don’t look sharp!” “You’d
better say nothing about the Yankee’s
absence, Collins,” put in the
planter, “till we’re fairly away. For
my part, I really have no notion of
waiting for any one—particularly a
fellow who <em>must</em> have some go-ahead
scheme in his noddle, which we
Indians don’t want. Quietly speaking,
my dear fellow, I shall be glad if we’re
rid of him!” On my mentioning what
sort of “notions” were found in
Mr Snout’s berth, and the drowning
of his heathen images, the worthy
planter went into perfect convulsions,
till I thought I should have to slap
him on the back to give him breath.
“What the deuce!” said he at
last; “Daniel must really have
something worth his while to expect,
before he’d fail to look after such a
treasure!” “Ah,” said I, not attending
to him, as I heard a stir on
deck, “there we go at last, cluing
up the topsails, I suppose.” “Seriously,
now,” continued Mr Rollock,
“I can <em>not</em> fathom that vessel and
her designs; but I bless my stars at
getting clear off from the company of
that tall Frenchman with his mustache—can’t
bear a mustache, Collins—always
reminds me of those
cursed Mahrattas that burnt my factory
once. Couldn’t the man shave
like a Christian, I wonder? I defy
you to enjoy Mulligatawny soup and
not make a beast of yourself, with
ever so much hair over your mouth.
By the way, Collins,” added he, eyeing
me, “since I saw you last, you’ve
let your whiskers grow, and look
more like one of your nauticals than
Ford himself!—should scarce have
known you! Any of it owing to the
fair one up yonder, eh?” And the
jolly old chap, whose own huge white
whiskers gave him the cut of a royal
Bengal tiger, pointed with his thumb
over his shoulder towards the roundhouse
above, with a wink of his funny
round eye, that looked at you like a
bird’s. “What do you suppose the
Frenchman to be then, sir?” asked I,
gloomily. “Oh, either a madman, a
spy, or something worse! Just guess
what he asked me suddenly one
morning,—why, if I weren’t a distinguished
<em>savant</em>, and wouldn’t like to
study the botany of some island!
‘No, Monsieur, not at all,’ replied I,
in fearfully bad French. ‘The geology,
then?’ persisted he, with a curious
gleam in his fierce black eyes—‘does
the research of Monsieur lie in
that direction?’ ‘Why no,’ I answered
carelessly, ‘I don’t care a
<em>sacre</em> about stones, or anything of the
kind, indeed; indigo is <em>my</em> particular
line, which may be called botany, in
a way—I’m perhaps prejudiced in favour
of it, Monsieur!’ The Frenchman
leant his tufted chin on his
hand,” continued Mr Rollock, “meditated
a bit, then glanced at me again,
as if he didn’t care though I were
studying sea-weed in the depths of
the ocean rolling round us, and
stalked down stairs. Then he took
to Mrs Brady again, and lastly to the
Yankee, whose conversations with
him, I fancy, had a twang of both
commerce and politics.” “What do
you think of it all, Mr Rollock?” inquired
I, rather listlessly. “It didn’t
strike me at the time,” said the
planter, “but now, I just ask you,
Collins, if there ain’t a certain great
personage studying geology at present
in a certain island, not very far
away, I suppose, where there’s plenty
of it, and deuced little botany, too, I
imagine?” To this question of the
old gentleman’s I gave nothing but a
half stupid sort of stare, thinking as I
was at the same time of something
else I cared more about.</p>

<p class='c009'>“By Jupiter! though,” cried I on a
sudden, “instead of heaving the ship
to, I do believe we’ve set topmast-stu’nsails,
judging from the way she
pitches into the water; there’s the
brig nearing the wind a point or two
in chase, too;—why, the fellow that
has charge of the deck must be mad,
sir!” Next minute the fire out of
one of her bow-chasers flashed out
behind the blue back of a swell, and
the sudden <em>thud</em> of it came rolling
down to leeward over the space betwixt
us, angrily, so to speak; as the
brig’s fore-course mounted with a
wave, the sun shining clear on the
seams and reef-points, till you caught
sight of the anchor hanging from one
bow, and the men running in her lee
stu’nsail-booms upon the yardarms.
The planter and I went on deck at
once, where we found a fine breeze
blowing, far out of sight of land,
the Indiaman rushing ahead stately
enough; while our young fourth officer
appeared to have just woke up, and
the watch were still rubbing their
eyes, as if every man had been
“caulking it,” after last night’s work.
Even Mr Finch, when he came hastily
up, seemed rather doubtful what
to do, till the salt old third-mate assured
him the brig was a British
sloop-of-war, as any one accustomed
to reckoning sticks and canvass at
sea could tell by this time; upon
which our topsails were clued up, stu’nsails
boom-ended, and the ship hove
into the wind to wait for the brig.</p>

<p class='c009'>When the brig’s mainyard swung
aback within fifty fathoms of our
weather-quarter, hailing us as she
brought to, I had plenty to think of, for
my part. There she was, as square-countered
and flat-breasted a ten-gun
model as ever ran her nose under salt
water, or turned the turtle in a Bahama
squall; though pleasant enough she
looked, dipping as we rose, and prancing
up opposite us again with a
curtsey, the brine dripping from her
bright copper sheathing, the epaulets
and gold bands glancing above
her black bulwark, topped by the
white hammock-cloth; marines in
her waist, the men clustering forward
to see us, and squinting sharp up
at our top-hamper. It made one
ashamed, to take in the taunt, lightsome
set her spars had, tall and
white, with a rake in them, and every
rope running clean to its place; not
a spot about her, hull or rig, but all
English and ship-shape, to the very
gather of her courses and top-gallant
sails in the lines, and the snowy hollow
her two broad topsails made
for the wind, as they brought it in
betwixt them to keep her steady on
the spot. “His Britannic Majesty’s
sloop Podargus!” came back in exchange
for our mate’s answer; and
though ’twas curious to me to think
of meeting the uniform again in five
minutes, I saw plainly this was one
of the nice points that Westwood and
I might have to weather. Your brig-cruisers
are the very sharpest fellows
alive, so far as regards boarding a
merchant craft; if they find the least
smell of a rat, they’ll overhaul your
hold to the very dunnage about the
keelson; and I knew that, if they made
out Westwood, they’d be sure to have
me too; so you may fancy that, during
the short time her boat took to
drop and pull under our quarter, I
was making up my mind as to the
course. In fact, I was almost resolved
to leave the ship at any rate, feeling
as I did after what I’d heard; but
while most of the passengers were running
about and calling below for their
shoes, and what not, the Judge and his
daughter came out of the roundhouse,
and I caught a single glance from her for
a moment, as she turned to look at the
brig, that held me at the instant like
an anchor in a strong tideway. I
kept my breath as the lieutenant’s
hand laid hold of the manrope at the
head of the side-ladder, expecting his
first question; while he swung himself
actively on deck, looking round
for a second, and followed by another;
the wide-awake-looking young middy
in the boat folding his arms, and
squinting up sideways at the ladies
with an air as knowing as if he’d lived
fifty years in the world, instead of
perhaps thirteen.</p>

<p class='c009'>The younger of the lieutenants
took off his cap most politely, eyeing
the fair passengers with as much
respect as he gave cool indifference to
the cadets; the other, who was a
careful-like, working first luff, said
directly to Mr Finch—“Well, sir,
you seemed inclined to lead us a bit
of a chase—but I don’t think,” added
he, smiling from the Indiaman to the
brig, “you’d have cost us much
trouble after all!” Here Finch hurried
out his explanation, in a half-sulky
way, when the naval man cut
him short by saying that “Captain
Wallis desired to know” if we had
touched at St Helena. “May I ask,
sir,” went on the officer, finding we
had preferred the Cape, “if <em>you</em> command
this vessel—or is the master not
on deck—Captain—Captain Wilson,
I think you said?” The mate said
something in a lower voice, and the
lieutenant bared his head more respectfully
than before, seeing the
Company’s ensign, which had been
lowered half-apeak while the boat was
under our side; after which Finch
drew him to the capstan, telling him,
as I guessed, the whole affair of the
schooner, by way of a great exploit,
with hints of her being a pirate or
suchlike. The brig’s officer, however,
was evidently too busy a man,
and seemingly in too great a hurry to
get back, for listening much to such a
rigmarole, as he no doubt thought it;
they had been at the Cape, and were
bound for St Helena again, where
she was one of the cruisers on guard;
so that what with Finch’s story, and
what with the crowd round the second
lieutenant, all anxious to get the
news, I saw it wouldn’t cost Westwood
and me great pains to keep
clear of notice. There were some
riots in London, and three men hanged
for a horrid murder, the Duke of
Northumberland’s death, not to speak
of a child born with two heads, or
something—all since we left England.
Then there was Lord Exmouth come
home from Algiers, and Fort Hattrass,
I think it was, taken in India, which
made every cadet prick up his ears;
Admiral Plampin was arrived at the
Cape of Good Hope, too, in the Conqueror,
seventy-four, and on his way
steering for St Helena, to take Sir
Pulteney Malcolm’s place. All of a
sudden, I heard the young luff begin
to mention a captain of a frigate’s
having been shot two months ago, by
his own first lieutenant, on Southsea
Beach, and the lieutenant being supposed
to have gone off in some outward-bound
ship. “By the bye,”
said the officer to Mr Rollock, “you
must have left about that time—did
you touch at Portsmouth?” “Why,
yes,” answered the planter, “we did.
What were the parties’ names?” I
edged over to Westwood near the
head of the companion, and whispered
to him to go below to our berth, in case
of their happening to attend to us
more particularly; and the farther
apart we two kept, the better, I
thought. The officer at once gave
Captain Duncombe’s name, but didn’t
remember the other, on which he
turned to his first lieutenant with, “I
say, Mr Aldridge, d’you recollect the
man’s name that shot the captain of
the N’Oreste, as they called her?”
“What, that bad business?” said the
other; “no, Mr Moore, I really don’t—I
hope he’s far enough off by this
time!” My breath came again at
this, for it had just come into my mind
that Finch, who was close by, had
got hold of the name, although he
fancied it mine. I was sauntering
down the stair, thinking how much
may hang at times on a man’s good
memory, when I heard the first lieutenant
say, “By the bye, though, now
I recollect, wasn’t it Westwood?”
“Yes, yes, Westwood it was!” said
the other; then came an exclamation
from Finch, and shortly after he and
the first lieutenant stepped down together,
talking privately of the matter,
I suppose; to the cuddy, where I had
gone myself. The lieutenant looked
up at me seriously once or twice, then
went on deck, and a few minutes
afterwards the brig’s boat was pulling
towards her again, while the passengers
flocked below to breakfast. I
saw the thing was settled; the mate
could scarce keep in his triumph, as he
eyed me betwixt surprise and dislike,
though rather more respectfully than
before. As for Westwood, he sat
down with the rest, quite ignorant of
what had turned up; notwithstanding
he threw an uneasy look or two
through the cuddy port at the brig,
still curveting to windward of us,
with her mainyard aback: for my
part, I made up my mind, in the
meanwhile, to bear the brunt of it.</p>

<p class='c009'>’Twas no matter to me <em>now</em> where
I went; whereas, with Westwood, it
was but a toss-up betwixt a rope and
a prison, if they sent him back to
England. No fear of <em>my</em> being tried
in his place, of course; but if there
had been, why, to get away both from
him and <em>her</em>, I’d have run the chance!
There was a bitter sort of a pleasure,
even, in the thought of taking one’s-self
out of the way—to some purpose,
too, if I saved a fellow like my old
schoolmate from a court-martial sentence,
and a man far worthier to win
the heart of such a creature than myself;
while the worst of it was, I was
afraid I’d have come to hate Tom
Westwood, if we had staid near each
other much longer. Accordingly, I no
sooner heard the dip of the gig’s oars
coming alongside again, than one of the
stewards brought me a quiet message
from Mr Finch, that he wanted to see
me on deck; upon which I rose off my
chair just as quietly, and walked up
the companion. The fact was—as
the fellow could scarce have ventured
to look his passengers in the face
again after a low piece of work like
this—’twas his cue to keep all underhand,
and probably lay it to the score
of my actions aboard, or something;
however, he couldn’t throw any dust
of the kind in the second lieutenant’s
eyes, who gave him a cold glance as
he stepped on deck, and, picking me
out at once where I stood, inquired if
I were the person. The first mate
nodded, whereupon the brig’s officer
walked towards me, with a gentlemanly
enough bow, and, “I regret to
have to state, sir,” said he, “that
Captain Wallis desires to see you,
<em>particularly</em>, aboard the brig.” “Indeed,
sir,” answered I, showing very
little surprise, I daresay, gloomy as I
felt; “then the sooner the better, I
suppose.” “Why, yes,” said the
lieutenant, seemingly confused lest he
should meet my eye, “we’re anxious
to make use of this breeze, you—you
know, sir.” “Hadn’t Mr Collins—this
gentleman—better take his traps
with him, Lieutenant Moore?” said
Finch, free and easy wise. “No, sir,”
said the young officer, sternly, “we can
spare time to send for them, if necessary;
of course you will keep the
Indiaman in the wind, sir, till the brig
squares her mainyard.” I gave Finch
a single look of sheer contempt, and
swung myself down by the manropes
from the gangway into the boat; the
lieutenant followed me, and next
minute we were pulling for the brig’s
quarter. The moment I found myself
out of the Seringapatam, however,
my heart nigh-hand failed me,
more especially at sight of the quarter-gallery
window I had seen the light
from, on the smooth of the swell, that
first night we got to sea. I even began
to think if there weren’t some
way of passing myself clear off,
without hauling in Westwood; but it
wouldn’t do. Before I well knew, we
were on board, and the lieutenant
showing me down the after hatchway
to the captain’s cabin.</p>

<p class='c009'>The captain was sitting with one
foot upon the carronade in his outer
cabin, looking through the port at the
heavy Indiaman, as she slued about
and plunged in the blue surge, with
all sorts of ugly ropes hanging from
her bows, dirty pairs of trousers towing
clear of the water when she lifted,
and rusty stains at her hawse-holes.
A stout-built, hard-featured man he
was, with bushy black eyebrows, and
grizzled black hair and whiskers, not
to speak of a queer, anxious, uneasy
look in the keen of his eyes when he
turned to me. However, he got half
up on my coming in, and I saw he
was lame a little of one foot, while he
overhauled me all over with his eye.
“I’m sorry to have to send for you in
this way, sir,” said he, rather surprised
at my rig, apparently—“curst sorry,
sir, and no more about it; but I can’t
help it, confound me—<em>must</em> do my
duty.” “Certainly, sir,” I said. “In
fact,” said Captain Wallis, “the
Admiral ordered us to see after you—<em>him</em>,
that’s to say—at the Cape,
you know.” “Ay, ay, sir,” said I,
watching the Indiaman’s poop-nettings
through the port over his head,
as he sat down. “Pooh, pooh,” continued
he, “you can’t be the man—just
say you don’t belong to the service—confound
it, I’ll pass you!” “Why,
sir,” said I, “I can’t exactly say <em>that</em>.”
“I hear you’re Westwood of the
Orestes, though,” said he; “now I
don’t ask you to say <em>no</em>, sir—but
everybody knew the Orestes, and I
don’t like the thing, I must say—so
perhaps you’re able to swear <em>he</em> is not
aboard the Indiaman—just now,
you know, sir, <em>just now</em>, eh?” This
tack of his rather dumfoundered me,
seeing the captain of the brig meant
it well; but deuced unlucky kindness
it was, since I couldn’t swear to the
very thing he fancied so safe, and his
glance was as quick as lightning, so
he caught the sense of my blank look
in a moment; as I fancied, at least.
“The fact is, sir,” added he, “the
surgeon told me just now he knows
Lieutenant Westwood well enough
by sight, so they locked him up!
You see we could have made you
out at any rate, sir—however, we’ll
let the doctor stay till we’re clear of
the Indiaman, I think!” “Then
you take me for the gentleman you
speak of, Captain Wallis?” asked I
faintly; for at the same moment I
could see a light-coloured dress and a
white ribbon fluttering on the Seringapatam’s
poop, the look of which
sent the blood about my heart. ’Twas
hard to settle betwixt a feeling of the
kind, and fear for Westwood; it
struck me Captain Wallis wasn’t
very eager in the affair, and ’twas on
my lips to assure him I wasn’t the
man. “Harkee,” broke in he, with
almost a wink, and a smile ready to
break out on his mouth, “the short
and the long of it is, I’ll take <em>you</em>!
We must have somebody to show in
the case; though now I remember,
there was some one else said to’ve
gone off with you—but we won’t
trouble <em>him</em>! If we’ve brought away
the wrong man, why, hang it, so much
the better! If you’re Westwood, I
can tell you, they’ll run ye up to a
yardarm, sir! Much more comfortable
than ten years or so in a jail, too,
as—as no one knows better than <em>I</em> do
myself.” Here the captain’s face
darkened, his eye gleamed, and he
rose with a limp to ring a hand-bell
on the table. “White,” said he to
the marine that put his head in at
the door, with his hand up to it,
“Desire the first lieutenant, from me,
to send a boat aboard for this gentleman’s
things.” “I’m afraid, sir,”
continued he gravely to me, “you’ll
have to reckon yourself under arrest,—but
you’ll find the gentlemen in the
gun-room good company, I hope, for
a day or two, till we make St Helena.”
I saw the captain’s mind was made
up, and for the life of me I didn’t
know what to say against it; but
speak I could not, so with a stiff bow
and a sick sort of a smile I turned
out of the door, and walked along to
the gun-room, which was empty. I
could see the boat soon after under
the ship’s side, dipping and rising as
they handed down my couple of portmanteaus
to the man-o’-war’s-men;
the young reefer came down again as
nimble as a monkey, with some letters
in his hand, took off his cap to some
ladies above, and sang out to give
way; five or six flashing feathers of
the oars in the sunlight, and they
were coming round the brig’s stern.
The brig was just squaring away her
mainyard at the whistle from the
boatswain’s mates, when the whole
run of the Indiaman’s bulwarks was
crowded with the passengers’ and
men’s faces, watching the brig gather
way to pass ahead; I could hear the
officers on deck hail the India mates,
wishing them a good voyage; the
ladies bowing and waving their handkerchiefs
to the British union-jack.
Some sort of confusion seemed to get
up, however, about the ship’s taffrail,
where Rollock, Ford, and some others
were standing together; the planter
jumped up all at once on the quarter-mouldings
nearest the brig, then
jumped down again, and his straw
hat could be seen hurrying toward
the quarterdeck. Next I caught a
bright glimpse of Violet Hyde’s face,
as the sun shot on it free of the awnings—her
eyes wandering with the
brig’s motion, I fancied, along the
deck above me; till suddenly she
seemed to start, and Westwood appeared
behind her. The next thing I
saw was the black-faced figure-head
of the Seringapatam rising below her
bowsprit, about sixty yards from the
gun-room port where I was, and
down she went again with a heavy
plash, as Tom Westwood himself
leapt up between the knight-heads at
the bow, hailing the brig’s deck with
a voice like a trumpet, “Ahoy!—the
Podargus ahoy!—for mercy’s sake
heave to again, sir!” he sung out;
“I’m the man you want!” “The
Indiaman ahoy!” I heard Captain
Wallis himself hail back, “what
d’ye say?” The creak of our yards,
with the flap of the jib, and the
men’s feet, drowned Westwood’s
second hail, as it came sharp up to
windward; the sailors in the Indiaman’s
bows were grinning at him
behind, while the first lieutenant of the
brig shouted gruffly that she had no
time to wait for more letters; and I
heard the gun-room steward say to
the marine, on going out with the
dirty breakfast cloth, he wondered if
“that parson cove thought the Pedarkis
vanted a chapling!” or was only
“vun of these fellers that’s so troublesome
to see the French Hemperor!”
“Well,” said the marine, “’twas
pretty queer if he took the Pedarkis for
the ship to carry him there! I don’t
think the captain would let a rat into
the island, if he could help it!” “Not
he,” said the steward; “plenty of ’em
in already, Vite, my man—I do think
they used to swim off on board here,
by the way the cheese vent!” All this
time I never stirred from the port,
watching with my chin on the muzzle
of the gun till the Indiaman was half
a mile to windward of us, her big hull
still rising and falling on the same
swells, topped with clusters of heads;
her topsails lowered in honour of the
flag, the ensign blowing out half-mast
high for the death of Captain Williamson:
a long wash of the water ran
outside the brig’s timbers, surge after
surge, and the plunge at her bows
showed how fast she began to run
nor’-westward before the wind. You
may well fancy my state, after all I’d
done for weeks; in fact, one scarce
knew the extent of what he’d felt,
what he’d looked forward to, till he
found himself fairly adrift from it:
’twould even have been nothing, after
all, could I just have thought of Violet
Hyde as I’d done two hours ago, on
waking, with last night in the river on
my mind. As it was, ’twould have
taken little to make me jump out of
the port into the sweep of blue water
swelling toward the brig’s counter;
the Seringapatam being by this time
astern. I couldn’t even see her, or
aught save the horizon, to windward;
but at this moment the young second
lieutenant came below, and, seeing
me, he began in a polite enough way,
with a kindly manner about it, trying
to raise my spirits. “I suppose, sir,”
said I, rather sulkily, I daresay, “I
can have a berth just now?” “Oh,
certainly,” said he, “the steward has
orders to see to it at once. Will you
come on deck a minute or two, in the
meantime, sir?”</p>

<p class='c009'>I looked back from the ship astern
to the brig-of-war’s clean white decks,
flush fore and aft, with the men all
forward at their stations, neatly dressed
in regular man-o’-war style, every
one alike—a sight that would have
done me good at another time, small
as she was by comparison; but the
very thought of the Indiaman’s lumbering
poop and galleries was too
much for me—’twas as if you’d knocked
out those two roundhouse doors of
hers, and let in a gush of bare sky
instead. The ship-shape man-o’-war
cut of things was nothing, I fancied, to
the snug spot under those top-gallant
bulwarks of hers, and the breezy poop
all a-flutter with muslin of an evening,
where you found books and little basket
affairs stuck into the coils of rope:
I thought the old Seringapatam never
looked so well, as she commenced
trimming sail on a wind, beginning to
go drive ahead, with a white foam at
her bows, and her whole length
broadside-on to us. All at once we
saw her clue up courses and to’-gallant sails,
till she was standing slowly
off under the three topsails and jib;
the two lieutenants couldn’t understand
what she was about, and the
captain put the glass to his eye, after
which he said something to the second
lieutenant, who went forward directly.
The next thing I saw was the Indiaman
coming up in the wind again for
about a minute; she had her stern
nearly to us, when the moment after,
as she rose upon a long sea, you saw
something flash white off her lee-gangway
in the sunlight, that dropped
against it into the hollow of a wave.
The next minute she fell off again
with her topsails full, and the first
shower of spray was rising across her
forefoot, when the flash of a gun broke
out of her side, and the sound came
down to us; then a second and a
third. The brig gave her the same
number in answer, and as soon as the
smoke betwixt us had cleared away,
the ship could be seen under full sail
to the south-westward by west.
“<em>That’s</em> her poor skipper’s hammock
dropped alongside, gentlemen!” said
Captain Wallis to his officers; “God
be with him!” “Amen!” said the
first lieutenant, and we put our caps
on again. “Set stu’nsails, Mr Aldridge,”
said the captain, limping down
the hatchway: as for me, I leant I
don’t know how long over the brig’s
taffrail, watching the ship’s canvass
grow in one, through the width of air
betwixt us; my heart full, as may be
supposed, not to say what notions
came into my head of what might
happen to her under Finch’s charge,
ere she reached Bombay. No one belonging
to the brig spoke to me, out
of kindness, no doubt; and the ship
was hull-down on the horizon, to my
fancy with somewhat of a figure like
<em>hers</em>, when she stood with the Cashmere
shawl over her head in the
dusk. Then I went gloomily down
to my berth, where I kept close
by myself till I fell asleep, though
the gun-room steward was sent
more than once to ask me to join the
officers.</p>

<p class='c009'>It wasn’t till the next day, in fact,
when I went on the quarterdeck at
noon, wearied for a fresher gulp of
air, that I saw any of them; and the
breeze having fallen lighter that morning,
they were too busy trimming sail
and humouring her to give me much
notice. I must say I had seldom seen
a commander seem more impatient
about the sailing of his craft, in time of
peace, than the captain of the Podargus
appeared to be; walking the starboard
side as fast as the halt in his gait
would let him, and the anxious turn
of his eyes plainer than before, while
he looked from the brig’s spread of
stu’nsails to the horizon, through the
glass, which, I may say, he never
once laid down. From where the
brig spoke the Indiamen, to St
Helena, would be about two or three
days’ sail with a fair wind, at the
ordinary strength of the south-east
trade; though, at this rate, it might
cost us twice the time. I noticed the
men on the forecastle look to each
other now and then knowingly, at
some fresh sign of the captain’s impatience;
and the second lieutenant
told me in a low voice, with his head
over the side near mine, Captain
Wallis had been out of sorts ever
since they lost sight of the island.
“You’d suppose, sir,” said he, laughing,
“that old Nap was his sweetheart,
by the way he watches over
him; and now, I fancy, he’s afraid St
Helena may be sunk in blue water
while we were away! In fact, Mr
Westwood,” added he, “it looks
devilish like as if it had come up from
Davy Jones, all standing; so I don’t
see why it shouldn’t go down to him
again some day; I can tell you it’s
tiresome work cruising to windward
there, though, and we aren’t idle at
all!” “Did you ever see the French
Emperor yourself, sir?” asked I—for
I must say the thought of nearing the
prison such a man was in made me a
little curious. “Never, sir, except at
a mile’s distance,” said the second
lieutenant; “indeed, it’s hard to get
a pass, unless you know the governor.
But I’ve a notion,” continued he, “the
governor’s carefulness is nothing to
our skipper’s! Indeed, they tell a
queer story of how Sir Hudson Lowe
was gulled for months together, when
he was governor of Capri island, in
the Mediterranean. As for the captain,
again, you’d seek a long time ere
you found a better seaman—he’s as
wide awake, too, as Nelson himself—while
the curious thing is, I believe,
he never once clapped eyes on Bonaparte
in his life! But good cause he
has to hate him, you know, Mr Westwood!”
“Indeed,” said I, taking a
moment’s interest in the thing; and I
was just going to ask the reason, when
the first lieutenant came over to say.
Captain Wallis would be glad if I
would dine with him in the cabin.</p>

<p class='c009'>At dinner-time, accordingly, I put
on a coat, for the first time, less like
those the cadets in the Seringapatam
wore, and went aft, where I found the
first lieutenant and a midshipman with
the captain. He did his best to soften
my case, as I saw by his whole manner
during dinner; after which, no
sooner had the reefer had his one
glass of wine, than he was sent
on deck to look out to windward.
“Well, sir,” said Captain Wallis
thereupon, turning from his first luff
to me, “I’m sorry for this disagreeable
business! I believe you deny
being the person at all, though?”
“Why, sir,” said I, “I am certainly
no more the first lieutenant of
the Orestes than yourself, Captain
Wallis! ’Twas all owing to a mistake
of that India mate, who owed me
a grudge.” “Oh, oh, I see!” replied
he, beginning to smile, “the whole
matter’s as plain as a handspike, Mr
Aldridge! But I couldn’t do less, on
the information!” “However, sir,”
put in the first lieutenant, “there’s no
doubt the real man must have been in
the ship, or the mistake could not
have happened, sir!” “Well—you
look at things too square, Aldridge,”
said the captain. “All <em>you</em>’ve got
to do, I hope, sir, is just to prove
you’re not Westwood; and if you
want still to go out to the East Indies,
why, I daresay you won’t be long of
finding some outward-bound ship or
other off James Town. Only, I’d advise
you, sir, to have your case over
with Sir Pulteney, before Admiral
Plampin comes in—as I fear he would
send you to England.” “It matters
little to me, sir,” I answered; “seeing
the reason I had for going out
happens to be done with.” Here I
couldn’t help the blood rising in my
face; while Captain Wallis’s steady
eye turned off me, and I heard him say
in a lower key to the lieutenant, he
didn’t think it was a matter for a
court-martial at all. “Pooh, Aldridge!”
said he, “some pretty girl
amongst the passengers in the case, I
wager!” “Why,” returned Aldridge,
carelessly, “I heard Mr Moore
say some of the ladies were pretty
enough, especially one—some India
judge or other’s young daughter—I
believe he was in raptures about, sir.”
This sort of thing, as you may suppose,
was like touching one on the
raw with a marlin-spike; when the
captain asked me, partly to smooth it
over, maybe,—“By the bye, sir, Mr
Aldridge tells me there was something
about a pirate schooner, or slaver, or
some craft of the kind, that frightened
your mates—that’s all stuff, I daresay—but
what I want to know is, in
what quarter you lost sight of her,
if you recollect?” “About nor’west
by north from where we were at the
time, sir,” said I. “A fast-looking
craft was she?” asked he. “A
thorough-built smooth-going clipper,
if ever there was one,” I said. At
this the captain mused for a little,
till at last he said to his lieutenant—“They
daren’t risk it; I don’t think
there’s the Frenchman born, man
enough to try such a thing by water,
Aldridge?” “Help <em>him</em> out, you
mean, sir?” said the luff; “why, if he
ever got as far as the water’s edge, I’d
believe in witchcraft, sir!” “Give a
man time, Mr Aldridge,” answered the
captain, “and he’ll get out of anything
where soldiers are concerned—every
year he’s boxed up, sharpens
him till his very mind turns like a
knife, man! It makes one mad on
every point beside, I tell you, sir—whereas
after he’s free, perhaps, it’s
just on <em>that only</em> his brain has a twist
in it!” “No doubt, Captain Wallis,”
said Aldridge, glancing over to me, as
his commander got up and began walking
about the cabin, spite of his halt.
“D’ye know,” continued he, “I’ve
thought at times what I should like
best would be to have <em>him</em> ahead of
the brig, in some craft or other, and
we hard in chase—I’d go after that
man to the North Pole, sir, and bring
him back! Without once going aboard
to know he was there, I’d send word
it was Jack Wallis had him in tow!”
“What is Bonaparte like, then, after
all, sir?” I asked, just to fill up the
break. “I never saw him, nor he me,”
replied Captain Wallis, stopping in his
walk, “but every day he may have a
sight of the brig cruising to windward;
and as for the island, we see plenty of
<em>it</em>, I think, Aldridge?” “Ay, ay, sir,”
said Aldridge, “that we do! For my
part, I can’t get the ugly stone steeples
of it out of my head!” “Well,” continued
the captain, “at times, when
we’re beating round St Helena of a
night, I’ll be hanged if I haven’t
thought it began to loom as if the
French Emperor stood on the top of
it, like a shadow looking out to sea
the other way,—and I’ve gone below
lest he’d turn round till I saw his
face. I’ve a notion, Mr Aldridge, if
I once saw his face I’d lose what I
feel against him,—just as I used always
to fancy, the first five years in
the <em>Temple</em>, if he were only to see <em>me</em>,
he would let me out! But they say
he’s got a wonderful way of coming
over every one, if he likes!” After
this, Captain Wallis sat down and
passed the decanters, the first lieutenant
observing he supposed Bonaparte
was a great man in his way, but
nothing to Nelson. “Don’t tack
them together, Aldridge!” said his
commander, quickly; “Nelson was a
man all over,—he’d got the feelings of
a man, and his faults—but I call <em>him</em>,
yonder, a perfect demon let loose upon
the world! To my mind all the blood
those republicans shed, with their
murdered king’s at bottom of it, got
somehow into him, till he thought no
more of human beings, or aught concerning
’em, than I do of so many
cockroaches! But the terrible thing
was, sir, his infernal schemes, and
his cunning—why, he’d twist you
one country against another, and get
hold of both, like a man bending stun-sail
halliards—there were men grew
up round him quick as mushrooms, fit
to carry out everything he wanted; so
one could’nt wonder at him enough,
Mr Aldridge, if it was only natural!
I can’t tell you anything like what
I felt,” he went on, “when I was in
Sir Sidney Smith’s ship, cruising down
Channel, and we used to see the gunboats
and flat-bottoms he got together
for crossing the straits—or one night,
with poor Captain Wright, that we
stood in near enough to get a shot sent
at us off the heights—the whole shore
about Boulogne was one twinkle of
lights and camp-fires, and you heard
the sound of the hammers on planks
and iron, with the carts and gun-carriages
creaking—not to speak of a
hum from soldiers enough, you’d have
thought, to eat old England up! And
where are they now?” “I don’t
know, sir, indeed,” said the first lieutenant
gravely, supposing by the captain’s
look, no doubt, that it was a
question. “What, Captain Wallis!”
exclaimed I, “were you with Captain
Wright, then, sir?” Of course, like
every one in the service, I had heard
Captain Wright’s story often, with
ever so many versions; there was a
mystery about his sad fate that made
me curious to hear more, of what gave
the whole navy, I may say, a hatred to
Bonaparte not at all the same you
regard a fair enemy with.</p>

<p class='c009'>“<em>With</em> him, say you, sir?” repeated
the captain of the Podargus,
“ay was I! I was his first lieutenant,
and good cause I had to feel for the
end he came to,—as I’ll let you hear.
One night Captain Wright went
ashore, as he’d often done, into the
town of Beville, dressed like a smuggler;
for the fact was the French
winked at the smuggling, only I must
say <em>we</em> used to land men instead of
goods. I didn’t like the thing that
night, and advised him not to go, as
they’d begun to suspect something of
late; however, the captain by that
time was foolhardy, owing to having
run so many risks, and he was bent
on going in before we left the coast;
though, after all, I believe it was only
to get a letter that any fisherman
could have brought off. The boat
was lying off and on behind a rocky
point, and we waited and waited,
hearing nothing but the sound of the
tide making about the big weedy
stones, in the shadow from the lights
of the town; when at last the French
landlord of the little tavern he put up
at, came down upon the shingle and
whistled to us. He gave me a message
from Captain Wright, with the
private word we had between us, saying
he wanted me to come up to the
town on a particular business. Accordingly,
I told the men to shove out
again, and away I went with the fellow.
No sooner did I open the door
of the room, however, than three or
four gens-d’-armes had hold of me,
and I was a prisoner: as for Captain
Weight, I never saw him more. The
morning broke as they brought me
up on horseback in the middle of them,
along the road to Paris, from whence
I could make out the cutter heeling
to the breeze a mile or two off the
land, with two or three gunboats hard
in chase.”</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, sir, at Paris they clapped me
into a long gloomy-like piece of mason-work
called the Temple, close alongside
of the river, where plenty of our
countrymen were; Captain Wright
and Sir Sidney Smith himself among
the rest, as I found out afterwards.
The treatment wasn’t so bad at first;
but when you climbed up to the windows,
there was nothing to be seen
but the top of a wall, and roofs of
houses all round, save where you’d a
glimpse of the dirty river and some
pig-trough of a boat. One day I got
a letter from Captain Wright—how
they let me have it I don’t well know—saying
he was allowed a good deal of
comfort in the mean time, but he suspected
some devilish scheme in it, to
make him betray the British government,
or something of the kind; that
he’d heard one of the French royalist
generals had choked himself in his
prison, but never to believe he’d do
the same thing, though every night
he woke up thinking he heard the key
turn in the door. The next thing I
heard of was that Captain Wright
had made away with himself, sir!”
Here Captain Wallis got up again,
walking across the cabin, seemingly
much moved. “Well, after that I
slept with the dinner-knife in my
breast, till the jailer took it away;
for I thought at the time that poor
Wright had been murdered, though I
found cause to change my mind when
I knew what loneliness does with a
man, not to speak of the notion being
put before him to take his own life.
For a while, too, Captain Shaw was
in the same cell; by which time we
had such bad food, and so little of it,
that one day when a pigeon lighted on
the window, which used to come there
for a crumb or two every afternoon,
right along with the gold gleam of the
sun as it shot over the dark houses to
that window—I jumped up and caught
it. Shaw and I actually tore it in bits,
and eat it raw on the spot; though
’twas long ere I could get rid of the
notion of the poor bird fluttering and
cooing against the bars, and looking
at me with its round little soft eye as
it pecked off the slab. But what
was that to the thought of my old
father that had hurt himself to keep
me in the navy, and me able, now, to
make his last days comfortable—or
the innocent young girl I had married
the moment I got my commission of
first lieutenant, expecting to be flush of
prize-money! It even came into my
head often, when I sat by myself in the
cell they afterwards put me into, alone,—how
that little blue pigeon might
have carried a letter to England for me—at
any rate it was the only thing like
a chance, or a friend, I ever saw the
whole time I was there,—and foolish
as the notion may look, why the window
was too high in a smooth wall,
for me once to reach it. I heard all
Paris humming round the thick of the
stone, every day, and sometimes the
sound of thousands of soldiers tramping
past below, over the next bridge,
with music and suchlike—no doubt
when the First Consul, as they called
him, went off to some campaign or
other: then I’d dream I felt the deck
under me in a fresh breeze at night,
till the soul sickened in me to wake
up and find the stones as still as before,
and now and then hear the
sentries challenging on their rounds.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, one day a fellow in a cloak,
with a slouch hat over his forehead,
was let in to try, as I thought, if there
was anything to be got out of me, as
they tried two or three times at first;
some spy he was, belonging to that
police devil, Fouché. What did he
offer me, d’ye think, after beating
about the bush for half an hour, but
the command of a French seventy-four
under the Emperor, as he was by
that time, and, if I would take it, I
was free! On this I pretended to
be thinking of it, when the police-fellow
sidled near me, to show a commission
signed with the Emperor’s
name at the foot.</p>

<p class='c009'>“In place of taking hold of it, however,
I jumped up and seized the villain’s
nose and chin before he saw my
purpose, stuffed the parchment into
his mouth by way of a gag, and made
him dance round the cell, with his
cloak over his head and his sword
dangling alongside of him, to keep his
stern clear of my foot; till the turnkey
heard the noise, and he made bolt out
as soon as the door was opened. You’d
wonder how long that small matter
served me to laugh over, for my spirit
wasn’t broken yet, you see; but even
then, in the very midst of it, I would
all of a sudden turn sick at heart, and
sit wondering when the exchange of
prisoners would be made, that I looked
for. The worst of it was, at times
a horrid notion would come into my
head of the French seventy-four being
at sea at the moment, and me almost
wishing they’d give me the offer over
again—I fancied I felt the very creak
of her, straining in the trough of a
sea, and saw the canvass of her topsails
over me, standing on her poop
with a glass in my hand,—till she
rose on a crest, and there were the
Agamemnon’s lighted ports bearing
down to leeward upon us, till I heard
Nelson’s terrible voice sing out, “Give
it to ’em, my lads!” when the flash
of her broadside showed me his white
face under the cocked hat, and it came
whizzing over like a thirty-two pound
shot right into my breast, as I sunk
to the bottom, and found myself awake
in the prison.</p>

<p class='c009'>“I don’t know how long it was
after, but they moved me to another
berth, where a man had shot himself
through the head, for we actually met
his body being carried along the passage;
and more than that, sir, they
hadn’t taken the trouble to wash his
brains off the wall they were scattered
on! There I sat one day after another,
watching the spot marked by them turn
dry, guessing at everything that had
gone through them as long as he was
alive in the place, till my own got perfectly
stupid; I was as helpless as a
child, and used to cry at other times
when the jailer didn’t bring me my food
in time. I fancied they’d forget all about
me in England; and as for time, I never
counted it, except by the notion I had
been two or three years in. At last
the turnkey got so used to me, thinking
me no doubt such a harmless sort
of a poor man, that he would sit by
and talk to me, giving accounts of the
Emperor’s battles and victories, and
such matters. I must say I began to
feel as if he was some sort of a God
upon earth there was no use to strive
against, just as the turnkey seemed to
do, more especially when I heard of
Nelson’s death; so when he told me,
one time, it wouldn’t do for Fouché or
the Emperor to let me out yet, I said
nothing more. “Will the Emperor
not let me out <em>now</em>?” asked I, a long
time after. “Diable!” said the man,
“do you think his Majesty has time
to think of such a poor fellow as you,
amongst such great matters? No,
no, pauvr’ homme!” continued he;
“you’re comfortable here, and wouldn’t
know what to do if you were out!
No fear of your doing as your Capitaine
<em>Ourite</em> did, since you’ve lived
here so long, monsieur!” “How long
is it, now, good Pierre?” asked I, with
a sigh, as he was going out at the
door; and the turnkey counted on his
fingers. “Ulm—Austerlitz—Jena,”
said he slowly; “oui, oui—I scarcely
thought it so much—it wants only six
or seven months of ten years!” and
he shut to the door. I sprang up off
the bed I was sitting on, wild at the
thought—I may say, for a day or two
I was mad—ten years! ten years!—and
all this time where was my poor
innocent Mary, and the child she expected
to bear, when I left Exeter—where
was my old father? But I
couldn’t bear to dwell on it. Yes, Aldridge,
by the God above, they had kept
me actually <em>ten years</em> there, in that
cursed Temple, while <em>he</em> was going on
all the time with his victories, and his
shows, and his high-flown bulletins!
Yet he wasn’t too high, it seems, to
stoop to give out, through his tools,
how Wright and I had both killed ourselves
for fear of bringing in the British
government—nor to offer me a seventy-four
in a dungeon—<em>me</em>, a man
used to wind and water, that loved a
breeze at sea like life! ’Twas the
very devil’s temptation, sir; but I’ll
tell you what, both Captain Wright
and myself had been with Sir Sidney
Smith at Acre, when <em>he</em> was baffled
for the first time in his days—<em>that</em> was
the thing, I believe from my soul, that
he hated us for! <em>I</em> had a right to be
exchanged ten times over, though he
might have called Wright a spy; but
what was my poor wife and her newborn
baby, or my old father’s grey
hairs, to <em>him</em>, and his damnable ambition
to make everything his own—and
when the very thought of me in
my hole at the Temple would strike
him in the midst of his victories,
where he hadn’t time, forsooth, to
trouble himself about a poor man like
me! The fact was, I could tell how
he offered a British seaman, that had
had a finger in nettling him, the command
of one of his seventy-fours,
which he had nobody fit to manage—and
that in a prison where I’d be glad
even of fresh air!</p>

<p class='c009'>“’Twas then, in fact, the purpose
rose firmer and firmer in me, out of
the fury that was like to drive me
mad, how I’d get out of his clutches,
and spend my life against the very
pitch of his power I knew so well
about. Till that time I used to look
through the bars of the window at the
Seine, without ever fancying escape,
low down as it was, compared with
my last cell. There was a mark in
the stone floor with my walking back
and forward, since they put me in;
and by this time I had the cunning of
a beast, let alone its strength, in regard
of anything I took into my head:
often I used to think I saw the end of
my finger, or the corner of a stone,
more like the way a fly sees them,
than a man. The turnkey, Pierre,
would never let me have a knife to eat
my food with, lest I should do as he
said all we English were apt to do—kill
myself—which, by the way,
is a lie; and I think that fiend of
an Emperor yonder must have taught
them to blame us with their own
crime! However, latterly he let me
have a fork for half an hour at dinner;
and for a quarter of an hour every day,
except those when he staid to talk to
me as I ate it, did I climb up and
work with that fork at the top and
bottom of one of the window-bars,
taking care not to break the fork, and
jumping down, always, in time to finish
the meal. It took me four whole
months, sir, to loosen them! Such
deadly fear as I was in, too, lest he’d
find it out, or lest they moved me to
another cell—you’d have thought I
was fond of the walls round the place,
where hundreds of men before me had
scrawled their last words; and the one
that shot himself had written, “<i><span lang="fr">Liberté—anéantissement!</span></i>
Liberty—annihilation!”
just over where the spatter
of his brains had stuck when he
laid his head to the spot! If Pierre
had noticed what I’d been about, my
mind was made up to kill him, and
then make the trial before they missed
him; but <em>that</em> I had a horror of, after
all, seeing the man had taken a sort of
liking to me, and I knew he had a wife.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Well, at last, one day I had the
thing finished; when midnight came I
trembled like a leaf, till I began to fear
I couldn’t carry it through: I tore
my shirt and the blanket in strips, to
twist into a line, got out the bar by
main force, squeezed through, and let
myself down. The line was just long
enough to let me swing against the
cold wall, over a sentry’s head going
round the parapet below; as soon as
he was past I dropped on the edge of
the wall, and fell along it, my fingers
scraping the smooth stone to no purpose,
till I was sliding off into the
dark, with the river I didn’t know how
far below me, though I heard it lapping
against some boats at the other
side. For a few moments I was quite
senseless, from the fall into the water;
the splash roused the sentinels, and
three or four bullets whizzed into it
about me, as I struck out for the
shore. Still the night was thick
enough to help me clear off among
the dark lanes in the city;—and the
upshot of it was, that I found out
some royalists, who supplied me with
a pedlar’s dress; till, in the end, after
I can’t tell you how many ticklish
chances, where my luck hung upon a
hair, I reached the coast, and was
taken off to a British frigate. At
home, sir—at home, I found I’d been
given up long ago for a dead man in
Bonaparte’s prisons, and—and—the
old man had been buried seven
years, Aldridge—but not so long as
my—wife. The news of my taking
my own life in the Temple saved her
the rest—’twas too much for her at
the time, Aldridge—both she and her
little one had lain in the mould nine
years, when I stood looking at the
grass under Exeter Cathedral! I was
a young man almost, still; but my
hair was as grizzled when I got out of
the Temple in 1813, as you see it now,
and I’ll never walk the deck fairly
again. Aldridge,” added the captain
of the Podargus, turning round and
standing still, with a low sort of a
deep whisper, “’tis a strange thing,
the Almighty’s way of working—but
I never thought—in the Temple yonder,
longing for a heave of the water
under me—I little thought John Wallis
would ever come to keep guard
over his Majesty, the Emperor Napoleon!”</p>

<p class='c009'>When Captain Wallis stopped, the
long send of the sea lifting the brig
below us, with a wild, yearning kind
of ripple from her bows back to her
counter, and weltering away astern,—one
felt it, I may say, somewhat
like an answer to him, for the breeze
had begun to freshen: it had got all
of a sudden nearly quite dark, too,
as is the case inside the tropics, without
the moon. “Let’s go on deck,
gentlemen,” said the captain, coming
to himself; “now clap on those other
topmost stuns’ls, Mr Aldridge, and
make her walk, sir!” “No saying,”
I heard him mutter, as he let us go up
before him—“no saying what the want
of the Podargus might do, off the
island, these dark nights—with water
alongside, one can’t be sure—I warrant
me if <em>that man’s</em> dreams came
true, as mine did, he would be at the
head of his thousands again, ruining
the whole world, with men rotting out
of sight in dungeons while the wind
blows! Ay, dreams, young gentleman!”
said he to me as we stood
on deck; “I’ll never get rid of that
prison, in my head, nor the way
that dead man’s brain seemed to come
into mine, off the wall! But for my
part, off St Helena, ’tis Napoleon
Bonaparte’s dreams that enter into
my head. If you’ll believe it, sir, I’ve
<em>heard</em> them as it were creeping and
tingling round the black heights of
the island at dead of night, like men
in millions ready to break out in war
music, as I used to hear them go over
the bridge near the Temple—or in
shrieks and groans; we all the time
forging slowly ahead, and the surf
breaking in at the foot of the rocks.
I know then, <em>who’s</em> asleep at the time
up in Longwood!”</p>

<p class='c009'>The brig-of-war was taking long
sweeps and plunges before the wind;
the Southern Cross right away on her
larboard quarter, and the very same
stars spread all out aloft, that I’d
watched a couple of nights before,
close by Violet Hyde. The whole of
what I’d just heard was nothing to
me in a single minute, matched with
the notion of never seeing her more.
Everything I’d thought of since we
left England was gone, even one’s
heart for the service; and what to do
now, I didn’t know. I scarce noticed
it commence to rain, till a bit of a
squall had come on, and they were
hauling down stu’nsails; the dark
swells only to be seen rising with the
foam on them, and a heavier cover
of dull cloud risen off the brig’s beam,
as well as ahead; so that you merely
saw her canvass lift before you against
the thick of the sky, and dive into it
again. ’Twas just cleared pretty
bright off the stars astern of us, however,
wind rather lighter than before
the squall, when the captain thought
he made out a sail near about the
starboard beam, where the clouds
came on the water-line; a minute or
two after she was plain enough in the
clear, though looming nearly end-on,
so that one couldn’t well know her
rig. Thinking at first sight it might
be the schooner, Captain Wallis was
for bracing up, to stand in chase and
overhaul her; but shortly after she
seemed either to yaw a little, or fall
off again before the wind like ourselves,
at any rate showing three sticks
on the horizon with square canvass
spread, and evidently a small <em>ship</em>.
“Some homeward-bound craft meaning
to touch at the island!” said
Captain Wallis, telling the first lieutenant
to keep all fast; by which
time she was lost in the dusk again,
and I wasn’t long of going below.
A fancy had got hold of me for the
moment, I can’t deny, of its being
the Seringapatam after us, on Westwood’s
owning himself; whereupon I
persuaded myself Captain Wallis
might perhaps take the risk on him
of letting us both go. For my part, I
felt by this time as if I’d rather be in
the same ship with <em>her</em>, hopeless
though it was, than steer this way
for the other side of the Line; and I
went down with a chill at my heart
like the air about an iceberg.</p>

<p class='c009'>Not being asleep, however, a sudden
stir on deck, an hour or two after that,
brought me out of my cot, to look
through the scuttle in the side. The
brig had hauled her wind from aft onto
her starboard quarter, making less
way than <em>before</em> it, of course; I heard
the captain’s voice near the after-hatchway,
too; so accordingly I
slipped on my clothes, and went
quietly up. The Podargus was running
through the long broad swells
usual thereabouts, with her head
somewhere toward north-east; the
officers all up, the whole of the crew
in both watches clustered beyond the
brig’s fore-course, and the captain
evidently roused, as well as impatient;
though I couldn’t at first
make out the reason of her being off
her course. As soon as she fell off a
little, however, to my great horror I
could see a light far ahead of us, right
in the gloom of the clouds, which for
a moment you’d have supposed was
the moon rising red and bloody, till
the heave of the sea betwixt us and
it showed how both of us were dipping:
and now and then it gave a
flaring glimmer fair out from the
breast of the fog-bank, while the
breeze was sending a brown puff of
smoke from it now and then to leeward
against the clouds; through which
you made a spar or two licking up
the flame, and a rag of canvass fluttering
across on the yard. ’Twas
neither more nor less than a ship on
fire—no doubt the vessel seen abeam
of us that evening—a sight at which
Captain Wallis seemingly forgot his
hurry to make St Helena, in the
eagerness shown by all aboard to
save the poor fellows. Suddenly
there was another wild gleam from
the burning craft, and we thought it
was over altogether, when up shot a
wreath of fire and smoke again, then
a fierce flash with a blue burst of
flame, full of sparks and all sorts of
black spots and broken things, as if
she had blown up while she heaved
the last time on the swell. Everything
was pitch dark next minute in
her place, as if a big blot of ink had
come instead; the brig-of-war herself
rolling with a flap of her headsails
up against the long heavy bank of
cloud that blocked the horizon.
“Keep her away, sirrah!” shouted
Captain Wallis, and the Podargus
surged ahead as before, all of us
standing too breathless to speak, but
counting the heads of the waves as
they flickered past her weather beam.
“God’s sake!” exclaimed the captain
at last, “this is terrible, Aldridge.
If I had only overhauled her, as I
meant at first, we might have helped
them in time; for no doubt the fire
must have been commenced when we
noticed her yawing yonder a couple
of hours ago, sir.” “I think not, sir,”
said his lieutenant, “<em>we</em> were against
the clear; and if they’d been in danger
<em>then</em>, she’d have fired a distress-gun.
There couldn’t have been much
powder aboard, sir—more likely rum,
I think!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“For heaven’s sake!” continued the
captain, “let’s look about—she must
surely have had boats out, or something,
Mr Aldridge? The best thing
we can do is to fire a few times as we
bear down—see that bow-gun cleared
away, Mr Moore, and do it!”</p>

<p class='c009'>We might have been about a mile,
as was guessed, from where she was
last seen, when the brig fired a gun
to windward, still standing on under
everything. At the second flash that
lighted up the belly of the clouds, with
the black glitter of the swells below
them, I fancied I caught a moment’s
glimpse of something two or three
miles away. It was too short to say,
however; and soon after the twinkle
of a light, seemingly hoisted on a spar,
was seen little more than half a mile
upon the brig’s lee-bow, dipping and
going out of sight at times, but plain
enough when it rose. Down went the
Podargus for the spot, sending the
foam off her cut-water; and it was no
long time before a wild hail from several
voices could be made out almost
close aboard. Ten minutes after she
was brought to the wind, heaving a
rope to the men on a loose raft of
casks and spars, as it pitched alongside
of her, with the sail hauled down on
a spar they had stuck up, and a lantern
at the head of it; after which the
raft was cast off, and the poor fellows
were safe on board.</p>

<p class='c009'>Two of them seemed to be half-drowned,
the one wrapped up in a
wet pilot-coat, his face looking white
and frightened enough by the glimmer
of the lanterns; the other darker a
good deal, so far as I could make him
out for the crowd about him, and he
didn’t seem able to speak; accordingly,
both of them were taken at
once below to the surgeon. The rest
were four half-naked blacks, and a
little chap with ear-rings and a seaman’s
dress, who was the spokesman
on the quarterdeck to the captain’s
questions—plainly American by his
snuffling sort of drawl. “Are there
no more of you afloat?” was the first
thing asked, to which the Yankee
sailor shook his head. She was an
American bark, he said, from a voyage
of discovery round the two Capes;
he was mate himself, and the skipper,
being addicted to his cups, had set
a cask of rum on fire; so, finding they
couldn’t get it under, besides being
wearied at the pumps, on account of
an old leak, the men broke into the
spirit-room and got dead drunk. He
and the blacks had patched up a raft
in a hurry for bare life, barely saving
the passenger and his servant who had
jumped overboard: the passenger was
a learned sort of a man, he said, and
his servant was a Mexican. Most of
this I found next day, from the gun-room
officers: however, I heard the
mate of the burnt barque inquire of the
captain whereabouts they were, as the
skipper was the only man who could
use a chronometer or quadrant, and
the last gale had driven them out of
their reckonings a long way. “Somehow
south of the Line, I guess?” said
he; but, on being told, the fellow gave
a bewildered glance round him, seemingly,
and a cunning kind of squint after
it, as I fancied. “Well,” said he, “I
guess we’re considerable unlucky—but
I consider to turn in, if agreeable!”
The man had a way, in fact, half free-and-easy,
half awkward, that struck
me; especially when he said, as he
went below, he supposed “this was a
war-brig,” and hoped there “wasn’t
war between the States and the old
country?” “No, my man,” said
the captain, “you may set your mind
at ease on that point—but I’m afraid,
nevertheless, we’ll have to land you
at St Helena!” “What, mister?”
said the American, starting, “that’s
where you’ve got Boneyparty locked
up? Well now, if you give me a good
berth for a few, mister, I guess I’ll
rayther ship aboard you, till I get a
better! What’s your wage just now,
if I may ask, captain?”  “Well,
well,” said the captain, laughing,
“we’ll see to-morrow, my man!”—and
the American went below. “Set
stu’nsails again, Mr Aldridge,” continued
Captain Wallis, “and square
yards. Why, rather than have such a
fellow in the ship’s company, Aldridge,
I’d land him without Sir Hudson’s
leave!”</p>

<p class='c009'>“For my own part, next day, I should
have given more notice to our new
shipmates while the brig steered fair
before the wind—the blacks and the
mate leaning about her forecastle, and
the other two being expected by the
surgeon to come pretty well round
before night, though the captain had
gone to see them below; but a thing
turned up all at once that threw me
once more full into the thought of
Violet Hyde, till I was perfectly beside
myself with the helpless case I
was in. The note Tom Westwood had
shown me was still in the pocket of
my griffin’s coat, though I hadn’t observed
it till now; and what did I feel
at finding out, that, instead of one from
her to Westwood, it was a few words
from my own sister, little Jane, saying
in a pretty, bashful sort of a way, that
her brother Ned must come home before
she could engage to anything!
You may fancy how I cursed myself
for being so blind; but a fellow never
thinks his own sister charming at all—and
what else could I have done at any
rate? All I hoped for was to get aboard
of some Indiaman at St Helena, and
there was nothing else I wearied to
see the island again for. I may say I
walked the brig’s lee quarterdeck till
daybreak; but anyhow the look-out
from the foreyard had scarce sung out
“St Helena on the weather-bow!”
when I was up, making out the round
blue cloud in the midst of the horizon,
with a white streak across it, like a
bird afloat in the hazy blue, with the
clear gleam from eastward off our
starboard quarter running round to it.”</p>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_345'>345</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>CANADIAN LOYALTY.<br> AN ODE.</h2>
</div>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div>[Written at Sunrise on New Year’s Morning of 1850, at the head of Lake Ontario, in Western Canada.]</div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>As gleams the sunrise on the deep,</div>
      <div class='line'>And on yon cliffs where eagles sweep,</div>
      <div class='line'>And on the circling forests deep,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>This morn, which owns the New Year’s birth,—</div>
      <div class='line'>Is there no gratulating strain</div>
      <div class='line'>To hail the advent of thy reign,</div>
      <div class='line'>Thou latest link of Time’s long chain</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Let down from heaven to this our earth?</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Of Britain be that strain;—for she,</div>
      <div class='line'>Stretching her empire o’er the sea,</div>
      <div class='line'>Exalts the lowly, and sets free</div>
      <div class='line in4'>From thraldom’s bonds the fettered slave;</div>
      <div class='line'>For ever may her children share</div>
      <div class='line'>The smiles of her maternal care;</div>
      <div class='line'>For ever may her vessels bear</div>
      <div class='line in4'>St George’s standard o’er the wave!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Droop not! Although dark tempests may</div>
      <div class='line'>Obscure awhile the potent ray</div>
      <div class='line'>That to these o’er-sea realms brought day,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>And Treason walk secure the scene;</div>
      <div class='line'>A second morning o’er the deep</div>
      <div class='line'>Shall call us jubilee to keep,</div>
      <div class='line'>And to old strains each heart shall leap—</div>
      <div class='line in4'>“God save Britannia’s noble Queen!”</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“God save Britannia’s noble Queen!”—</div>
      <div class='line'>Shout it aloud! that strain hath been</div>
      <div class='line'>From east to west, in every scene,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Heard by the nations, like a hymn</div>
      <div class='line'>Wafted along from clime to clime,</div>
      <div class='line'>To succour truth, to startle crime,</div>
      <div class='line'>And, with an influence all sublime,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>To brighten what before was dim.</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Hark! ’tis Britannia’s morning gun</div>
      <div class='line'>Heralding thee, thou glorious sun;</div>
      <div class='line'>And, if it peal when daylight’s done,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Doth she not well that honour claim?</div>
      <div class='line'>For wheresoe’er thy beams light earth,</div>
      <div class='line'>Thou seest her wisdom and her worth;</div>
      <div class='line'>Glories that own to her their birth,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>And Trophies of her deathless fame!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>From Zembla’s snows to India’s sun,</div>
      <div class='line'>To her the faint, the feeble run,</div>
      <div class='line'>They who Oppression’s grasp would shun,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Or Superstition’s horrors blind:</div>
      <div class='line'>There exiles find a country—there</div>
      <div class='line'>Monarchs and serfs alike repair,</div>
      <div class='line'>And, underneath her guardian care,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>A sure and safe asylum find!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Then think not, demagogues! on whom</div>
      <div class='line'>Strike these first rays which now illume</div>
      <div class='line'>Our land, that, with this year, in gloom</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Shall Britain’s power eclipsed be seen.</div>
      <div class='line'>No! if she wills it, hearts are here</div>
      <div class='line'>That glory in her high career,</div>
      <div class='line'>That from her side will sunder ne’er,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>But proudly own one common Queen!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Methinks there glows in Britain yet</div>
      <div class='line'>A feeling, that would grieve to let</div>
      <div class='line'>Thee, sun! upon her empire set,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>While shouts of rival nations rose:—</div>
      <div class='line'>Our fathers were her sons, and we</div>
      <div class='line'>Are but her offspring o’er the sea;</div>
      <div class='line'>Aye undivided let us be—</div>
      <div class='line in4'>We scorn to link us with her foes!</div>
    </div>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>Methinks her subjects, side by side,</div>
      <div class='line'>Will long her burdens just divide,—</div>
      <div class='line'>Will long maintain, in matchless pride,</div>
      <div class='line in4'>Her flag, which aye hath honoured been:—</div>
      <div class='line'>And many a great deed yet be done,</div>
      <div class='line'>And many a glorious field be won,</div>
      <div class='line'>Ere of her empire set the sun.</div>
      <div class='line in4'>“God save Britannia’s noble Queen.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<div class='chapter'>
  <span class='pageno' id='Page_347'>347</span>
  <h2 class='c002'>AGRICULTURE, COMMERCE, AND MANUFACTURES:<br> <span class='large'>OPENING OF THE SESSION.</span></h2>
</div>

<p class='c007'>It rarely happens that the proceedings
which occur in parliament, immediately
after its reassembling, are
so intrinsically important as to sustain
the interest invariably excited in the
public mind by the approach of the
legislative season. Such at least is
the case whenever men can predict,
almost with certainty, what topics
will be alluded to and what avoided
in the royal address; what policy
Ministers are determined to pursue;
and what amount of support they
may confidently count on receiving
from political friends and auxiliaries.
From the opening of the session of
1850 little novelty was to be augured.
The Free-traders, having had everything
their own way, could not be
expected to express any misgiving as
to the working of a system which
they had so deliberately adopted.
The cry of distress from without,
loud and general as it was, had not
shaken the equanimity of the secret
divan of Downing Street; nor perhaps
was the complaint deemed as yet
articulate enough to require more
than a casual notice. The storm
might be brewing, but it was not at
its height, and there would be time
enough to meet it hereafter. What
her Majesty’s Ministers had to do was
to make out a fair case of prosperity
for the present, and to hold out a
still brighter prospect for the future.
They had plausible materials for
doing so. Bullion was plentiful in
the vaults of the Bank of England;
the exports for the past year had
increased largely in amount; the
revenue was in no bad condition.
Abroad, there was a lull in those
hostilities which for the last two
years have frightened Europe from its
propriety; and, though the victory
had not declared itself on the side of
those whom the Whigs favoured with
their approbation, still tranquillity was
something. It gave an augmented
market to our manufacturers, and removed
those hindrances which threatened
to become serious interruptions
to commerce. With such materials at
command, no one but a most sorry
artificer could have failed in constructing
a plausible prosperity address.
The state of the home market was
evidently a subject for future discussion.</p>

<p class='c009'>Notwithstanding various rumours
as to meditated organic changes, it
was pretty evident that Ministers had
no intention to undertake the conduct
of a new Reform bill. Of all the men
who ever attempted to ape the character
of Peter the Hermit, Sir Joshua
Walmsley is at once the dullest and
the most self-sufficient. Any crusade,
under the auspices of such a preacher,
could not be otherwise than abortive:
indeed, he failed signally in the first
and easiest quality of an agitator—that
of enlisting a considerable share of
popular sympathy on his side. Nor
was finance reform likely to be seriously
taken up by the Whigs, inasmuch
as one of the earliest effects of
such a scheme would necessarily be
the reduction of their official salaries.
That is a point, however, which they
cannot long hope to evade; and it
will be forced upon them, sorely
against their will, as the inevitable
consequence of low prices. They must
prepare themselves to submit to a reduction
similar to that which has been
practised upon the officials of the
Great Western Railway, who are put
upon a short allowance in consequence
of “the reduced prices of the necessaries
of life.” The rule admits of
general application, and doubtless
will be rigidly carried out in the highest
as in the lowest places. At present
we shall not discuss that matter: we
merely refer to it as a sufficiently intelligible
reason why financial reform
formed no part of the programme of
her Majesty’s Ministers. No man
expected that it would do so.</p>

<p class='c009'>Apart from such topics as these,
there was little to be looked for in the
speech: and accordingly, when it appeared,
the speech was as meagre
and unsuggestive as such documents
usually are. Nor should we have
thought it necessary to make it the
subject of comment, save for one passage,
which may be said to contain
its kernel, in so far as the prospects
of the home population are concerned:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“Her Majesty has great satisfaction in
congratulating you on the improved condition
of commerce and manufactures.
It is with regret that her Majesty has
observed the complaints which, in many
parts of the kingdom, have proceeded
from the owners and occupiers of land.
Her Majesty greatly laments that any
portion of her subjects should be suffering
distress; but it is a source of sincere
gratification to her Majesty to witness
the increased enjoyment of the necessaries
and comforts of life which cheapness and
plenty have bestowed upon the great
body of her people.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Here there is no distinct admission
of agricultural distress. Such distress
may or may not exist: all that is
known on the subject is, that complaints
are made. But, supposing
these complaints to be well founded,
the great body of the people is reaping
the benefit of that cheapness
which is the cause of the distress of
others. That is the language of the
speech.</p>

<p class='c009'>We think it is much to be regretted
that, on an occasion like this, Ministers
should have avoided the open and
manly course. If they do not believe
in the actual existence of such distress,
but are of opinion that the great agitation
which at present is spread over
England, is either an unfounded panic
or a factious clamour, it would have
been well to have met the statements
of their adversaries with a broad and
unequivocal denial. If, on the contrary,
they are convinced that distress
actually does exist, and that it is
likely to prove permanent, they have
placed themselves in a strange and
unprecedented position with regard to
the class so complaining. For, in that
view, the terms of the speech will
hardly admit of any other interpretation,
than that it is matter of congratulation
to find, that one section of
the British public is prospering upon
the ruin of another. We do not, of
course, believe that the Ministry intended
to lay down any such principle;
for, if once adopted and carried
out, it must lead to the entire disorganisation
of society. We think
that their peculiar position affords us
the true key to their language. On
the one hand, they cannot deny that
distress actually does exist: on the
other, they cannot, in the face of the
commercial principles which they have
adopted, and the precarious nature of
their majority, venture to suggest a
remedy. Her Majesty is not even
allowed to express sympathy, because
sympathy implies suffering—and that
admission Ministers are by no means,
as yet, prepared to make.</p>

<p class='c009'>Turning from the speech itself to
the addresses, and the reported subsequent
debates, we find this view of the
matter sufficiently borne out. The
Earl of Essex, the mover of the address
in the House of Peers, expressed himself
in the following terms:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“Her Majesty had also expressed her
deep sympathy with the distress <em>stated to
exist</em> in many of our agricultural districts.
No man could regret the existence of that
distress more than he did; but, in expressing
that regret, he must also state
his conviction—a conviction which was
shared by many wealthy merchants, and
by many, he would not say a majority, of
landlords—that that distress was not of
a permanent, but of a temporary character.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Lord Methuen, the seconder, took
nearly the same view. The Earl of
Carlisle said:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“The degree of his alarm would be
somewhat proportioned to the apprehended
nature of the distress. If it were
temporary, and produced by special and
exceptional causes, not liable continually
to prevail or constantly to recur, then it
would be plain that agriculture was only
subject to that variation which every
other pursuit, every other profession and
branch of industry, every source of emolument,
seemed, by a law of the universe,
to undergo—that change from which
agriculture, in a marked degree, whether
protected or unprotected, had never been
exempt.”</p>

<p class='c007'>And again:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“What he contended was, that, with
so very circumscribed limits for the experiment,
and with such a marked interference
of special and exceptional causes,
during the progress of the experiment, it
would be altogether preposterous to assume
that the experiment had been tested,
that it was exhausted, and that a change
in the policy of the country ought to be
considered, and forthwith entered upon.
Neither could he think they were in a
situation to pronounce what were the
permanent fruits of the great experiment
they had agreed to make. It would be
impossible to say at what cost corn could
be permanently grown in this country, or
whether the same amount of foreign importations
would always prevail. His
own feeling was not one of despondency
or despair on the subject. He had no
right, on these points, to palm his own
opinion on their lordships. All he contended
was, that they were not in a condition
to determine the questions he had
indicated. He could not honestly stop
there, however; he could not confine
himself to these ambiguous and hypothetical
limits: he was bound to tell their
lordships that, even if he were convinced
that the average price of corn could never
ascend higher, still he was not prepared
to reverse the policy they had entered
upon.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Finally, the Marquis of Lansdowne
said:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“Adverting to the subject of the
amendment, regret must be felt when
distress affected any large class of her
Majesty’s subjects. When the noble
lord (Stanley) went on to say he was
convinced the distress, which to a certain
degree affected the owners and occupiers
of land, was shared by the agricultural
community at large, including the labourers,
he met the noble lord distinctly with
the assertion that, throughout England,
the condition of the labourers was generally
better.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Lord Lansdowne then went on to
state facts regarding the importation
of foreign corn; from which, we presume,
he wished his hearers to infer
that such importation was on the
wane.</p>

<p class='c010'>“With respect to the importation of
foreign corn, it had diminished almost to
nothing at present. In the last three
months of last year, ending January 5th,
the importation was reduced considerably
below the importation of the corresponding
period in the previous year. He had
a return of the importation for the first
four weeks of January. In the first four
weeks of last year, the importation of all
sorts was 1,118,653; for the last four
weeks of this year, ending January 28th,
only 336,895 quarters had been imported.”</p>

<p class='c007'>A valuable addition to the above
statistics would have been a note of
the range of the thermometer during
the periods referred to, especially at
the Baltic ports. In conclusion, Lord
Lansdowne, whilst maintaining the
impossibility of any recurrence to the
protective system, remarked:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“He considered the experiment as
finally made; but, if he were to see a
quantity of acres thrown out of cultivation,
and a number of labourers without
employment, he would not hesitate to
confess himself in the wrong, and he
hoped others would not hesitate to do the
same. He was not now, however, prepared
to go back to their past policy, and
to uphold what he believed to be a delusion,
or to lay a foundation for that ill
feeling and acrimony which had distinguished
the discussion of the question out
of doors.”</p>

<p class='c007'>These extracts, from the debate in
the House of Lords on the first night
of the session, deserve to be recorded
for the sake of fixture reference.
Every one of the speakers on the
Ministerial side proceeded on the
assumption that agricultural distress,
if it existed, was only temporary,
and not permanent, in its
character—and, such being the case,
that there was no room, or, at all
events, no occasion for a remedy.</p>

<p class='c009'>Turning to the debate in the House
of Commons, we find a bolder tone
assumed. In their selection of the
gentleman who had the honour of
moving the address to her Majesty,
Ministers gave a very strong indication
of their deliberate views. Amongst
those who annually renewed the motion
for the repeal of the corn laws in
the House of Commons, there was
one who, with more candour or more
discrimination than the rest, had the
courage to acknowledge that the result
of such a measure must be the “annihilation”
of the small farmers. That
gentleman, Mr Villiers, was selected
as the fittest person to reciprocate to
the royal message. We are far from
reflecting upon the taste and feeling
which suggested such a choice—indeed,
we are not sure whether a
better one could have been made; for,
if the agriculturists are to understand
that under no possible circumstances
can our recent policy be changed, that
assurance could hardly be conveyed
more authoritatively than from the
lips of the honourable member for
Wolverhampton; and accordingly Mr
Villiers does not mince the matter.
He speaks out loud and bold, and tells
the farmers that no amount of distress
will make him withdraw one inch
from his original position.</p>

<p class='c010'>“He did not deny that distress existed
among the occupiers of the land, and he
deeply regretted it; but they were not
precluded from retiring from that pursuit
with which they were not satisfied. He
thought it was some consolation to know
that land now fetched as high a value in
the market as it ever had brought in the
history of this country; that there never
was a farm vacant but there were numerous
candidates for the tenancy; and that
the agricultural labourers, instead of
being worse off, were much better off
than usual. If ‘the worst come to the
worst,’ and the landed proprietor and the
occupier should be obliged to proceed in
the same business-like way in conducting
their pursuits as persons in other businesses
in this country, they would have this
consolation, that there was no advantage
possessed over them by other countries in
the raising agricultural produce. The
only thing that he (Mr Villiers) could
discover, distinguishing the agriculturist
here from those of other countries—and
that was one which he had under his own
control—was the price of land. It certainly
was higher here than on the Continent.
But in many respects his advantages
were great; and the inferiority,
where it existed, could be counteracted.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Statements of this kind carry with
them an antidote as well as a bane.
We are not sorry to find the foremost
champion of the League, and the
mover of the address, thus openly
setting at defiance physical fact, common
sense, and the results of practical
experience. He tells the British
agriculturist that he is in every respect,
except in the price of land, on
an equality with the foreign producer.
So, then, his climate is as constant,
his soil is as rich, the labour he employs
is as cheap, his direct burdens are as
low, his luxuries are as moderately
taxed! He is exposed to no restrictions;
there is no malt-tax; he may
have his bricks at prime cost; he may
grow his own tobacco; he may distil
his own spirits; he is not chargeable
with income-tax, irrespective of his
drawing one shilling of profit from his
farm! So says Mr Villiers: and, if this
be true, not one of us has a right to
complain. But is it true? We shall
not insult the intelligence of our readers
by entering on a deliberate refutation.</p>

<p class='c009'>Let us next hear the Chancellor of
the Exchequer:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“He admitted that in some respects,
and in several parts of the country, the
agricultural interest had suffered; but it
was all a question of degree. He did
not deny that the degree was considerable,
but he did not think it existed to
anything approaching the extent that had
been represented; and he denied, therefore,
that they ought to retrace the steps
of their policy; for, though distress existed,
he relied on the industry and the energy
of the British farmer.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Then come general opinions, almost
amounting to assertions, that
the present low price of corn cannot
be permanent; and these opinions
are fortified by a comparison of the
importations in January 1849 with
those in January 1850, no notice being
taken of any difference between the
seasons! Sir Charles Wood next put
forth an authority, to which we crave
attention:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“The <cite>Mark-Lane Express</cite> stated that
the price of corn in the Baltic was so
high that it would not pay to send it to
this country; and the only country from
which corn was at present sent to us was
France, which, in ordinary years, was not
an exporting country. There was good reason
to suppose, therefore, that the permanent
price of wheat in this country would
not range so low as at the present time.
Prices were not at present remunerative
to the importer, and importation had
received a most signal check. The farmer
need not, therefore, apprehend that
ruin from the operation of free trade
which he at present anticipated from
prices under 40s. a quarter. What the
future price of corn in this country would
be, it would be wrong in him (the Chancellor
of the Exchequer) to attempt to
state, after the mistakes that the most
practical and wisest men had fallen into
with regard to the importation of corn.
But it was worth observing, that at present
no importation could take place from
those countries from which importation
had been most feared, and that the greatest
quantities of corn recently received
had come from those countries from which
no one had anticipated any importation
whatever. An honourable member had
expressed an opinion that 44s. a quarter
was the average price that might be expected
to prevail for wheat. Now, he
could not agree with those who held the
opinion that the agriculturist would be
ruined by such a price.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Here there are two distinct propositions,
with regard to which we have
a word to say. 1st, Sir Charles Wood,
on the authority of the <cite>Mark-Lane
Express</cite>, an authority which he afterwards
admits will not be disputed,
says that the importations are checked,
and will be checked, on account of the
high price of corn in the Baltic, and,
therefore, that the price of wheat in
this country will rise. 2d, He thinks
that the home agriculturist can carry
on production with wheat at 44s. per
quarter.</p>

<p class='c009'>Well, then, let us see what has since
been told us on the authority of the
<cite>Mark-Lane Express</cite>, so lately as 11th
February:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“The value of wheat having receded,
without a check, from week to week since
the commencement of the year, has fallen
to a point at which growers are very unwilling
to sell; and within the last eight
days the deliveries have fallen off more
or less, which circumstance, and the probability
of short supplies during the time
farmers shall be engaged preparing the
land for the reception of the spring crops,
appear to have led to the belief that
quotations will not for the present undergo
any farther reduction. That a temporary
rally may take place is not improbable;
but we are by no means sanguine
on the subject, and regard any improvement
of moment as wholly out of the question.
Whatever may be said to the contrary,
we maintain that prices of wheat
are at present higher on the continent of
Europe than is warranted by the result
of the last harvest. With average crops,
such as those secured in 1849 in most of
the large grain-growing countries of
Europe, a very considerable surplus must
have been produced for export; and as
there appears to be no chance of France,
Holland, or Belgium requiring supplies
from the Baltic, and as our markets hold
out little encouragement for calculating
on higher prices, the value of the article
must, we think, inevitably come down in
Russia, Poland, and Germany. Any argument
founded on what has occurred in
bygone times is no longer applicable, the
alteration in our corn laws placing the
matter in an entirely new position. For
the past to be serviceable in affording
materials to form a judgment of the probable
future, it is necessary to have a
parallel instance; and all calculations
founded on what prices have been in
years when a different order of things
existed, are more likely to mislead than
instruct. It is not probable that prices
will fall to so low a point as they have
done on former occasions, when England
has required comparatively small supplies,
the removal of our import duties
and the repeal of the Navigation Laws
being greatly in favour of the foreign
grower; but, on the other hand, it may
be easily foreseen that with wheat at 35s.
per quarter in many of our home markets,
British merchants will not purchase
abroad on such terms as have been
hitherto asked for spring delivery. Speculation
may for a time support prices at
Dantzic, Rostock, &#38;c., but the value must
ultimately be regulated by prices here;
and we feel perfectly satisfied that supplies
on a much larger scale than we are
likely to want will reach us from the
Baltic, Black Sea, &#38;c., later in the year.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Nowhere can be discerned any symptom
which might justify us in believing
that prices are likely, for any
length of time, to take an upward
tendency. The importations of last
year principally consisted of the yield
of an inferior Continental crop—that
of 1848. The large crop of 1849 is
preparing for us; and how is it possible
to suppose that this will be kept
back unless an augmented price is
given for it? Even the frozen state
of the Baltic ports has had no effect
in raising prices at home. On the
contrary, they are still declining. The
average of wheat in the Haddington
market of 8th February, was 34s. 1d.
The Berks correspondent of <cite>Bell’s
Weekly Messenger</cite> writes thus on the
4th:—“The corn markets are gradually
getting lower, and, taking all
the sorts of grain together, they are
now lower than they have been since
the memorable year 1822; and there
is, we are sure, less money in circulation
in the country than there has
been for many years. The occupiers
of the soil seem to be the first class
doomed to be ruined; but it must be
recollected that the farmers will not
be the only class.”</p>

<p class='c009'>But it is of little use for us at present
to discuss a point which the experience
of a few months must necessarily
solve. Sir Charles Wood’s statement,
if intended to influence the division,
has already served its purpose. Inasmuch,
therefore, as the prospects of
importation are concerned, we need
not speculate farther.</p>

<p class='c009'>But when Sir Charles assumes a
price of 44s. as remunerative for the
grower of wheat, he takes his position
on other ground. We shall not reiterate
our own opinions on this subject,
or those of any writer who may be
supposed to be favourable to protection.
The evidence of adversaries
may be more valuable; and the first
whom we shall cite is Sir Robert Peel.
In 1842, the late Premier indicated
his opinion that the remunerative
price ranged from 54s. to 58s., and
he never wished to see it lower than
the former sum. Sir Charles Wood,
however, courageously fixes his estimate
10s. beneath that of Sir Robert
Peel; and we doubt not that, if the fall
should still continue, we shall find
him averring hereafter that 34s. per
quarter is a price amply remunerative
to the British grower.</p>

<p class='c009'>Our next witness is a gentleman
whose testimony must be valuable in
the eyes of political economists. We
quote from a work originally published
in 1839, entitled, <cite>Influences of the
Corn Laws</cite>, by <span class='sc'>James Wilson</span>, Esq.
now M.P. for Westbury, and Secretary
of the Board of Control. It is a
treatise on which we set so much
store, that we propose, in an early
number of Maga, to subject it to a
deliberate review, for the purpose of
pointing out the singularly felicitous
realisation of the leading prophecies
therein contained, and the intimate
knowledge displayed by the writer of
the subject with which he was dealing.
At present we shall confine ourselves
strictly to one point.</p>

<p class='c010'>“This may therefore be called the rate
which is fixed by our own internal competition
and resources; 52s. 2d. per quarter
may be called the prime cost of wheat
to the consumer, and that sum, reduced by
the charges enumerated, may be called
the remunerating price to the landed
interest to the exact extent to which
they have been remunerated.”—p. 53.</p>

<p class='c007'>Again:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“As we shall afterwards show, we take
52s. 2d. to be the proper price for wheat,
at which an exactly sufficient amount
of production would be kept up, it having
been the average price for the last seven
years; we therefore take it as the standard
price at which wheat can be sold to
the consumer. It must be clear that
whatever average annual price the farmer
receives in any year above that price, he
obtains so much profit beyond the average
rate; <em>and that whatever average annual
price he receives in any year less than that
standard price, he makes so much distinct
loss</em>; and therefore the difference between
the profit derived from the higher prices
and the loss from the lower prices must
show the balance in favour or against the
home grower.”—p. 41.</p>

<p class='c007'>Mr Wilson’s argument we leave for
the present untouched; we merely
found upon his statement that 52s. 2d.
is the proper standard price for British
wheat, and that any lower rate of
price must entail a loss on the grower.
So far, therefore, his views are utterly
irreconcilable with those of the
Chancellor of the Exchequer.</p>

<p class='c009'>Lord John Russell, who addressed
the House last, on the Ministerial
side, was not very distinct in his admission
as to the existence of distress.
If there was any, he seemed to
think it was caused by corn speculation,
and he rang the changes on
the old topic of periods of transition
and depression. The division was in
entire accordance with the debate,
for it resulted in the rejection of the
amendment on the address, proposed
in the following terms, “But humbly
to represent to her Majesty that, in
many parts of the United Kingdom,
and especially in Ireland, the various
classes of her Majesty’s subjects connected
with the cultivation of the soil
are labouring under severe distress,
mainly attributable, in our opinion, to
recent legislative enactments, the operation
of which is aggravated by the
severe pressure of local taxation.”</p>

<p class='c009'>That such an amendment was
called for on the part of those who
are opposed to the free-trade policy,
we think will be generally admitted.
It was but right and reasonable that
the case of the agriculturist should
be brought under the notice of parliament
at the very earliest opportunity;
not with the view of forcing
on an immediate reversal of the
national policy, but to obtain, if possible,
a distinct acknowledgment of
the position in which the most important
section of the community is
placed. That acknowledgment has
not been given. It would almost
seem as if the Free-traders, in the intoxication
of their headlong career,
already considered the great agricultural
interest as completely prostrated
as the colonies, with regard to which
no notice whatever was vouchsafed in
the royal speech. Mr Cobden is perfectly
furious that the point should be
again mooted. He considered protection
as defunct, and the ghost of it
laid in the Dead Sea; and now, when
it starts up before him, a living,
thriving, and withal a formidable
reality, he has recourse to language
unmeet for the mouth of any respectable
conjuror. Lord John Russell
can do little more than utter a feeble
and wholly inapplicable descant upon
the advantages of the station of an
English gentleman—forgetting all the
while that such a station implies the
performance of certain duties, of which
not the meanest are the advocacy of
the rights of the British labourer, and
the maintenance of the British constitution.
The amendment, as every one
anticipated, was rejected; but, notwithstanding,
it has served its purpose.
It has elicited opinions, a commentary
on which will be valuable
before the present session is over;
it has shown the agricultural interest
how little they have to expect from
the present Parliament; it has laid
the foundation for distinct propositions
regarding the equalising and proper
adjustment of taxation, which no doubt
will be brought forward <em>seriatim</em>,
and submitted to the consideration of
the Commons. If these are rejected,
as they probably will be, and if every
measure of relief is met by a direct
or a virtual negative, it will then be
time for the defenders of British interests
to lay their complaint at the foot
of the throne, and to ask for a dissolution
of the present Parliament, in
order that the constituencies of Great
Britain may have an opportunity of
recording their votes for or against
the continuance of the present policy.</p>

<p class='c009'>We shall, of course, be told that
the point has been already settled.
What is settled? Have not our
fiscal regulations been altered year
after year; and was there not a settlement
disturbed by the repeal of the
Corn Laws, at least as deliberate as
that which is now assumed to be inviolable?
How long is it since “the
experiment,” to which we were entreated
to give a fair trial, lost its experimental
character, and became a
law, fenced against repeal as closely
as a statute of Darius? Is there a
single free-trade prophet who can
hold up his head and say that his
vaticinations have been fulfilled? Mr
M’Gregor prophesied that the nation
would become richer, at the ratio of
two millions a-week. Mr Economist
Wilson prophesied augmented prices
to the agriculturist, adding this ingenuous
commentary,—“that there is
no better evidence of a prosperous
community or country, <em>than the existence
of a high average price of provisions</em>,
when the condition of the
labourer, as is the case in this country,
is relatively better than in other
countries; and that, on the contrary,
there is no stronger evidence of a
miserable and impoverished country,
than the existence of low prices of
provisions, where the condition of the
labourer is comparatively and infinitely
worse than in other countries where
prices are higher.” Mr Cobden prophesied
thus in 1843 and 1844, not
once but many times,—“The landlords
will (with free trade) have
better rents.” “Give us a free trade,
and land will be as valuable as it is
now.” “I believe that land would be
more valuable in this country if you
had at once an entire abolition of the
Corn Laws.” We could cite similar
testimony, uttered by a host of prophets
as numerous as those of Baal,
but we think the above instances may
suffice; and it is on the faith of such
vaticinations that we are peremptorily
desired to consider the late ruinous
measures as fixed and unalterable!
The railway and the free-trade delusion
reached their highest point in
one and the self-same year. We have
seen the quacks, impostors, and
swindlers of the one system, scouted
by the unanimous voice of public reprobation
already; the leading partisans
of the other cannot long hope to
escape the infliction of a similar
doom.</p>

<p class='c009'>It has been said, in various quarters,
that we have taken too gloomy
a view of the future agricultural prospects
of Great Britain. It may be
so; but, at all events, we are borne
out, and even exceeded, by Mr
Villiers. If any man has doubts
as to the depression of the agricultural
interest, let him peruse carefully the
following statement of the mover of
the address:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“He (Mr Villiers) had made a calculation
of the saving effected by the people
of this country, in consequence of the
present reduced price of food. He found
that the average price of wheat in 1847
was 69s. 5d.; on the 29th of December
1849, it was 39s. 4d.; the average price
of barley in 1847 was 43s., and, in 1849,
25s.; of oats, in 1847, 28s., and in 1849,
15s.; and there had been a corresponding
reduction in beans and peas. The usual
calculation was, that our population of
30,000,000 consumed one quarter of corn
to each person annually; but, taking a
low estimate of consumption, and calculating
that the population annually consumed
20,000,000 quarters of each of these descriptions
of grain, he found that the saving
effected by the difference of prices
between 1847 and 1849, amounted to
£61,000,000. He had also estimated, on
the same moderate scale, the saving
effected by the difference in the prices of
meat, butter, cheese, potatoes, and other
articles, in 1847 and 1849, and he found
that it amounted to £30,000,000 more;
so that there had been a total saving in
the expenditure of the people upon food
of £91,000,000 between 1847 and 1849.
This was the result of free trade <em>in the
very first year of its operation</em>. And when
so large an amount was saved for expenditure
on other articles than food, he
thought it was no matter of astonishment
that the general condition of the people
had improved, and that the country was
in a flourishing condition.”</p>

<p class='c007'>We shall not investigate the accuracy
of this calculation, nor shall we
discuss the soundness of the conclusions.
It is enough for us that Mr
Villiers holds it to be matter of congratulation
that, in one year, “the
very first year of the operation of
free trade,” agricultural produce has
been depreciated to the amount of
£91,000,000. This is worth a little
consideration. Messrs Cobden, Bright,
&#38; Co., have taken much pains of
late to impress upon the farmers that
the present struggle is “a mere landlord’s
question;” that the tenantry
have nothing earthly to do with it;
and that their sole object ought to be
a speedy lowering of the rents. Our
statistics, published in the Magazine,
although certified by a large body of
the leading agriculturists in nearly
every district of Scotland, have
been designated as “cooked,” by
Cockneys who never saw a blade of
wheat grow except on a Sunday
excursion to Thames Ditton, and by
pseudo-political economists, who, when
detected in deliberate falsification,
have not even the grace to tender a
lame apology. The gravity of an insult
depends upon the respectability
of those who utter it. Foul language
from the mouth of a cabman does
not excite any rancorous feeling in
the bosom of the man who is favoured
with the abuse of Jehu; and, therefore,
our correspondents, in number
more than thirty—gentlemen of the
highest respectability and character
in Scotland—need not be disturbed
by any imputations emanating from
the quarters which we are reluctantly
compelled to notice. But, since our
opponents affect to disbelieve the accuracy
of our views and calculations, let
them deal with those of Mr Villiers.
He puts down the amount of saving
in food at £91,000,000, for a single
year. The net rental of Great Britain
and Ireland is £58,753,615:<a id='r9'></a><a href='#f9' class='c015'><sup>[9]</sup></a> and it
therefore follows, that <em>supposing no
rent whatever to have been paid</em>, the
tenantry must have suffered loss
or diminution of profits to the
extent of £22,246,385! These are
the free-trade calculations—not ours.
We do not wonder that the <cite>Times</cite> did
not lose a day in casting discredit
upon a statement which, though
cheered on the Ministerial side of the
house, was, in reality, a more damnatory
exposition of free trade than the
most ingenious Protectionist could
have devised. For our part, we shall
not venture to say whether Mr Villiers
was right or wrong. A calculation,
of this extended nature, might
tax the powers of the ablest actuary;
but, if it be correct, surely we stand
acquitted of all exaggeration; and,
what is of far greater importance, no
one can henceforth venture to assert
that this is a mere “landlord’s question;”
since, if all rent were abandoned,
the loss to the tenantry, in a
single year, would be twenty-two and
a quarter millions!</p>

<p class='c009'>But let us pass in the meantime
from the agricultural case, and see
what real ground exists for the self-gratulations
of ministers on the general
prosperous state of the country at
the opening of the present session.
We quote the paragraph from the
royal speech:—“Her Majesty has
great satisfaction in congratulating you
on the improved condition of commerce
and manufactures.” We shall consider
the two interests separately.</p>

<p class='c009'>First, as to commerce, and its main
branch, the shipping and shipbuilding
interest. The repeal of
the Navigation Laws having been
effected in the course of last year, it
might be premature to form a decided
judgment on the working of the new
system. Most certainly we have not
done so; and we think it would have
been only decent had her Majesty’s
Ministers exercised a similar discretion.
But in order to make out a case
of prosperity, the commerce of the
country could not be overlooked; and
facts, (when they <em>are</em> facts,) however
slight, are too valuable to be dispensed
with on such an occasion as this. Accordingly,
we are told that the shipping
interest never was in a state of
greater activity and prosperity than
now. Mr Villiers opened thus:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“It was rather early, perhaps, to express
any opinions of what would be the
general results of that great change; but
there was reason to believe that all the
anticipations of its advocates would be
infinitely more than realised, and that all
the fearful predictions of its opponents
would be falsified. <em>The interest most
affected by these changes had not been for
some years in such a state of activity as it
presented at this moment.</em> In the Thames
and Tyne, in the Wear and Clyde, the
business of the shipbuilder or shipowner
exhibited a more cheering aspect. <em>From
all our dockyards the reports were equally
satisfactory</em>; and many of the gentlemen
who had been most prominent in foretelling
ruin and destruction from the change,
admitted the advantages they were deriving
from it.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The Chancellor of the Exchequer
entirely acquiesced in this statement:</p>

<p class='c010'>“At the present moment no one could
find fault with the change which had
taken place in the Navigation Laws, if he
took the trouble to look at the state of
the great shipbuilding ports of this commercial
country. He might mention one
port, which, above all others, should be
regarded as indicating the condition of
the shipbuilding interest throughout the
seaports of England, namely, Sunderland;
but he might also mention Liverpool and
the Scotch ports, where the shipbuilding
in the year 1849 went on with more rapidity
than in any former period; and not
only was the quantity of shipping built
at these places greater than in any former
year, but a better class of vessels was
built, vessels calculated and fitted for the
long voyage.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Mr Labouchere, the President of the
Board of Trade, was even stronger in
his averments:</p>

<p class='c010'>“He confidently appealed to every
member of that house who had considered
the subject, and, above all, to the representatives
of the great shipping ports of
this country, whether it was true to say
that the industry of the dockyards had
been paralysed by the measure of last
session. On the contrary—and this was
a subject on which he naturally felt the
greatest interest, and which he had looked
into with the utmost care—he had never
made an assertion in that house with
greater confidence, <em>and he challenged contradiction
on the part of any mercantile
man or gentleman interested in shipping</em>,
than when he stated his belief that the
industry of shipbuilding, that the confidence
of the mercantile public in shipowning,
that the whole business of the
country connected with shipbuilding and
shipowning, were in a state most satisfactory
and most encouraging to those who
did not believe that they were paralysing
that important branch of industry by the
measures of last session. He believed the
fact to be that there were at least as
many ships building at this moment as at
any period within the last twenty years in
this country.”</p>

<p class='c007'>In the face of such unqualified averments
and challenges, on a point necessarily
statistical, and in opposition
to the President of the Board of Trade,
who, from his official position, was the
man of all others most likely to be
furnished with full and accurate information,
it would have been rash in any
individual member to have hazarded
a flat contradiction. But a question
of such vital importance as this is sure
to be thoroughly investigated; and we
are indebted to that excellent paper,
the <cite>Shipping and Mercantile Gazette</cite>,
for an elaborate and complete refutation
of the whole case so ostentatiously
paraded by Government. Our contemporary,
we are sure, will not quarrel
with us if we transfer into our
columns a good deal of the valuable information
obtained by so much industry
and perseverance, for which the thanks
of the whole community are justly due.</p>

<p class='c010'>“We are prepared,” says the editor of
the <cite>Shipping and Mercantile Gazette</cite>, in
his leading article of the 31st January,
“to prove that the depression in our shipping—in
building as well as in freights—has
not been so great for years as it is at
the present time; in short, that it is <em>depression</em>,
and not improvement, which is <span class='fss'>UNIVERSAL</span>,
with scarcely ‘the exception of a
few ports.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“With regard to shipbuilding, it is
necessary to bear in mind that shipbuilders
cannot stop their business all at once;
they have yards on lease—materials on
hand—and apprentices to maintain;
therefore they must be doing a little at
almost any risk.</p>

<p class='c011'>“With a view to obtain correct information
upon the subject, we have procured
authenticated returns from accredited
correspondents at all the ports,
which we shall proceed to lay before our
readers; merely premising that, as the
foreign and colonial trade diminishes in
profit, it drives ships into the coasting
trade, which, as it will be seen, is suffering
severely from the depreciating effects.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The following are a few of the returns,
inserted alphabetically:—</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Aberdeen</span>, <em>Feb. 2, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“It is vain to try to conceal the very
depressed state of the shipping interest
at this port at present, everything around
us having a dreary and most discouraging
aspect. Our docks are full of vessels
of every class and size, and nothing for
them to do. Freights offering (and they
are very few indeed) are not, by any
means, at remunerative rates: 30s. to 33s.
per load timber from Quebec, or 67s. 6d.
per ton guano from Peru, will never pay
the shipowner, while he pays the present
rate of wages, and gives the usual rations
to his seamen. If freights are to be kept
down by foreign competition, the British
sailor must be brought down to the level
of the foreigner; but such a state of things,
we hope, will still, by some means or
other, be averted.</p>

<p class='c011'>“Notwithstanding the justly high character
our shipbuilders here have attained
in the construction of their ships, and the
great perfection they have come to in the
construction of vessels with the clipper-bow,
and which are now making such
unparalleled rapid voyages, we believe
they have few, if any, orders on hand;
and in the absence of such have been
building on speculation, and have at this
moment a few vessels on the stocks for
sale, superb specimens of naval architecture,
and no immediate prospect of purchasers.
One of our local papers was
holding out to us the other day that we
need not fear foreign competition, having
vessels of such great sailing and carrying
qualities. This would be all very well,
if guaranteed to this country alone; but
it will soon be found that foreigners will
get improved vessels as well as we, and,
most probably, get our carpenters to go
from this country to build them.</p>

<p class='c011'>“The number of seamen at this port is
about 2330, of which at present there are
about 280 unemployed. Vessels laid up,
45—a greater number than was ever
known in any previous year.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Boston</span>, <em>Jan. 26, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“Our harbour-master here, who has
been upwards of forty years master of
vessels out of this port, states that <span class='fss'>HE
NEVER KNEW THE SHIPPING INTEREST AT
SO LOW AN EBB AS AT THE PRESENT TIME</span>;
and he firmly believes the future prospects
are very discouraging. The majority of
our vessels are <em>now</em> worked by the masters
at <em>thirds</em>, and many of them have lost
money during the past year—that is, have
not made the former wages of £5 per
month; in fact, many of them have not
made mate’s wages—viz., £3, 5s. per
month, who have not reduced their pay
more than 5s. per month, and ordinary
seamen at the same rate.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Caernarvon</span>, <em>Jan. 29, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“Ours is nearly altogether a coasting
trade, engaged principally in the export
of slates, which averages about 91,000
tons per annum. During the year 1849
the export declined to 79,000 tons, and at
present there are no prospects of its revival.
The shipping belonging to the
port is in a <em>most depressed</em> condition;
freights are very difficult to be had; and
when they are offered, the rate is ruinously
low—say 9s. per ton to London, 4s. and
5s. to Liverpool, and so on in proportion.
Masters of our coasters are remunerated
out of the profits of the vessels they command;
and so small have been their earnings
of late, that some are giving up <em>the
command</em>, and shipping as <em>able seamen</em>,
inasmuch as they earn better wages in
the latter capacity! Shipbuilding is
almost at an end here; no one will invest
capital in coasting vessels now, so depressed
are freights, and so clouded is
the future.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Cork</span>, <em>Jan. 29, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“I subjoin a statement of freights, &#38;c.,
at this port:—</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr>
    <th class='c020'></th>
    <th class='c020'>&#160;</th>
    <th class='c021'>&#160;</th>
    <th class='c020'>&#160;</th>
    <th class='c022'>Per load timber.</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>Freights,</td>
    <td class='c020'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c021'>Quebec,</td>
    <td class='c020'>1847</td>
    <td class='c004'>40s.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c020'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c020'>1848</td>
    <td class='c004'>32s.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c020'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c020'>1849</td>
    <td class='c004'>30s.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c020'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c021'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c020'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c022'>per ton.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c020'>W. C.</td>
    <td class='c021'>So. America</td>
    <td class='c020'>1848</td>
    <td class='c004'>£4 5 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c021'>beginning of</td>
    <td class='c020'>1849</td>
    <td class='c004'>3 17 6</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c020'>„</td>
    <td class='c021'>end of</td>
    <td class='c020'>1849</td>
    <td class='c004'>3  7 6</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c007'>“The other freights are in the same
proportion.</p>

<p class='c009'>“The wages of shipmasters have been
reduced <em>one-third</em>. A few years back we
generally had six or eight vessels on the
stocks at this port, <span class='fss'>AT PRESENT ONLY ONE</span>,
and that is an iron screw-steamer, building
for the Cork Steam-ship Company.
The great majority of the vessels now
belonging to this port are colonial built.</p>

<p class='c009'>“Shipmasters have been obliged to accept
of reduced wages in order to obtain
employment to enable them to support
their families. Several of them who were
fortunate in having a little money saved,
have commenced <em>tailoring</em>, rope-making,
acting as coasting pilots, &#38;c. &#38;c.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Drogheda</span>, <em>Feb. 1, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“There are no ships building here, although
we have a good dockyard; nor are
there any repairing, although we have an
excellent patent slip: there are four or
five ships laying up, which the owners
will not repair. They would willingly
sell, but no person can be got to purchase:
in fact, were it not for the purpose of
giving employment to the masters and
crews, I do think that our vessels would
be laid up, for they are not earning one
shilling for their owners. It is also my
firm belief that, in seven years, one half
of our ships will drop away, and what
was once a nursery for our navy, will not
be so, for in a little time the coasting
trade will almost cease to exist, as we
have to contend with railways, steamboats,
and foreigners driven into our trade
by the late change in the law.</p>

<p class='c011'>“As regards our sailors, they are to be
seen every day walking about our quays,
anxious to procure employment, but, from
the complete annihilation of our trade,
they are unable to procure any; consequently
they and their families are in a
most wretched condition.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Liverpool</span>, <em>Jan. 29, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“The shipping trade is exceedingly
depressed here, and freights are wholly
unremunerative. A Manchester house
has just chartered an American ship from
Calcutta, at £2, 15s. 6d.</p>

<p class='c011'>“<span class='sc'>Freights are at least 15 per cent
lower, on the average, than they were
last year.</span>”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Maryport</span>, <em>Jan. 29, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“Cumberland has long been famed for
its celebrity in shipbuilding, its vessels
being known to, and appreciated by, the
merchants in every region of the globe;
but I am sorry to observe that, at the
present moment, owing to the unwise
repeal of the Navigation Laws, <span class='sc'>the several
shipbuilders at Maryport, Workington,
and Whitehaven are without
any contracts</span>—a circumstance strangely
at variance with the account which lately
appeared in some of the Free-trade journals
at Manchester. It was then stated
that several eminent merchants of that
locality were desirous of building a large
amount of tonnage in England; but, owing
to the several builders being so full of
contracts, they were necessarily obliged
to go abroad to build their vessels. It
would, however, seem that these gentlemen
had entirely forgotten the geographical
position of Cumberland, or else we
must suppose that they would have
deemed it their interest to have made
contracts there; unless, indeed, they
found, as I strongly suspect they did,
that the Continental builder could build
cheaper.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Plymouth</span>, <em>Feb. 2, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“The shipping interest of this port is
in a very depressed state, many vessels
being laid up; and, consequently, their
crews are out of employment, and our
quays quite deserted by shipping. The
vessels in actual service are principally
employed in the coal trade, and by the
owners only, at very reduced freights—at
from 5s. to 5s. 6d. from Wales, and
from 6s. to 6s. 6d. from the north; others
sailing out of other ports at anything but
remunerating freights. There are nine
shipwrights’ yards in this port, in one of
which only one vessel is building for a
shipowner; and one sold from another.
Two vessels have been for sale for many
months past. In each of the others,
vessels, varying from 100 to 300 tons, are
being built on speculation, but progress
very slowly. From a want of that enterprising
spirit evinced in times past, there
are not half the shipwrights kept in the
yards now, and a reduction has already
taken place in the wages. Many masters
and sailors are also walking the quays
unemployed; but we are told, by those
who use the old adage of the pinching
shoe, that a man may get as much for
10d. now as he could have got for double
that sum some time since. Where is the
use of things being <em>so very cheap</em>, when
the poor man is deprived of the means
of employment? Our exports are very
trifling: manganese at about 6s. to 10s.
to Liverpool and Scotland; lead and
copper ores 3s. to 7s. per ton! Our imports—principally
timber from Quebec,
hemp, tar, fruit, &#38;c. The former was
30s. to 32s. per load last year; what it
will be this it is impossible to tell, now
the foreigner goes into the trade. Six of
our vessels (Quebec ships) are gone to
Sierra Leone, thereby leaving the trade
open to the foreigner. The average
wages are from 30s. to 40s. for seamen in
the coasting trade, 40s. foreign; £4 to £8
for masters, £2, 10s. to £3 mates, at per
month, which are much lower.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Runcorn</span>, <em>Feb. 1, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“The number of vessels belonging to
the port of Runcorn is about 70, of the
total burthen of about 6500 tons, most of
them engaged in the coasting trade.
Freights to and from this port are very
scarce, and when any are offered they are
at a miserably low rate. We should say
that freights are, at the least, 25 per cent
less than they were in the years 1845,
1846, and 1847. Nearly all the vessels
belonging to this port are sailed by the
shares—that is, the master takes one half
the freight after all port charges are deducted
from it, and he has to pay out of
his share seamen’s wages, and also to find
victuals; the owner has the remaining
half, out of which he has to pay all expenses
for wear and tear. But the present
rates of freight are so very low that the
masters cannot keep out of debt, let alone
earn anything for themselves, and the
owner’s share is not sufficient to keep the
vessel in efficient working order. <span class='sc'>The
shipbuilding trade here is in a manner
deserted</span>: there are only two vessels on
the stocks; one has been partially finished
for the last twelve months, and the other
for the last six months. There is not the
slightest inducement for persons to lay
out their capital in shipping, there being
no certainty of the smallest return.”</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c018'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'>“<span class='sc'>Sunderland</span>, <em>Feb. 1, 1850</em>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“Various statements having lately
been published relative to the state of
shipbuilding at this port, it is desirable
that those interested in knowing how far
the statements alluded to are correct,
should be made acquainted with the real
facts. It is true that at the close of last
year there were about 92 ships on the
stocks at this port; since that time
several of them have been launched:
many of them were larger than the
average of ships built here, and about
two-thirds of them were sold from the
builders. Be it, however, understood that
of the two-thirds sold, say 60 out of 92,
upwards of 30 were purchased by outfitters,
or ship-jobbers, who purchase the
hulls of ships in order to have the outfit;
<em>they are therefore still in the market</em>.
Many of the shipbuilders, and also outfitters,
had great stocks of timber and
other materials on hand twelve months
ago, previous to the ships in question
being put on the stocks. It was then the
opinion of the shipbuilders that the project
to repeal the Navigation Laws, and grant
foreign-built ships British registers, would
not be carried, from the general manifestation
of feeling against that measure
evinced by practical men generally, who
best understood the subject. Shipbuilders’
stocks were therefore kept up, and in
many instances increased, and remunerating
prices for ships were maintained.
Since the act was passed which repealed
the Navigation Laws, prices have been
gradually on the decline. Within the
last two years the average price for a
ship, A 1 eight years classed, was from
£10, 10s. to £11 per ton; now the price
for a ship of that character, is from £8,
10s. to £9 per ton. The most respectable
shipbuilders of this port freely declare
that their trade appears fast hastening to
the destructive state of agriculture; and
that, if the present line of policy is pursued,
all who are engaged in their trade
must be great sufferers.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Letters to the same effect are
given by the editor of <em>The Shipping
Gazette</em>, from correspondents at Aldborough,
Bude, Dundalk, Kinsale,
Maldon, Padstow, Pwllheli, Strangford,
Torquay, Westport, and Woodbridge;
so that from the ports all
round the British Islands, the cry of
distress, caused by the crushing effect
of free trade upon the body of British
industry, is arising. And this is what
our Whig rulers call unexampled prosperity!</p>

<p class='c009'>From the leading Plymouth journal
of 31st Jan. we extract the following
letter, which we would venture to
recommend to the earnest attention
of Mr Labouchere. It contains some
statements of a very different complexion
from those which appear to
have passed through the hands of the
officials of the Board of Trade.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>“<em>To the Editor of the West of England Conservative.</em></div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Sir</span>,—My attention having been called
to a paragraph in your journal, which
states that the shipwrights in one of the
principal firms in Plymouth had struck
for wages, I have to inform you that the
firm is mine.</p>

<p class='c011'>For several years past I have paid
my men 18s. per week on new work,
and 21s. per week on old work; and they
never lost any time, but by their own
fault.</p>

<p class='c011'>For some time past I have had complaints
from many shipowners, that, as
their returns were greatly reduced by
freights constantly lowering, we, the
shipbuilders, must reduce our charges, or
they would be compelled to take their
ships to other ports. Added to this, a
friend of mine, Captain Shapcott, for
whom I built a ship two years since, and
with which he was so much pleased that
he wished me to give him a price for
another, of about 230 tons burthen. I
accordingly did so; she was to be a
first-class vessel, and entitled to class A
1 twelve years, at Lloyd’s. My proposals
were sent to a merchant in London,
whom Captain Shapcott wished should
be the principal owner. This gentleman
(Mr Brooking) replied, that as everything
was coming down, wages, and
materials for shipbuilding, must come
down also; and that, unless I would
engage to build for £10 per ton, and find
a very large number of articles more
than I had for the former vessel, he
would not contract at all. He also said,
that he had been in treaty for a ship to
be built for him in Prussia, which he
found he could do for £3 per ton cheaper
than he could have one in England. I
was obliged to decline engaging to build
on such terms, as would have occasioned
me a loss of some hundreds of pounds.</p>

<p class='c011'>On Friday, the 18th January, on paying
my men, I gave them a memorandum,
stating these particulars, and that I
imagined they must have been expecting,
for some time, that wages would be reduced,
not only from what they must
know themselves, but also from the great
reduction in the price of provisions and
clothing. I, at the same time, offered
them 17s. per week on new work, and
19s. per week on old work, telling them
that, as their labour was their own property,
if they could do better, I should
have no objection whatever. They all,
29 in number, refused to work; and, I
believe, the greater part of them have
not been employed since, as I have seen
them walking the streets.</p>

<p class='c011'>Not pretending to be a politician, I can
only give my own opinion of the acts of
the Legislature; and, from the first, I
believed that the abrogation of the Navigation
Laws must have the effect of depriving
thousands of Englishmen of employment.</p>

<p class='c011'>Put this case to myself. I have employed
more than 100 persons in building
and fitting ships; every other class, such
as rope-makers, sail-makers, block-makers,
boat-builders, coopers, painters,
glaziers, chain and anchor makers, provision
merchants, and others engaged in
putting a ship to sea, have all employ
here. A merchant goes abroad and
builds (which he will do) at, it may be, a
less price, and see the consequence—the
foreigner is employed, and our artisans
must be idle; it is the natural result.
As to the bugbear of Free trade, it will
ruin England,—can I compete with a
foreigner? He has his timber, his labour,
and materials for fitting out his ship infinitely
cheaper than I have; he is not
oppressed by heavy Government and local
taxation; and when his ship comes to
England, she has all the privileges of a
ship of the first class, which it is in my
power to build; and further, by the manner
in which Lloyd’s class ships, she will
fully stand A 1 with mine.</p>

<p class='c011'>I contend that it is the duty of Government
so to legislate that their artisans
should have employment, and any act
which deprives them of it, must be detrimental
to the nation. That is my firm
belief. I must apologise for occupying
your columns, but, as you first mentioned
the circumstance of my workmen, I thought
it right to state the reasons. I am, sir,
yours,</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c019'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Wm. Moore</span>, Shipbuilder.”</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c007'>There is more than this. Messrs.
Lindsay &#38; Co. have published a table
of freights for the last four years,
which exhibits an average decline
ranging from thirty-five to fifty per
cent. The following are a few notable
instances:—</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr>
    <th class='c003'></th>
    <th class='c023'>s. d.</th>
    <th class='c004'>s. d.</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Singapore,</td>
    <td class='c023'>from 105 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>to 60 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Calcutta,</td>
    <td class='c023'>117 6</td>
    <td class='c004'>77 6</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Hong Kong,</td>
    <td class='c023'>105 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>55 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr><td class='c024' colspan='3'>(last quotation from there)</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Bombay,</td>
    <td class='c023'>95 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>60 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Ceylon,</td>
    <td class='c023'>95 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>70 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Mauritius,</td>
    <td class='c023'>84 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>60 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Callao,</td>
    <td class='c023'>95 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>63 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Havannah,</td>
    <td class='c023'>85 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>47 6</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Odessa,</td>
    <td class='c023'>95 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>42 6</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Alexandria,</td>
    <td class='c023'>12 0</td>
    <td class='c004'>5 6</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Cronstadt,</td>
    <td class='c023'>32 6</td>
    <td class='c004'>19 0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Quebec,</td>
    <td class='c023'>47 6</td>
    <td class='c004'>32 0</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c009'>This decline of freights deeply concerns
the agriculturist, since it unsettles
even those loose and incorrect
calculations, which were brought forward
by the Free-traders for the purpose
of proving that high freights must
necessarily act as a powerful check to
the importation of foreign corn, in the
event of the abolition of the duties.</p>

<p class='c009'>The challenge so confidently made
has been accepted in another quarter.
At the great Wiltshire meeting held
at Swindon on the 6th February, Mr
George Frederick Young spoke as
follows:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“Another point which has been taken
as a kind of <em>cheval de bataille</em>—a sort of
hobby-horse which the Ministers were determined
to ride—I am somewhat familiarly
acquainted with; I allude to the
shipping interest. As they have brought
that interest so prominently before parliament,
I may, perhaps, be allowed to correct
their statements when they are at
fault.  What were we told about the
shipping interest in the House of Lords?
I thought that they might have managed
to get up returns, to answer the purpose
of the occasion, of a somewhat specious
character, extending over a large surface,
before they asked the house to come to a
conclusion. But what did they do? They
said that the shipbuilding interest is in a
most prosperous state; and that it is prosperous,
they deduced from the fact that
there were 90 ships building in the port
of Sunderland on the 31st of December
last. It is the truth that that was the
case at that time, but it is not the whole
truth; and the whole truth is, that though
there were 90 ships building in that great
shipbuilding port, 24 of them only were
sold, whilst 66 were standing, 31 of them
being ready to launch, but could not get
purchasers. I find also, that out of 251 ships
which were building at the several shipbuilding
ports at that date, there were but
66 sold, making nearly 200 out of the 250
that could not obtain purchasers, (hear,
hear.) Is that fair? (cries of ‘no,’ and
cheers.) Is that the way in which a great
public question is to be supported by the
Ministers of the Crown? Yet these gentlemen
have not thought it to be beneath
them to stoop to such paltry prevarication
for the purpose of misleading the parliament,
(great cheering.)  But I will
give you yet another instance, which is
even more pregnant still. In the course
of the debate on the Address in the House
of Commons, Mr Labouchere made use of
these words in reference to the shipping
interest:—‘This was a subject in which
he naturally felt the greatest interest, and
which he had looked into with the utmost
care. He had never made an assertion
in that house with greater confidence,
and he challenged contradiction’—most
unusual on the part of a Minister of the
Crown—‘on the part of any mercantile
man, or gentleman interested in shipping,
when he stated his belief that the industry
of shipbuilding—that the confidence of
the mercantile public in shipowning—that
the whole business of the country connected
with shipbuilding and shipowning, was in a
state the most satisfactory and encouraging
to those who did not believe that they
were paralysing that important branch of
industry by the measures of last session.’
I will not affect to conceal the part which
I took upon reading these words. I
viewed the statement with indignation.
I knew that it was not a fact; and on
Saturday morning, the instant I had seen
it in the paper, I drew up this declaration,
which was advertised in all the daily
journals of London on Monday morning:—</p>

<p class='c011'>“‘We the undersigned shipowners
and others connected with the building
and equipment of ships in the port of
London, having observed with much surprise
that in the debate on the Address
in the House of Commons on the 1st inst.,
the right hon. the President of the Board
of Trade confidently stated, and ‘challenged
contradiction on the part of any gentleman
interested in shipping, that the whole
business of the country connected with
shipbuilding and shipowning was in a
state the most satisfactory and encouraging,’
consider it a duty to declare our
conviction that the statement of the right
honourable gentleman must have proceeded
from misinformation, and is entirely
erroneous. We declare that the
shipping interest is, on the contrary, at
this moment in a state of great depression,
no employment being obtained for
British ships offering any reasonable prospect
of remuneration for the capital
embarked and the expenses to be incurred;
that the accounts from all the
great shipping ports of the world announce
a superabundance of tonnage and
extremely low rates of freight, rendering
the prospect for the present year most
discouraging, and that the various trades
connected with shipping consequently and
necessarily participate in the general depression;
and we make this declaration
without any party or political motive, and
entirely without reference to the causes
that have produced the depression we
describe, in the desire alone that the legislature
and the public should be truly informed
as to the real facts of this important
question, which appear to be misunderstood
by her Majesty’s Government.’</p>

<p class='c011'>“I will tell you the result. That declaration
was advertised to lie at the
London Tavern on Monday, Tuesday, and
to-day; and upon the very first day it
received the signatures of several hundreds
of the most eminent men connected
with this branch of our national industry,
and from among whom I will undertake
to say I can pick out twelve names of
men who are owners of not less than
100,000 tons of British shipping (cheers.)
That the President of the Board of Trade
should venture to make such a statement,
and challenge contradiction from any one,
is, I think, most extraordinary. Is it
not calculated to produce this effect—that
statements made by the Ministers of
the Crown, with whatever confidence,
will be received with a little doubt and
distrust, and that though they come even
from so upright and honourable a man as
Mr Labouchere, it will be necessary to
substantiate them by something better
than mere assertions of belief?”</p>

<p class='c007'>We are sorry that Mr Labouchere
should have committed himself so far.
His personal character is beyond suspicion;
and we do nothing more than
express the universal feeling of his
political opponents when we say, that
no one will prefer against him the
charge of having made a wilful misrepresentation
of this nature. But it
is the curse of men high in office,
that they are surrounded by subordinates,
whose share of honourable
scruple is of the most convenient
elasticity, and who sometimes have a
substantial interest in the verification
of their hazarded opinions.
To this kind of influence Mr Labouchere
is peculiarly subjected. The
returns on which he founded, with
so rash a confidence, had evidently
passed through the hands of some
veteran statist and figure-monger, and
been adapted to suit an immediate
purpose, rather than to conform to the
actual truth. On no other hypothesis
can we account for so strange
a perversion of fact; for we believe
that, after the evidence cited above,
no man, whatever may be his political
opinions, will hold that the commerce
of the nation is not materially
depressed, instead of being, as Ministers
represented it, flourishing beyond
all precedent.</p>

<p class='c009'>We next come to the manufacturing
interest, which assuredly ought to be
in a most prosperous condition. In
the course of the bygone year, tranquillity
was restored on the Continent,
and the interrupted markets were
opened with every prospect of a fair
demand. Notwithstanding the fall
of prices, it might have been supposed
that agricultural depression had hardly
time to react upon the home market;
and food was cheaper than
perhaps it has been in Britain within
the memory of man. Yet, with all
these advantages, it is by no means
certain that our manufactures are in
a sound condition. The official tables
indeed exhibit a large increase of exports,
but these tables are quite useless
as exponents of actual value. No
later than last session, Sir Robert
Peel gave a decided testimony on this
point.</p>

<p class='c010'>“Let me observe,” said he, “that nothing
can be more unsafe than any inference
drawn from the returns which give the
declared value of manufactures imported.
Owing to the manner in which the accounts
of imports and exports are prepared,
arguments drawn from that source
must be exceedingly fallacious.”</p>

<p class='c007'>The <cite>Liverpool Standard</cite>, applying
itself to the statistics of the cotton
trade, has done good service in exposing
the nature of the export returns.
According to the official statement,
there would appear to be an increase
of nearly £4,210,000 in the exports
of cotton manufactures and yarn; but
the <cite>Standard</cite>, going to the fountainhead,
has shown that the increase
in the entire quantity of cotton <em>spun</em>
in Great Britain in 1849, was
only a little over one-twelfth of
the previous year’s consumption. The
conclusions of our contemporary are
very forcible:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“<em>We place no confidence whatever now
in these customs reports. Since the abolition
of the half per cent duty on exports</em>,
there is nothing in the world to prevent
goods being entered at any prices the
shipper pleases. A bale of cotton and
other goods may be valued at £5 or £500,
without incurring a farthing of increased
charges at our ports; and, without imputing
to any party the wish to do a
moral wrong, and to make out a favourable
case in behalf of a particular policy,
it is enough to throw discredit upon returns,
thus left unprotected against error,
to know that extensive malversation can
be carried on.”</p>

<p class='c007'>When we turn for information to
the manufacturing districts, we find
some mills working on short time,
and less employment generally diffused
than might be expected in an
average year. We hear of nothing but
the most gloomy anticipations, contrasting
very strangely, indeed, with
the triumphant language of Ministers.
The depression is not confined to the
remoter towns; it exists in Manchester
itself, as will be seen from the following
statement—the last which has
reached us—from the great manufacturing
capital:—</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
  <div class='nf-center'>
    <div>(From the <cite>Manchester Guardian</cite>.)</div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Manchester</span>, Tuesday, Feb. 12.—We
have had a spiritless and rather
drooping market. The merchants have
shown a growing indisposition for business;
looking upon prices as, for the
most part, too high to warrant further
exports in the present state of supplies
in foreign markets. The letters received
this morning from Germany give quotations
of prices which afford no encouragement
for the immediate resumption of
operations. There has been some inquiry
from the Greeks, but with little result.
As to the home dealers, seldom have they
been so little seen in the warehouses of
the manufacturers. There is evidently a
diminished confidence among all classes
of buyers as to the maintenance of prices;
and a determination to proceed cautiously,
buying only for the supply of the most
pressing wants, is become general. The
business of the day has, consequently,
fallen in amount below that of any Tuesday
for some time back. Under these
circumstances, those spinners and manufacturers
whose contracts are drawing to
a close have shown a willingness to make
some concession in price rather than suffer
an offer to pass by them. Water twist
may be quoted ⅛d. to ¼d. lower; and in
mule yarn the buyer has some advantage
in price, except as to fine counts, from
No. 60’s upwards. In printing cloths,
there is a giving way of about 1½d. per
piece, and 3d. in shirting. There is a
difference in point of firmness, however,
among spinners and manufacturers, and
a corresponding irregularity is observable
in the quotations. The spinners of water
twist, and the manufacturers of domestics,
T’s, and some other stout cloths, are so
much discouraged by the little prospect
there is of an improvement in the unfavourable
trade they have so long experienced,
that many of them are seriously
intending to diminish their production.
One or two establishments in Manchester
have either stopped altogether or resorted
to short time, and an attempt is being
made to induce a general adoption of the
latter measure in these branches of manufacture.
At Rochdale two or three mills
have taken one or other of the above
courses; and we have before us the
names of seven firms at Heywood who
have limited the hours of work in their
mills.</p>

<p class='c011'>“<span class='sc'>State of Trade.</span>—<span class='sc'>Manchester</span>,
Thursday.—We have no improvement
since Tuesday. The demand, whether
for cloth or yarn, is not equal to the production,
and prices, consequently, tend
still in favour of the buyer. Indeed, no
considerable sales could be effected without
material concessions in price.”</p>

<p class='c007'>Reading such an account as this, we
feel perplexed as to the meaning which
the Ministry attach to their favourite
term prosperity.  We are almost
tempted to suppose that they consider
want of employment the greatest possible
blessing which can befall the
labouring man.</p>

<p class='c009'>This account, it will be observed, is
dated posterior to the opening of Parliament.
We may therefore be told
that the depression had no existence
at the time when the royal speech
was framed. Such was not the case.
The depression was felt much earlier,
as appears by the following extract
taken from a favourite organ of the
Free-traders. On 1st December last,
the <cite>Economist</cite> thus spoke of the cotton
trade—</p>

<p class='c010'>“At the beginning of this year, great
expectations were entertained of our
home demand. It was argued, and with
good reason, that we never yet had a
year of general employment and low
prices of provisions combined, which was
not also a year of very large domestic
consumption of manufactured fabrics.
This year labour has been in very brisk
request, and food has never been so cheap
and plentiful since 1836. Yet our expectations
from these facts have not been
fully answered. The sellers of printing-cloths
and medium shirtings report that
their home demand has, on the whole,
been good; the sellers of domestics report,
on the contrary, a decidedly dull
business, worse than that of last year;
but we believe that all agree that the
anticipations with which they began the
year have by no means been realised.
We suspect the cause to be this:—The
depreciation in railway property, the
effects of the Irish famine, and the commercial
crash in 1847, have impoverished
all classes of the community to a much
greater extent than has been allowed for
in the calculations of our tradesmen. We
question whether ‘the power of purchase,’
on the part of the British community,
is nearly equal to what it was in
1845.”</p>

<p class='c007'>We here perfectly coincide in opinion
with the <cite>Economist</cite>. The power of
purchase, on the part of the British
community, is not nearly what it was
in 1845; and for that diminution of
power, he may thank the operation of
the free-trade system. If the calculations
of Mr Villiers are correct—if
agricultural produce has depreciated
to the extent of £91,000,000—there
is no necessity whatever for recurring
to Irish famine, railway losses, or
commercial embarrassment, for an
explanation of the unhealthy state of
the home market. If we divide the
population of the British islands,
between agriculture and manufactures,
in proportion to the ascertained
number of those employed in either
pursuit, we shall find that rather
more than 18,700,000 are dependent
on agriculture; whilst the number
of those directly and indirectly drawing
their livelihood from manufactures
is short of 8,100,000.<a id='r10'></a><a href='#f10' class='c015'><sup>[10]</sup></a> Any
blow levelled at the larger interest
must perforce materially affect the
lesser; and our decided conviction is,
that the manufacturers have yet to
learn, through adversity, a wholesome
lesson. They have been taught to
look to the foreign, or exporting trade,
as their chief source of gain; and, in
doing so, they have had to face a competition
with other countries, which,
in the course of a few years, has
lowered their profits fully 50 per cent.
They are still willing to go on, in the
pure reckless spirit of gambling, caring
nothing what social mischief they
occasion, so long as they can deluge
the markets of the world with their
bales of calico and cotton. For this
end, by an unholy and unprincipled
combination, they have contrived to
substitute foreign in place of British
agricultural labour, whilst, with unparalleled
selfishness, they reject all
proposals for an equitable distribution
of taxation.</p>

<p class='c009'>The annual amount of the manufacturing
productions of this country
is estimated at £178,000,000; and it
is said that last year we have exported
£58,000,000. If this be the case,
there remain goods to the value of
£120,000,000, to be consumed at
home; and the amount of the actual
consumption mainly depends upon the
consumers’ power of purchase. Mr
Villiers tells us that £91,000,000 have
been <em>lost</em> to the agricultural classes—for
depreciation is neither more nor
less than direct loss. It is an obvious
fallacy to assume, as Mr Muntz does,
that this sum is merely to be considered
as transferred from one pocket
of the community to another, as a
note for five pounds might be. In the
latter case, the capital represented by
the note is not destroyed; in the
former, the agricultural produce having
been purchased and consumed at
two-thirds of its productive cost, there
is clearly a direct loss to the producing
party. The annual amount of
agricultural produce in this country
was estimated, according to former
average prices, at £250,000,000; and
if this be accepted as true, or even an
approximation to the truth, the estimate
of Mr Villiers will show a depreciation
of more than a third of the
value. To that extent, therefore, the
power of purchase in the home market
is lessened; for if £120,000,000 of
manufactures are made to be consumed
at home, and the means of the
consumers are reduced by £91,000,000,
how is it possible that trade can remain
in a prosperous condition?</p>

<p class='c009'>If the dependence of the prosperity
of manufactures on the amount of the
demand existing in the home market
is admitted—and no man yet has
attempted to deny that intimate relationship
between the agricultural and
the manufacturing classes—it will follow,
as a clear deduction, that to curtail
the means of the consumer is tantamount
to limiting the demand. No
body of men understood this more
clearly than the leading agitators of
the League. They knew perfectly
well, that agricultural distress must
react fearfully upon that numerous
section of the manufacturers, who look
solely to the home market for the regular
consumption of their produce,
and who supply the greater number
of the retail dealers and shopkeepers,
whose means of livelihood
depend on their intervention between
the makers of the fabric and the
buyers. Those leading agitators
were independent of the home
trade. Their interest lay in pushing
exports to the utmost, and in maintaining
their hold of the foreign and
distant markets, in spite of a fierce
competition with France, Germany,
and America. That competition had
latterly become so serious and formidable,
that, in order to maintain
their ground, they found it necessary
to devise some means whereby operative
labour, already brought down
to the lowest point of monetary wage,
might be stimulated and sustained;
and the only scheme available to them
was the breaking up of the corn laws,
which, in this highly-taxed country,
with the accumulated burdens of more
than a century and a half pressing
upon it, afforded a necessary protection
to the British agricultural labourer.
For no one can deny that
the producers of corn are, like all
others, subject to taxation; and all
taxation, whether direct or indirect,
must be added to the price of the
fruits of labour. This was just what
the corn laws effected. The consumer
paid for the taxation when he purchased
the article; and in no branch
of industry or trade is another rule
recognised. There is a natural price,
and an artificial price. The natural
price of corn is that for which it can
be grown in this country, deducting
labour and the grower’s profit, but
without any burdens of taxation at
all. The artificial price is that which
is charged for the produce to the consumer,
when the taxation falling upon
the land, for state purposes, is added
to the natural price. By the repeal
of the corn laws, the consumer
escaped this taxation, and the whole
burden was thrown on the producer
and the labourer, who, in consequence
of superior natural advantages
possessed by the foreigner, can
be undersold by him even at the natural
price, and who yet are called upon
to bear the whole of the artificial
cost.</p>

<p class='c009'>Such a scheme as this—one so
manifestly unjust, not only to the
agriculturists, but to the manufacturers
and the shopkeepers, whose
whole dependence was on the home
consumers—would never have been
carried into execution, had its inevitable
results been honestly laid before
the public. But there was no honesty
in these men. They were fighting a
desperate game, without regard to the
general interest of the country, so
that they could be the individual
gainers; and they fought it, as
gamblers will do, unscrupulously,
falsely, and dishonestly. They durst
not have hinted that the immediate
effect of the repeal of the corn laws would
be a large and permanent depreciation
of the value of agricultural produce.
Had they done so, the tradesmen and
retail dealers whom they chiefly
aimed to dupe—because the electoral
influence of that class is immensely
large—would at once have seen, that,
by limiting the general power of their
customers to purchase, they were, in
fact, depriving themselves of so much
of their former profit. Shopkeepers
and tradesmen do not live by the
export trade: they maintain themselves
and their families by distributing
the products of labour among the
community; and their gains, as well
as those of the artisan, are measured
by the amount of custom which they
receive. Any legislative change,
therefore, which could have the effect
of diminishing that custom in a serious
degree, would necessarily be most
detrimental to the interests of this
class—a proposition so clear, that no
effort of political jesuitry could disguise
it. The corn-law repealers knew
this, and accordingly they rested
their case on different grounds. They
maintained that the abolition of the
duties on corn would not, and could
not, have the effect of curtailing the
means or the revenue of the producer.
They professed that their sole object
was to prevent extravagant fluctuations
in price; and they were quite as
touching and lachrymose in the pictures
which they drew of the evils
certain to arise from a range of low
prices, as in those descriptive of the
opposite extreme. Let us again
refresh ourselves with a few sentences
from the work of Mr James Wilson—sentences
which afford good ground
for hope that, upon the next agricultural
division, we may find the
member for Westbury using his best
endeavour to repair some of the mischief
which recent legislation has
inflicted. The reader will bear in
mind that Mr Wilson distinctly
enunciated 52s. 2d. to be the proper
price for wheat, at which an exactly
sufficient amount of production would
be kept up.</p>

<p class='c010'>“It never can be advantageous for the
community at large that they should
consume the produce of any one party
below the cost of production; for a period
is not very far distant when the consequences
must react, and infallibly produce
high prices and great scarcity; and we
will show that the evils of the reaction
are far greater than any advantage derived
from the low prices.”—<cite>Influences of
the Corn Laws</cite>, p. 28.</p>

<p class='c007'>Again:</p>

<p class='c010'>“Our belief is, 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,
<em>the average price of wheat will be
higher than it has been for the last seven
years</em>, (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.”—P. 56.</p>

<p class='c007'>Perhaps we cannot better illustrate
this part of our subject, than by transcribing
the second “proposition” laid
down by the present Secretary of the
Board of Control. It is so unambiguous
in its terms that we are saved the
necessity of a commentary. Mark,
and perpend!</p>

<p class='c010'>“<span class='sc'>Proposition the Second.</span>—That the
agricultural interest has derived no
benefit, but great injury, from the existing
laws; and that the fears and apprehensions
of the ruinous consequences
which would result to this interest by the
adoption of a free and liberal policy
with respect to the trade in corn, are
without any foundation: <span class='sc'>That the
value of this property, instead of
being depreciated, on the aggregate
would be rather enhanced, and the
general interests of the owners most
decidedly benefited thereby.</span>”</p>

<p class='c007'>We presume that we need go no
further in illustration of the line of
argument adopted by the exporting
manufacturers and their adherents,
for the purpose of persuading the
tradesmen and artisans that the repeal
of the corn laws could not in any
way affect the consumers’ power of
purchase.</p>

<p class='c009'>In dealing with the state of the
manufacturing interest, we must never
lose sight of the fact, that enlarged
exports furnish no proof whatever of
the prosperity of the home trade. We
shall not go the length of adopting a
hypothesis, plausibly enough put forward,
that increased exports are a natural
result of deficiency in the home
demand; that where any sudden stimulus
is given to a market abroad,
goods originally intended for British
consumption, but not taken out of
stock, are shipped on speculation, and
thus augment the declared value of
the exports. We shall not make any
averment of the kind, however probable
it may be—simply because it is not
in our power, or that of any man in
the country, to prove such an allegation
as the general rule. But so
far as we can gather, from the
voice of the public press, there
would appear to be little room for
exultation in the present prospects of
manufactures. The agricultural depression
is yet recent, and its reaction
on manufactures, though it began in
1849, will probably not be felt in its
real intensity until the present year
is well advanced. In estimating the
prosperity of manufactures, what we
must look to are the wages and the
condition of the labourer. The individual
profits of the masters are secondary
to this consideration; and we
shall now proceed to examine whether
cheap food has fulfilled its chief recommendation
in bettering the condition
of the operatives.</p>

<p class='c009'>In a single number of the <cite>Birmingham
Mercury</cite> for 2d February, now
lying before us, we find four separate
letters upon this important subject.
The first is from the operatives’ committee
of the glass-trade, in which
they state that “never was there more
flint glass manufactured than there is
at the present time, and never did the
operatives receive less than they do at
present for the quantity of work
made.” The second is from a person
engaged in the pin-trades, also complaining
of low wages. The third is
an indignant remonstrance from an
operative against recent prosperity-statements,
in which he says, “the
condition of the workmen is such at
the present time, that it is important
to them to have their condition truly
represented, devoid of that colouring
which, while it would please some
manufacturers, would to the workmen
possess no charm whatever. Where
a writer’s heart is, there also will his
leaning be; and I feel convinced that
no operative in this town could fail to
see which way these articles incline.
Obtaining information from masters
about men, and publishing it like
accounts from a house proprietor about
his houses, or from a farmer about his
cows, does not suit those workmen
who think, and feel, and wish to be
treated in a manner due to their position
as producers of articles ministering
to the comforts and conveniences
of mankind at large.” The fourth
proceeds from the committee of the
gun-trade, stating that “the year
1849 has perhaps been unparalleled
in the history of our trade; for the
general depression of our prices, and
the suffering of the working men, with
the shortness of work, and the very
low price at which that work has been
done, have reduced us to the most
pitiable condition which working and
industrious men could be brought to.”
Surely these letters are inconsistent
with the statement of Mr Villiers,
that “when he looked to the working
classes, he was gratified to find that
both manufacturing and agricultural
labourers were either receiving a higher
rate of wages, or were able to command
a better supply of the comforts
of life with their former wages.”
Within ten days after that speech was
made, an operative strike began at
Nottingham. The following letter,
addressed to, but not published in, the
<cite>Times</cite>, appeared lately in the <cite>Morning
Herald</cite>, and remains, so far as we
know, uncontradicted:—</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c018'>
    <div>“<em>To the Editor of The Times.</em></div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“Sir,—I have read with great interest
your able exposures of the butchers and
other tradesmen of the metropolis. Will
you, with your usual impartiality, give
the following facts for free-traders a corner
in your journal:—The wages paid in
the factory of Messrs Marshal, at Shrewsbury,
before and after free trade came
into operation, are as follows:—</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr>
    <th class='c003'></th>
    <th class='c020'>1846.</th>
    <th class='c022'>1849.</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <th class='c003'></th>
    <th class='c020'>Protection.</th>
    <th class='c022'>Free Trade.</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Mechanics,</td>
    <td class='c023'>£1  5  0</td>
    <td class='c004'>£0 18  0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Overlookers,</td>
    <td class='c023'>1  0  0</td>
    <td class='c004'>0 14  0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Thread-polishers,</td>
    <td class='c023'>0 12  0</td>
    <td class='c004'>0  8  0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Boys,</td>
    <td class='c023'>0  8  0</td>
    <td class='c004'>0  6  0</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Female reelers,</td>
    <td class='c023'>0  6  0</td>
    <td class='c004'>0  4  8</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c011'>“Messrs Marshal are among the most
extensive manufacturers in the kingdom,
and this may be taken as a fair specimen
of what has been generally done. I
should be sorry to make one comment on
these facts, but leave it to the judgment
of the public to decide whether the operatives
of this country, or the manufacturers
who employ them, have reaped the
benefit of that cheap bread which they
promised to the labouring population;
and whether what they gave with one
hand in the shape of bread, they do not
more than take with the other by so large
a reduction of wages.—I am, Sir, your
obedient Servant,</p>

<div class='lg-container-r c019'>
  <div class='linegroup'>
    <div class='group'>
      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>John Phillips</span>.</div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>

<p class='c011'>“Winsley, near Shrewsbury, Jan 22.”</p>

<p class='c007'>As to the condition of the agricultural
labourers, it would really appear
to be needless to enter upon that point.
The cry of suffering and distress is
universal throughout the length and
breadth of the land. How can it be
otherwise, when every cargo of foreign
grain sent to our shores is in
effect so much untaxed foreign labour
introduced to beat down the wages of
the working man? Mr Bonnar Maurice,
at a late meeting at Welshpool,
thus described the present condition
of the agricultural labourers of England:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“But there was another class—from
their numbers a very important class—and
if they took (as they might fairly do)
the well or ill doing of that class as an
indication of the prosperity or otherwise
of the country generally, it was indeed a
<em>most</em> important class—he meant the labouring
class. They were promised that
free trade was to bring within their reach
comforts and luxuries which they had not
even dreamt of. How was it now with
them? Take first the agricultural labourer.
A short time ago he was earning
9s. or 10s., or in some counties 12s. a-week;
his wife could earn 5s. or 6s., and
his boy (if he had one eleven or twelve
years of age) about the same. Now
numbers are without employment at all;
numbers can obtain only occasional employment;
and those who are in constant
work must be satisfied with 7s. or 8s.,
and in some places with not more than 6s.
a-week, and with little or no aid from
their wives and families. With other
labourers the case is no better—their
employment is becoming more and more
scarce; the effects of an unfair competition
are reducing the means of giving
employment; and those who are suffering
from such effects are accordingly lessening
the number of their labourers, and
reducing their establishments. Thus,
scarcity of employment, combined with
reduction of wages, is the blessing which
free trade brings to the labourer. And
so it must be; for what is the real principle
of free trade but the unfair encouragement
of the foreigner at the expense
of the British labourer, the taking
away employment from the labourers of
our own country, and the giving that employment
to the foreigner?”</p>

<p class='c007'>In Scotland matters are no better.
We have many instances of proprietors
compelled by the decline of
rents to abandon the improvement of
their estates, and to relax that employment
which was formerly given
to labour. This is a great calamity;
since it must inevitably tend to swell
the poor-rate, already augmenting
alarmingly. In the western districts
the labour of Irish emigrants, forced
from their own country by the same
cause, and willing to work at the
lowest possible rate of wage which
will suffice to sustain existence, is
supplanting that of our Scottish peasantry;
and as the farmers are nearly
driven to the wall by the unprecedented
decline in the value of both
corn and cattle, they cannot be blamed
for putting into practice the noxious
free-trade dogma, and availing themselves
of labour at the cheapest rate.
If this state of matters is to continue,
the results may be terrible indeed.
The legislature is bound to look to it
in time; and, for the general safety,
to take heed that the power of labour
of the working man, which is his sole
capital, is not tampered with too far.
We cannot refrain from making another
extract from the pages of Mr
Wilson, who deprecates agricultural
depression upon the express ground
of its pernicious effect upon the condition
and morals of the labourer.
Any fall below 52s. 2d. per quarter of
wheat, Mr Wilson estimates as depression.
The present averages are under
40s., with no prospect of a rise:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“It must be obvious that the tendencies
experienced by the farmer must immediately
influence the labourers he
employs. In his successful or advancing
years, a good demand exists for labour,
and either attracts or retains more to this
pursuit than on an average it is capable
of maintaining; and thus we find, when
the period of diminished cultivation
arrives, the strongest evidences of surplus
labour, as of surplus stock—distress to a
painful degree becomes the lot of the
hard-working tiller of the ground, whose
only desire is for ‘<em>leave to toil</em>;’ but, like
his master, he had already toiled too
much, and too unprofitably. Ignorant of
the real causes of his distress, driven to
pinch and want, he becomes too readily
the victim of vicious and designing men,
and has recourse to many acts of violence
and injustice, which, instead of mending
his case, can only tend to make it still
worse.</p>

<p class='c011'>“No one can have forgot the terror
and dismay which, from this cause,
spread through our usually quiet and
peaceful rural districts a few years ago,
when the agricultural interest was
severely depressed; the awful and mysterious
midnight fires, which frequently
lighted up a whole district at the same
moment, consuming the very means of
subsistence; anonymous letters followed
up by all their threatenings; secret
societies to fan and inflame the worst
passions; highway robberies and personal
attacks; outrages of every description;
and all perpetrated by men whose ignorance
and misery (from causes over which
they had no control) were really much
more apt to excite our pity than our
blame. But how insensibly all these
evidences have vanished with a return to
prosperity, although it is impossible that
they have not left behind a population of
a lower and more debased standard of
morals! They are now as quiet as ever,
<em>but the return of distress to their employers
will not fail to reduce them once more to a
similar condition</em>.</p>

<p class='c011'>“It should also be remarked, <em>that this
distress cannot fail naturally to increase
the poor-rates</em>, and the charges of maintaining
good order, which must act as a
distinct cause of reducing the rents and
income of farmer and landlord. In some
instances these charges have pressed so
heavily at particular times, as to consume
the whole rent, and to render land of
little or no value, which would otherwise
have let at a fair average rate.”</p>

<p class='c007'>We also learn from Mr Wilson,
that extreme cheapness is the reverse
of a benefit to the manufacturing
operative, inasmuch as it induces
habits of luxury which are by no
means suited to his welfare. It is
not impossible that this view may
have led to that salutary reduction of
wages, which seems, at the present
moment, to be taking place throughout
the manufacturing districts of
England, and that the diminished
supply of money is intended to check
that inordinate appetite for cheap
loaves and bacon, which is naturally
enough engendered by the foreign
untaxed supplies pouring in to supersede
the production of the home
labourer, and to drive him gradually
to the workhouse. The member for
Westbury says:—</p>

<p class='c010'>“With the manufacturing labouring
classes similar effects occur at opposite
periods, when the necessaries of life are
pressed to the highest point: they are
introduced, <em>in the years of ruinous cheapness</em>,
to habits of comparative luxury
and consumption which their labour cannot,
on an average, command; and they,
therefore, feel much more the want occasioned
by extreme high prices, when they
cannot command so much as their labour
should produce to them. So the effect is,
that <em>in cheap years his labour commands
too much agricultural labour</em>, and he thus
anticipates a part of what should be the
consumption of a future day; and in
dear years his labour commands too little
agricultural labour, and he is obliged to
receive proportionably as much too little
as before he received too much.”</p>

<p class='c007'>We are decidedly of opinion that
there is much sound sense in the above
extract. We never have known a year
so characterised by <em>ruinous cheapness</em>
of all kinds of provisions as that
which has just gone by; the present
year holds out no prospect of improvement,
but rather indicates a farther
decline; and therefore we are not
without hope that this important
point may be worked out at greater
length in the columns of the <cite>Economist</cite>.</p>

<p class='c009'>The question of wages has led us
into a slight digression. Our immediate
topic was the dependence of the
manufacturers, or at least a large
section of them, upon the purchase
power of the community; and we have
already shown, by the evidence of
our opponents, that, in so far as the
agriculturists are concerned, their aggregate
produce, which constitutes
their means, has been diminished by
one-third. Now, it must be remembered
that <em>the cost of production</em> falls
to be deducted altogether from the
remaining two-thirds; and that, in the
lost third was contained the greater
part of the surplusage or profit,
which afforded the means of commanding
luxuries and superfluities.
Of course any diminished power of
purchase must tell against the manufacturers,
by keeping up their stocks
in hand, and lessening the necessity
for production. But many of them,
failing the home trade, have the
chance of a market, though it may be
a less profitable one, elsewhere. They
can export on consignation if not on
order; and late accounts from San
Francisco, where bales of British
goods are stated to be lying unwarehoused,
and exposed to the weather
without finding purchasers, show that
the export mania may be carried beyond
the verge of average recklessness.
But the shopkeepers and tradesmen
have no such alternative resource.
They depend solely upon the
consumers of Britain, and any material
lowering of the value of home
produce reacts upon them in the shape
of lessened demand for all articles of
luxury in which they deal, and upon
the artisan in the form of diminished
employment. It may be useful to lay
before our readers Mr Spackman’s
estimate of the total productions of
this country, calculated on the most
authentic data <em>before</em> the commencement
of the depression.</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr><th class='c024' colspan='3'>ANNUAL PRODUCTION OF THE UNITED KINGDOM.</th></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Annual value of agricultural productions,</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>£250,000,000</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Annual value of manufacturing productions,</td>
    <td class='c023'>£177,184,292</td>
    <td class='c004'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c023'>From which deduct value of raw material,</td>
    <td class='c023'>50,000,000</td>
    <td class='c004'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c023'><hr></td>
    <td class='c004'>127,184,292</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Annual value of product of mining interest,</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>36,121,000</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Annual value of profits of shipping interest,</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>3,637,231</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Annual income from Colonies, about</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>15,000,000</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Annual income from foreign trade,</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>15,000,000</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Annual income from fisheries, about</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>3,000,000</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020'>Total,</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>£449,942,523</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c023'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'><hr></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c009'>This constitutes the whole product
of our national wealth. It is the substance
of Britain, and from one or
other of the above sources does every
individual in the land derive his means
of support. Out of these all taxation
is paid: from these, all professional
men, tradesmen, artisans, and
dealers, derive their profit and their
means. Hitherto, by all wise legislators,
the interests of the two leading
classes of producers have been
considered indissolubly united. The
agriculturist supplied the manufacturer
with food, and to a considerable
extent with raw material; and in return
he took annually two-thirds of
the manufactured productions. Our
exports were exchanged for luxuries,
or for articles which could not be produced
at home, and the balance in
our favour constituted the yearly increment
of our wealth. What free
trade proposes to do, and, indeed, has
partially effected, is the dissolution
of the dependence of the two great
classes on each other. The manufacturer
is invited to seek his food and
raw material from the cheapest foreign
source; the agriculturist to do the
same with respect to foreign manufactures.
But the two classes are not
upon a par. The agriculturist cannot
export any considerable portion of his
produce, because he is greatly undersold
by the cheap growers of the Continent
and America. We observe
that, last year, the whole of the exports
which can be termed agricultural,
were as follows:—</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Butter,</td>
    <td class='c004'>£210,604</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Cheese,</td>
    <td class='c004'>24,912</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Wool, sheep and lambs,</td>
    <td class='c004'>535,801</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c004'>£771,317</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c009'>This, it will be seen, is an infinitesimally
small portion of our whole
products. The manufacturer can export,
though not to an extent corresponding
to his powers of production.
Manufactures have been cheapening
year by year, in consequence of augmented
foreign competition, and that
struggle is likely to go on for years
as fiercely as ever. To maintain the
export trade in a competition which
cannot end otherwise than disastrously,
we have been called upon to
sacrifice everything. This is the true
secret of the lowered tariffs, of the
unnatural policy which we have pursued
towards our colonies, of the clamour
for financial reform which has
been so industriously raised. Without
speculating as to future operations,
which probably will include a direct
attack upon the Monarchy and the
National Debt, we shall simply draw
the attention of our readers to this
fact, that, for the sake of increasing
the bulk of our exports by the annual
value of three, four, or ten millions,
(which we have <em>not achieved</em>, our exports
last year being lower than those
of 1845,) we have lowered the annual
value of our home productions by
ninety-one millions! And the men
who have done this call themselves
statesmen, and congratulate each other
on the results of their singular sagacity!</p>

<p class='c009'>But, let the manufacturers do what
they can, two-thirds of their produce,
in round numbers £120,000,000, must
still be consumed at home. The shopkeepers
are the brokers of this amount
of produce. And how is it to be consumed,
if the great agricultural interest
is to be broken up? No Free-trader
alive can answer that question.
We perfectly understand the
virulence of their organs, and their
wrath and rage at the unanswerable
case which we have laid before the
public in former papers; but no rage
or wrath will extricate the Free-traders
from their dilemma. They
must now explain to the tradesmen
and artisans the profitable nature of
their scheme. They may take credit,
if they please, for increased exportations
to the amount of ten millions—let
them debit themselves <em>per contra</em>
with ninety-one millions of decrease
in the power of the home consumers
to purchase, and then account to us
for the defalcation. We have a high
authority behind whom we shall retire
for shelter, if again assailed. That
redoubted political economist, Mr
James Wilson, must in common consistency
put forth his ægis before us,
and defend, lion-like, his original proposition,
“that <em>individuals</em>, <em>communities</em>,
or <em>countries</em>, can only be prosperous
in proportion to the prosperity of
the whole.”</p>

<p class='c009'>There are other considerations connected
with the permanent depreciation
of landed property in Great
Britain, which are personal to almost
every man belonging to the higher
and middle classes of society. It
has been far too hastily assumed that
this is a mere proprietor’s question, or
at least one in which the mercantile
and professional classes have no direct
interest. We propose, towards the
conclusion of this article, to examine
that matter minutely: in the mean
time we shall direct our attention to
the official tables of the exports and
imports for the last year, which have
been thought so favourable to free
trade, as almost to justify the celebration
of a national jubilee.</p>

<p class='c009'>In 1848, our exports were short of
forty-nine millions; this year they
exceed fifty-eight. Such is their
declared value; and though we must
still hold with Sir Robert Peel, that
these tables cannot be entirely relied
on for accuracy, we shall consider
them simply as they are given us.</p>

<p class='c009'>In order to estimate the real advantage
which the country has derived
from the adoption of free trade, it is
necessary to revert to the condition
in which we stood <em>before</em> the Corn
and Navigation Laws were repealed.
No one, who reflects upon the state
of the Continent in 1848, can be surprised
that our exports have been
augmented materially by the restoration
of tranquillity. That augmentation
has nothing whatever to do with
free trade. The question which we
must now consider is this—have we
been materially benefited, or benefited
at all, or the reverse, by the substitution
of free trade instead of our
former system? In order to ascertain
that, we must institute a comparison
between our situation anterior
to free trade, and that which is now
made the ground of Ministerial triumph.
We shall, therefore, compare
the exports and imports of the year
1845, the last protection year, with
those of 1849. The fairness of this
comparison will not, we presume, be
disputed. And first, as to the exports:</p>

<p class='c009'>From Mr Porter’s Tables, (page
358 of the new edition,) we learn that
the real or declared value of British
and Irish produce and manufactures,
exported in 1845, was £60,111,081.
The Government tables, just published,
give us the total declared value
of the exports for 1849 at £58,848,042.
There is, therefore, a deficit of
£1,263,039 in 1849, as compared
with 1845. Mr M’Gregor, it will be
remembered, told us that we were to
have <em>an increase of two millions a-week</em>:
the Government tables show us that
we have a decrease of a million and a
quarter a-year, comparing the one year
with the other! We understand that
the whole of the exports are included
in the statement just issued. We can
form no other conclusion from the
large increase of the items inserted,
and the small amount of some of
them—for example, stockings—which
are estimated at £1494 in 1849, in
comparison with £39 in 1848; indeed,
the words “total declared value,”
admit of no other construction. So,
then, our exports in the aggregate
have not increased, but, on the contrary,
have fallen off. We find the
declared value of our principal textile
exports to be as follows:—</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr>
    <th class='c003'></th>
    <th class='c020'>1845.</th>
    <th class='c022'>1849.</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Cotton manufactures,</td>
    <td class='c023'>£19,172,564</td>
    <td class='c004'>£18,834,601</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>——  yarn,</td>
    <td class='c023'>6,962,626</td>
    <td class='c004'>6,701,920</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Linen manufactures,</td>
    <td class='c023'>3,062,006</td>
    <td class='c004'>3,073,903</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>——  yarn,</td>
    <td class='c023'>1,051,303</td>
    <td class='c004'>737,650</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Woollen manufactures,</td>
    <td class='c023'>7,674,672</td>
    <td class='c004'>7,330,475</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>——   yarn,</td>
    <td class='c023'>1,067,056</td>
    <td class='c004'>1,089,867</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c023'><hr></td>
    <td class='c004'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c023'>£38,990,227</td>
    <td class='c004'>£37,768,416</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c009'>The imports, however, are more
valuable for our consideration. No
idea of their comparative value can
be formed from the tables; but the
amount is set forth in bulk and number,
and we believe our readers will
feel astonished at the results. We
shall first enumerate those articles
which have been brought in to displace
British produce.</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr>
    <th class='c003' colspan='2'>Animals living, viz.—</th>
    <th class='c025'>1845.</th>
    <th class='c026'>1849.</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Oxen and bulls,</td>
    <td class='c027'>9,782</td>
    <td class='c028'>21,751</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Cows,</td>
    <td class='c027'>6,502</td>
    <td class='c028'>17,921</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Calves,</td>
    <td class='c027'>586</td>
    <td class='c028'>13,645</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Sheep,</td>
    <td class='c027'>15,846</td>
    <td class='c028'>126,247</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Lambs,</td>
    <td class='c027'>112</td>
    <td class='c028'>3,018</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Swine and hogs,</td>
    <td class='c027'>1,598</td>
    <td class='c028'>2,653</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c027'><hr></td>
    <td class='c028'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020' colspan='2'>Total animals,</td>
    <td class='c027'>34,426</td>
    <td class='c028'>185,235</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Bacon, cwt.,</td>
    <td class='c027'>64</td>
    <td class='c028'>384,325</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Beef, salted, not corned,</td>
    <td class='c027'>3,540</td>
    <td class='c028'>144,638</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>—   fresh, or slightly salted,</td>
    <td class='c027'>651</td>
    <td class='c028'>5,279</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Pork, salted,</td>
    <td class='c027'>1,461</td>
    <td class='c028'>347,352</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>—   fresh,</td>
    <td class='c027'>133</td>
    <td class='c028'>924</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Hams,</td>
    <td class='c027'>2,603</td>
    <td class='c028'>9,460</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c027'><hr></td>
    <td class='c028'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020' colspan='2'>Total of meats, cwt.,</td>
    <td class='c027'>8,452</td>
    <td class='c028'>891,978</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c027'><hr></td>
    <td class='c028'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Butter, cwt.,</td>
    <td class='c027'>240,118</td>
    <td class='c028'>279,462</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Cheese,</td>
    <td class='c027'>258,246</td>
    <td class='c028'>390,978</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Eggs, number,</td>
    <td class='c027'>75,669,843</td>
    <td class='c028'>97,884,557</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c027'><hr></td>
    <td class='c028'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Corn—</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>&#160;</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Wheat, qrs.</td>
    <td class='c027'>135,670</td>
    <td class='c028'>4,509,626</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Barley,</td>
    <td class='c027'>299,314</td>
    <td class='c028'>1,554,860</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Oats,</td>
    <td class='c027'>585,793</td>
    <td class='c028'>1,368,673</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Rye,</td>
    <td class='c027'>23</td>
    <td class='c028'>256,308</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Peas,</td>
    <td class='c027'>82,556</td>
    <td class='c028'>285,487</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Beans,</td>
    <td class='c027'>197,919</td>
    <td class='c028'>483,430</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Indian corn or maize,</td>
    <td class='c027'>42,295</td>
    <td class='c028'>2,249,571</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Buckwheat,</td>
    <td class='c027'>1,105</td>
    <td class='c028'>308</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>Beer or bigg,</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>1,749</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c027'><hr></td>
    <td class='c028'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020' colspan='2'>Total grain, qrs.,</td>
    <td class='c027'>1,344,675</td>
    <td class='c028'>10,710,012</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c027'><hr></td>
    <td class='c028'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Wheat meal or flour, cwt.,</td>
    <td class='c027'>630,255</td>
    <td class='c028'>3,937,219</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Barley meal,</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>224</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Oatmeal,</td>
    <td class='c027'>2,224</td>
    <td class='c028'>40,055</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Rye meal,</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>24,031</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Pea meal,</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>300</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Bean meal,</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>2</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Indian corn meal,</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>102,181</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003' colspan='2'>Buckwheat meal,</td>
    <td class='c027'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c028'>1,095</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c003'>&#160;</td>
    <td class='c027'><hr></td>
    <td class='c028'><hr></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c020' colspan='2'>Total flour and meal, cwts.,</td>
    <td class='c027'>632,479</td>
    <td class='c028'>4,105,107</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c009'>These are the free-trade importations
which are ruining the British
agriculturist. This is the kind of
competition which he is called upon
to face, with a heavier load of taxation
pressing upon him than is known
in any other country in the world.</p>

<p class='c009'>We shall probably be told, however,
that this enormous supply of
cheap food has enabled the people to
extend their consumption of articles
of luxury to a large extent. Let us
see how that matter stands. We select
the common luxuries, which are
next to necessaries, for illustration,—and
we also add another column,
showing the quantities entered for
consumption in 1848. By this our
readers will be enabled to ascertain
the increasing rate of demand for
these articles.</p>

<table class='table1'>
  <tr>
    <th class='c003'></th>
    <th class='c020'>1845.</th>
    <th class='c020'>1848.</th>
    <th class='c022'>1849.</th>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Coffee, lb.,</td>
    <td class='c023'>34,318,095</td>
    <td class='c023'>37,107,279</td>
    <td class='c004'>34,431,074</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Tea,</td>
    <td class='c023'>44,183,135</td>
    <td class='c023'>48,735,696</td>
    <td class='c004'>50,024,688</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Tobacco and snuff,</td>
    <td class='c023'>26,323,944</td>
    <td class='c023'>27,305,134</td>
    <td class='c004'>27,685,687</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class='c003'>Wine, gallons,</td>
    <td class='c023'>6,986,846</td>
    <td class='c023'>6,369,785</td>
    <td class='c004'>6,487,689</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p class='c009'>It will be observed, that of these
articles there is no great additional
consumption. We have excepted
sugar from the above list, on account
of the alteration of the duties since
1845. There was, however, less entered
for home consumption in 1849
than in 1848, by 240,067 cwt.</p>

<p class='c009'>There appears to be nothing else in
these tables which calls for special
remark. They establish the fact that,
under the operation of free trade, we
have not yet been able to export as
large an amount of manufactures as
left this country in the last year of
protection; a fact very suggestive,
when we regard the enormous increase
of the imports. The foreigner is supplanting
our agricultural industry,
without taking in return an augmented
quantity of the produce of our manufacturers.</p>

<p class='c009'>We cannot, therefore, see that these
returns afford us any ground for congratulation.
We can draw no good
augury for the future from the figures
which appear on the import side of the
account: on the contrary, they appear
to us ominous of calamity and disaster.</p>

<p class='c009'>The large amount of bullion contained
in the vaults of the Bank of
England has been triumphantly referred
to by the Free-traders as a proof,
almost conclusive in itself, that the
country is flourishing under the system
of unrestricted importations; and
the Protectionists have been taunted
with the failure of their prediction,
that a large import of foreign grain
would drain the gold from Britain.
These assumptions rest upon a most
superficial view of the causes which
have combined to restore bullion to
the Bank during the last two years;
and they argue a total forgetfulness
of the calamitous monetary panic of
1847, occasioned by the demand for
gold to meet the large importations of
foreign grain consequent upon the
famine. The ruinous effects of the
adverse state of the foreign exchanges
upon our commercial and manufacturing
classes, in 1847 and 1848, are
matters of history; and the unprecedented
advice given by the Government
to the Bank, to charge <em>eight per
cent</em> on its advances, as well as the
virtual abrogation of the Bank Act of
1844, are incidents in our mercantile
annals too startling to be soon forgotten.
It is not difficult, if we keep
these things steadily in view, and also
take into account the disturbed state
of Europe for the last two years, to
understand the reason why the returns
of bullion have been so great.</p>

<p class='c009'>The principal sources of the steady
accumulation of gold during the last
two years, in the face of continued
large imports of grain and provisions,
may be enumerated as follows:—</p>

<p class='c009'>1st, The sale of foreign investments
by parties in this country, and the
stringent enforcement of all moneys
due to them abroad.</p>

<p class='c009'>2d, Forced sales and consignments
of British goods at prices ruinously
low to the producers.</p>

<p class='c009'>3d, A considerable reduction in
the stock of raw material.</p>

<p class='c009'>4th, A diminution in the quantity
of gold coin required to carry on the
internal trade and domestic expenditure
of the country. This diminution
has been caused by the fall of prices,
whereby the same quantity of commodities
is represented by less money—by
the sudden limitation of the
employment of labour—and by the
reduced means of the people for ordinary
expenditure.</p>

<p class='c009'>5th, Remittances from foreign
countries, caused by the revolutionary
movements in most of the Continental
states.</p>

<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_372'>372</span>6th, The return of the absentees
from abroad, whose expenditure has
been estimated as high as £20,000,000.
Allowing this to be a great exaggeration,
and estimating it even at a
third of the amount, the result becomes
most important.</p>

<p class='c009'>7th, By other minor causes,
amongst which we may particularise
the return of sovereigns to this country
from Belgium, in consequence of
the alteration in the law which regulates
the currency there.</p>

<p class='c009'>When we look to the operation of
these causes, some of them being,
from their nature, mere temporary
expedients, and others arising from
political movements over which we
had no control, the existence of a
large <em>balance</em> of bullion in the coffers
of the Bank of England ceases to be
an index of the legitimate operations
of trade. It is, in fact, nothing more
than a balance. Without accurate
data as to the quantities of the gold
which have been sent into and again
exported from this country during the
last two years—data which our opponents
have no wish whatever to see
produced—it would be fallacious to
assume that our increased imports of
commodities have been met by our
extended exports. Indeed, the Government
accounts distinctly demonstrate
that such is not the case. They
prove that our imports are augmenting
at a ratio to which the exports
bear no manner of proportion; and no
man, who will take the pains of considering
dispassionately the foregoing
tables, can doubt this. How, then,
is the balance paid? Not certainly
in goods; and if not in goods,
in what other shape than money?</p>

<p class='c009'>The maintenance of the stock of
bullion in the Bank depends solely upon
the continuance or the recurrence of
such unusual accidents as we have
enumerated above. We have been
large sellers of foreign funds and investments;
and we have received
from other countries, for the sake of
security, important remittances of the
precious metals. But until we can
restore the balance of trade by raising
our exports to the level of the
imports, or by restricting the latter,
which we are bound to do in every
case where large branches of native
industry can be affected, we cannot
hope permanently to retain the treasure,
except at a frightful sacrifice.
Further sales and further deposits
may combine to keep it here, even for
a considerable period; but so soon as
confidence is restored abroad, we
must look for a steady drain. If our
imports shall constantly exceed our
exports, which is the tendency of our
recent legislation, we shall be forced
to correct the balance of trade by
drawing upon the accumulations of
our more prudent ancestors, who
acted on different principles; and so
long as the foreign investments of
their wealth last us, we may be enabled
to continue our spendthrift
course, consuming more than we produce.
But this must evidently have
an end; and, long before that period,
the annual diminution of our national
means would be felt by all classes of
society, and the war between the
great bulk of the community and the
money power would commence in
terrible earnest.</p>

<p class='c009'>There are, we know, many people
who, in spite of all the testimony
which has been adduced, and the
solemn declaration of the farmers that
they cannot carry on cultivation at
present prices, refuse to believe that
the agricultural interest is virtually
doomed to extinction. They say
that the farmers are habitual grumblers,
and they insinuate that this
may be a false alarm. Now, as
to grumbling, we suspect it would
be impossible to find any body of
men, who are exposed to constant
fluctuations in the value of their produce,
exempt from such a propensity;
and we have heard, ere now, something
worse than grumbling proceed
from the throats of the manufacturers.
But we ask those gentlemen whether,
supposing America were to carry her
avowed purpose into execution, and
to stimulate her own population by
converting the raw material of cotton
into fabrics, instead of sending it four
thousand miles across the Atlantic to
be spun in Manchester,—and supposing
that, in consequence, American
calicoes could be offered in the British
market at a price lower than the cost
of the production of a similar article
would be to Mr Cobden or Mr Bright—they
imagine that the machinery of
Manchester, Rochdale, and Staley
Bridge, would still continue in motion?
Does not common sense—does
not all experience tell us, that a losing
trade must be abandoned? And in
order to show that agriculture is a
losing trade, we need have recourse
neither to farmers’ statistics nor to
pamphlets, however valuable. We
prove it out of the mouths of our
adversaries. Here they are:—</p>

<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sir Robert Peel</span>, in February
1842, estimated the proper remunerative
price of wheat in this country,
“allowing for natural oscillations,” as
between 54s. and 58s.—on the average,
56s.; and stated, that he, “for
one, would never wish to see it vary
beyond these two specified values.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Mr <span class='sc'>James Wilson</span>, M.P. for
Westbury, writing in 1839, stated it
as his opinion, that the proper price of
wheat was 52s. 2d.; and that, whatever
average annual price the farmer
received in any year less than that
standard price, he made “so much
distinct loss.”</p>

<p class='c009'>Sir <span class='sc'>Charles Wood</span>, Chancellor of
the Exchequer, stated in January
1850, that he did not think “the agriculturist
would be ruined with wheat
at 44s. a quarter.”</p>

<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The average price of wheat
at the Haddington market, on
8th February, was 34s. 1d.</span></p>

<p class='c009'>We know, moreover, that sales of
good wheat have been made in Scotland,
since that time, at even lower
prices.</p>

<p class='c009'>But is this state of things to continue?
We say it must. It is a
simple labour and taxation question.
You expect the British labourer, who,
in every commodity he consumes,
pays taxes to Government, to compete
with foreign serfs, who pay no taxes
at all. You expect the British farmers
and landowners to work a worse
soil, in a more variable climate, to as
much advantage as the foreign grower;
and, moreover, to discharge a great
portion of the public burdens of the
state, to pay their full share of the
interest arising from the expenses of
every war in which Britain has been
engaged since the Revolution of
1688; to support the national church,
and to pay an undue proportion for
the maintenance of the poor. The
cost of cultivating 100 acres of British
soil, in Hertfordshire, is estimated at
£545—£1 per acre being allowed for
rent. The cost of cultivating the
same area, in Denmark or the northern
states of Germany, is £324, 3s. 4d.—being
£220, 16s. 8d., or 40 per
cent, cheaper than in England. In
this way, if we assume 50s. as the
productive cost of British wheat, on
an expenditure of £545, for the average
here assumed, it will be seen that
the expenditure of £324, 3s. 4d. gives
29s. 8d. as the productive cost of
German wheat; that the difference
in the price of barley between the
countries will be as 30s. to 18s.; and
of oats, as 20s. to 12s.<a id='r11'></a><a href='#f11' class='c015'><sup>[11]</sup></a></p>

<p class='c009'>This comparison is favourable to
our opponents, because, in estimating
the cost of British cultivation, a remarkably
low rent is assumed; whilst,
on the other hand, the wages of labour
and other charges are greatly higher
in Denmark and North Germany than
in Russia, Poland, Wallachia, or Moldavia,
from which countries we draw
large supplies of grain. What hope is
there of a rise of prices? Corn has
been brought to its present low ebb
by the importation, last year, of enormous
supplies from the deficient Continental
harvest of 1848. This year we
are about to receive the discharge of a
cornucopia filled to the very brim, in
consequence of an unusually luxuriant
crop. We have had experience of a
bad year, and we are about to have
experience of a good year, heralded
by the following significant fact:—“<cite>Bell’s
Weekly Messenger</cite> states, on
unquestionable authority, that, a few
days ago, one of the principal City
houses chartered several vessels at a
freight of 6s. per qr., to load wheat at
Odessa at 24s. per qr., free on board.”
How long is this to go on? Is it proposed,
by this precious Ministry of
ours, that nothing is to be done until
the whole capital of the tenant-farmers
is squandered, and the soil has
gone out of cultivation? Or are we
to understand that nothing whatever
will be done, should prices fall lower
than now, or even remain at their
present level? If the land goes out of
cultivation, a large proportion of the
whole annual production of Great
Britain, giving at present employment
to many thousands, must be directly
sacrificed; the manufacturers would,
in that event, be compelled to close
their establishments for the want of
a home market; and we should have
no revenue left to pay the expenses of
the cheapest kind of provisional government,
far less the interest of the
national debt. Are the Ministry really
aware of what they are doing? According
to their own admissions—according
to the calculations of their
supporters—according to the estimates
of the leading Free-traders, the tenant-farmers
are at this moment cultivating
the soil at a prodigious annual
loss. No possible reduction of rent
can suffice to cure the evil, even if a
reduction of rent, which would throw
hundreds of thousands out of employment,
were no evil in itself. And
yet, in this state of matters, the Whigs
have thought proper to issue a prosperity
address, almost without qualification,
in the name of their gracious
Sovereign!</p>

<p class='c009'>We shall now entreat the attention
of our readers to a point in which
almost every man of ordinary means
in this country is vitally interested.
For a great many years the benefits
to be derived from <span class='sc'>Life Insurance</span>,
as the best means of providing portions
for families, have been acknowledged
and largely sought. All classes
have participated in these Assurances;
and we believe that, in Scotland, it
would be difficult to find any considerable
number of professional persons,
or tradesmen, who do not contribute
to the funds of some of the numerous
societies. We are not exactly aware
what may be the method practised in
England, but in Scotland by far the
greater portion of the accumulated
funds of these societies, amounting to
many millions sterling, is lent on the
security of the land. The value of
the land, as every one knows, must
in the aggregate depend on its productive
power; and, if present
prices are to rule, (and why they
should not do so, under present legislation,
no mortal man can tell us,)
great tracts of the land of this country
must go out of cultivation, and consequently
be depreciated in value. In
that case, how will the creditor fare?
There is already a disposition shown,
in some quarters, to make the creditor
participate in the reduced income of
the landed debtor. So hints Lord
Drumlanrig, and he is not quite singular
in his opinion. This is just
repudiation; for could the idea be
carried into effect, it would be necessary
to apply the same rule to the
principal as to the interest, and to
provide that the lender of £100 under
protection, should not be entitled
to claim from his debtor more than
£67 under the benign, just, and
wholesome operation of free trade.
Were this view to be adopted, and
the adjustment made on the supposition
that rents were only lowered
by a third, the family of the man who
has insured his life for £100, and regularly
paid the premium, would lose
rather more than £33. But a reduction
of the whole rental of Great
Britain and Ireland, to the extent of
one-third, would amount to little more
than £19,500,000,—a sum utterly insufficient
to meet the depreciation, if
we adopt the figures of Mr Villiers,
or even if we make the largest allowance
for exaggeration. The merest
tyro in political science knows that
land incapable of cultivation is comparatively
worthless in price: we have
a practical instance of that at present
before us in Ireland, where estates
have been actually abandoned by their
owners. Now, if land at present
under tillage should go out of cultivation,
on account of the sale of the
produce being inadequate to its cost—a
catastrophe to which our northern
districts are fast approaching—it must
become, to all intents and purposes,
waste; and the creditor who has lent
money on its security will find that,
instead of grain-bearing acres, he can
take possession of nothing save a wilderness
of heather and furze.</p>

<p class='c009'>Every man, therefore, whose life is
insured, has a direct interest in the
maintenance of the agricultural prosperity
of the country. If <em>that</em> is not
maintained, the provision which he
has prudently made for his family is
placed in extreme jeopardy, and free-trade
legislation may utterly neutralise
his thrift. Nor let him quarrel
with the security, for there is none
better. If the land goes down, the
tenure of the existence of the Funds
is worse than precarious. If the imports
of foreign corn and provisions
shall augment materially during the
next two years, and if “the great experiment,”
as it has been called, shall
be persevered in so long, the fortunes
and apparent destiny of this great
country must be materially and radically
altered. In any case, there
must be a change, and a change of an
important description. The unprincipled
Currency Act of 1819 has yet to
undergo a revision. In spite of <em>dilettante</em>
arrangements, and financial
hocus-pocus, sedulously invented to
blind the eyes of the community to
the rottenness and peculation of our
present monetary system, that matter
must be thoroughly probed and
examined by the aid of a clearer
light than the lamp of the Jew Ricardo.
But, for the present, it would
be unwise to complicate the immediate
question. Our stand is taken upon
the broad basis of justice to native
industry. We care not in what form
or shape that industry is developed—whether
it be applied to agriculture,
trade, or manufactures—so long as it
is industry seeking but its own, and
disclaiming the selfish and sordid end
of making an individual profit at the
expense, and from the ruin, of other
classes of the community. Sometimes,
in calmly considering the course
of our legislation for the last few years,
this reflection irresistibly obtrudes itself—whether
men have altogether lost
the old feeling of patriotism and devotion,
which, more than anything else,
placed Britain in her proud position
in the scale of the European nations?
Certainly, when we read the speeches
and harangues of the Free-traders,
there is no trace of any such sentiment.
They are cosmopolitans, not Britons:
and, discarding the landmarks of the
Almighty, they seem to hope that the
laws of nature will be abrogated, and
the doom of Babel reversed, by their
own miserable efforts. Their sympathy
is of a curious kind. They estimate
foreign nations upon a scale founded
on the consumption of calico; their
notions of liberty undergo a material
change, whenever raw cotton or
cheap sugar become elements of the
calculation of profit. They must
have slavery abolished in the West
Indian colonies: and yet, having
ruined the planters, they are ready to
take sugar on the cheapest terms
which they dare offer from foreign
slave-growing states, and to furnish
them with clothing and machinery.
Their capital, Manchester, and their
principal seats of manufacture, depend
for their existence on the continuance
of Negro slavery in America, and not
a man of these cosmopolitans dare
raise his voice to denounce it. Why
should he? He can gain popularity
cheaper, by retailing gross falsehoods
against unreciprocating European
states, in every instance where Red
Republicanism has reared its head,
and been, most fortunately, suppressed.
The British labourer has
none of his sympathy—he cares not
for him in his capacity of a fellow-subject.
If the labourer is an agriculturist,
our generous philanthropist
would rather see him and his family
condemned to the union-workhouse,
than throw any obstacle in the way
of increased serfage in Russia or in
Poland. If the labourer is a manufacturer,
the cosmopolitan spurns the
laws enacted by the gentlemen of England
for the protection of the women
and children; and, availing himself of
a verbal error, claims his right to work
human beings, by relays, like cattle in
his mill! And these are the men who
now regulate the movements, and
almost dictate the words, of our
British statesmen! In the pages of
British history, we meet with instances
of degradation which we fain would
see cancelled. We know that Charles
II. was an acquiescent pensioner of
the crown of France, and was content
to remain so, at the hazard of
the national honour. But we shall
search history in vain for so mean a
pandering as that which we have
seen by Ministers to the interests of
an upstart oligarchy—founded on the
most perishable basis—scarcely disguising
their hostility to the religion
and the constitution of the land—trampling
on the rights of the poor—denying
the claims of Native Industry—and
doing their utmost to
make these great and glorious kingdoms
the habitation of only two
classes—one of them being the master-manufacturers,
and the other, the
operatives, whom they may tread at
pleasure under their heel.</p>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c005'>
    <div><em>Printed by William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh.</em></div>
  </div>
</div>

<hr class='c029'>
<div class='footnote' id='f1'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. <cite>A Letter to the Queen on a Late Court-Martial.</cite> By <span class='sc'>Samuel Warren</span>, F.R.S.
Barrister-at-Law. “I was constrained to appeal unto Cæsar.”</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f2'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r2'>2</a>. “Captain Douglas delivered his defence, before the court-martial which cashiered
him, on his thirtieth birth-day.”</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f3'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r3'>3</a>. In justice to Captain Douglas, we must here state, that he clearly proved before
the court-martial, that he withheld his statement for two days before the Court of
Inquiry, still under the impression that it might be used to damage him in the proceedings
before the civil court. That he was justified in doing so is shown by an order
from the Horse Guards, 3d July 1809, expressly acknowledging the “right” of any
party, before a court of inquiry, “of declining to answer any question, or to make any
statement, which might, in his opinion, have proved prejudicial to him in the course
of any ulterior inquiry into his conduct.” On the 28th November last also, we may
remark that Sir Charles Napier, in an order to the Indian Army, says, in reference to
a Court of Inquiry—“If any person happens to be accused of misconduct, he is called
on for his statement of the matter in hand, like any other person: he may either
appear or refuse to appear, as he pleases, unless ordered by superior authority; and
<em>either answer</em> any questions put to him, or <em>refuse</em> to answer.”</p>

<p class='c009'>If, in the face of these two orders, an officer is to be arraigned before a court-martial
for conduct “unbecoming the character of an officer and a gentleman, in
having omitted and neglected to make a statement before a Court of Inquiry” which
he thought would injure himself, we must say they are a <em>snare and a delusion for the
unwary</em>, and ought to be expunged forthwith from the Order-books of the army.</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f4'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r4'>4</a>. The only article of war, beside this, which could be supposed, for a moment, to
embrace the case, is the 108th, which says, that—“All crimes not capital, and all
disorders and neglects which officers and soldiers may be guilty of, <em>to the prejudice of
good order and military discipline</em>, though not specified in the foregoing cases, or in
our Articles of War, shall be taken cognisance of by courts-martial, according to the
nature and the degree of the offence.” But it is evident that this article applies to
matters of a military nature. If the merely moral delinquency of which Captain
Douglas is charged might be described as affecting “good order and military discipline,”
there is no act of a man’s life that might not be designated in the same
manner.</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f5'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r5'>5</a>. “In the old articles of war the language used was scandalous and infamous conduct,
<em>such as is</em> unbecoming the character of an ‘officer and a gentleman.’”</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f6'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r6'>6</a>. Capri.</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f7'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r7'>7</a>. <cite>The Pillars of Hercules; or, a Narrative of Travels in Spain and Morocco in
1848.</cite> By <span class='sc'>David Urquhart</span>, Esq. M.P. 2 vols. 8vo. London: 1850.</p>

<p class='c009'><cite>Le Véloce; ou Tanger, Alger, et Tunis.</cite> Par <span class='sc'>Alexandre Dumas</span>. Vols. I. and II.
Paris: 1849.</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f8'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r8'>8</a>. Alison.</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f9'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r9'>9</a>. Spackman’s <cite>Tables</cite>, p. 185.</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f10'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r10'>10</a>. <span class='sc'>Spackman’s</span> <cite>Occupations of the People</cite>. <em>Vide</em> Synoptical Table.</p>
</div>
<div class='footnote' id='f11'>
<p class='c009'><a href='#r11'>11</a>. We are indebted for these calculations to a pamphlet entitled <cite>Observations on the
Elements of Taxation, and the Productive Cost of Corn</cite>, by <span class='sc'>S. Sandars</span>, which we
strongly recommend to the notice of our readers, as one of the most able treatises on
the subject which has yet appeared.</p>
</div>

<div class='pbb'>
 <hr class='pb c006'>
</div>
<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'>

<div class='chapter ph2'>

<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
    <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div>
  </div>
</div>

</div>

 <ul class='ul_1 c005'>
    <li>Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.

    </li>
    <li>Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last chapter.

    </li>
    <li><a href='#ERRATUM'>Erratum</a> item was corrected.
    </li>
  </ul>

</div>

<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75498 ***</div>
  </body>
  <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57e (with regex) on 2025-02-08 22:53:09 GMT -->
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-07-11 15:08:53 +0000