that it was an increase upon the whole. For, in consequence of some important reductions in the dues agreed to by France in order to favour and attract the entire transit trade of Switzerland through its territory, the cottons formerly passed to Switzerland through Rotterdam and Antwerp by the Rhine, have been sent by way of Havre. Thus, on consulting Mr Porter's Tables of Trade, we find that the twenty-one millions of lbs. of cotton re-exported to Holland and Belgium in 1837, had decreased, in 1840, to little more than twelve millions. What proportion of the twenty-one millions was destined for Switzerland, there are no means of ascertaining, except from the returns in detail of the Rhine navigation, the existence of which, in any available shape, may be doubted. Assuming that the whole of the cotton passing in transit through France was for Switzerland, we find a quantity equal to about seventeen millions of pounds, in 1841, as required for the supply of the cotton manufacture; or say, on a rough average of 1840 and 1841, nineteen and a half millions of pounds. Now, considering that the cotton manufacture has been established in Switzerland above a century, these figures certainly demonstrate any thing but an extraordinary rate of progress. The cotton manufacture of Russia does not number half the years of existence, and yet the average consumption of raw cotton, in 1840 and 1841, was nearly thirteen millions of pounds, and of cotton yarn, rendered into cotton,[J] about twenty-three millions more. It must be noted, moreover, that whereas subsequently to the inventions of Arkwright and Crompton, Switzerland drew nearly the whole of her yarns for making into cloths from England, not possessing herself any spinning machinery until the commencement of the present century, and then but to a trivial extent, with scarcely any augmentation of importance, until some years after the general peace of 1815; yet that, within the last twenty years, the use of machinery has been extensively introduced, cotton factories have spread on all sides, for working which water-power in abundance afforded every facility, so that she now spins nearly all the yarns necessary for her fabrics, and imports from England but a very slender quantity of the higher counts still required for her finest muslins. Those imports do not perhaps exceed, if they reach to, one million pounds per annum. Of many merchants in Manchester, thirty or forty years ago, extensively engaged in furnishing that supply, but one or two at present are to be found. It remains, therefore, doubtful whether there has been any material progress in the cotton manufactures of Switzerland, so far as the quantities of fabrics produced, and the weight of cotton consumed, for many years past. Through the commercial arrangements before referred to, her special trade with France in all commodities has been on the increase; but, as the usual result of the commercial treaties of France, all to the advantage of France. Thus, for 1841, the imports (special trade of internal consumption) of France from Switzerland are stated at twenty-two millions of francs only, whilst the exports of France to Switzerland amounted to thirty-nine millions. This, be it observed, is the result of one-sided free trade, which opens its gates to all, whilst partially favoured only in return, when at all. Switzerland, for example, is free to the import of French cottons; France hermetically sealed against those of Switzerland. The general trade, that is, inclusive of transit and special, had also materially improved; the aggregate imports representing eighty-three millions of imports into, against eighty-nine millions of exports from Switzerland; or that the general trade with France had rather more than doubled since 1832, imports and exports together. The transit portion of this general trade, representing all the transmarine movement of Switzerland, is that rather, it may be said, carried on with the United States Spanish America, Brazil, &c., in which the greatest improvement of her foreign trade had taken place. She has, on the contrary, very largely lost ground in Germany, where she enjoyed marts for her manufactures, before the establishment of the Commercial Union, of an extensive and profitable description, from the advantages of her geographical position; and it is probable, that from the same cause she will have lost no inconsiderable portion of the share her merchants had in the supply of Turkey, Persia, and other countries on the shores of the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. With Holland and Belgium, her commercial relations would seem to have been sensibly on the decline, so far as the returns, available and comparative, enable us to form an opinion. Upon a balance, therefore, of increase, upon one side, and decrease on the other, there is reasonable ground to question any progress in Switzerland, at all commensurate with the general accelerated movement in manufactures and commerce of other industrial countries about her, and beyond the seas; in exemplification of which, we have on other occasions presented, as we shall continue to present, evidence which may not be questioned.

Therefore, it results, that the second condition in proof of the superiority of the free, or one-sided free trade principle, as represented in Switzerland, the embodied beau ideal of the theory, is not fulfilled. It were easy, indeed, to show the absurdity of a pretension to the rigorous reign of a principle, in a country where, though the federal government levies are merely nominal duties on imported commodities, for other than which it is and must ever be powerless, whatever the will, yet in the separate cantons or chief towns with barriers, scarcely any article enters and escapes without payment of an octroi impost, equal to a moderate state duty on importation at the ports or frontiers of other states. What would be said in this country, if wool, cotton, or any commodity entering free, or at merely nominal rates, at London or Liverpool, were to be taxed on arrival at Leeds or Manchester, for purposes of local revenue or local protection?

We may afford to dismiss the third condition in the smallest space. Free trade in Switzerland, such as it is, is not an affair of principle, of conviction, therefore of choice, as ridiculously pretended, but a necessity arising out of her geographical position. On all sides she is surrounded enclavee, amidst states which hold the gates of ingress and egress. Close the Rhine and the Seine against her, and she must surrender commercially at discretion, as she politically does, to such terms as may be dictated. A heavy peage upon river or land transit, ruins her manufactories, her industry, root and branch. She is too happy only, therefore, to be tolerated with a passage to the sea, on the hard terms of surrendering the just rights of her own industry to the free invasion of foreign competing products; she makes, ex necessitate, the sacrifice of a large portion, in order to save the remainder. Would you have the commentary? Read it in the miserable fare, the low wages, the toil unremitting and uncompensated, of the operative masses; in the depressed rate of profits, the strict, painful, but indispensable frugality of master manufacturers and capitalists, when perchance capitalists may be found, of Switzerland surnamed Felix, over-borne by foreign competition, as depicted in the Report of that romance writer, Mr John Bowring himself, who, of all men, in his own particular case, would be the last to advocate short commons, shabby salaries, or petty profits. Switzerland, therefore, answers none of the conditions required for the demonstration of the free trade theory upon the greatest profit, or even upon the greatest happiness principle, the verba ardentia of anti-corn-law declaimers, and utilitarian poetasters, notwithstanding. But if the case of the free and one-sided trade theory breaks down in its one only deceptive personification, the proofs are strong and abundant in behalf the cause of the legitimate principle of protection to industry, or of the reciprocity principle well understood, which involves essentially the principle of protection. Let us discursively range over Europe, in further addition to the evidence, which, in respect of Russia, has already been assigned; and, as with regard to Spain, and Russia as well, we shall not hesitate to signalize the abuse of a righteous principle, where in practice it degenerates into the Japanese barbarism of almost absolute prohibition and isolation. A comparison betwixt Switzerland and Japan, two nearly stationary states, where all around is in progress in the industrial sense, ruled upon economical principles so opposite and conflicting, would be a labour both amusing and profitable; but unfortunately the adequate materials are wanting in the one case as in the other; state-books of account and custom-house returns, are as rare and unheard of in Nangasaki as in Helvetia. Fiscal exactions, however, are not unknown in either, the difference being, that the despotic majesty of Japan undertakes them upon his own account, whilst the people of the Alps, as intractable, with better right, impose and levy for their own use and behoof. Withal, to the one-idea'd philosophy of your absolute theory, systematic, uniformity men of the present day, it should seem an extraordinary paradox, putting all speculation to rout, that despotic Japan should be as prosperous, more powerful, more free from intestine convulsion, although more ancient of standing, therefore to be presumed enjoying at least as much happiness as free and unfettered Switzerland, rioting betimes in all the freaks of liberty and revolution.

We do not propose to extend our enquiries into the history of industrial progress in other lands further on the present occasion, than to such external demonstrations, as measured by imports and exports, as may with most convenient brevity and fidelity answer the purpose in view. The possession of authentic documents in ample degree, expository of the past and present conditions of social and material interests in almost all the civilized states of the world, would enable us to follow out, in minute detail, the rise, the career, the vicissitudes of each; but although, on future and suitable occasions, we may be induced to resume and pursue the task already commenced in former numbers, it is not necessary now, and would far outstrip any possible space at our disposal. Commencing with Austria, it may be shown, that even with an ill-considered economical regime of, until of late years, general prohibitions and restrictions, with the incessant and ill-judged policy of forcing manufacturing industry, for the hasty development of which the natural foundations were not previously laid, whilst neglecting the cultivation and encouragement of those varied agricultural and mining treasures, with which, through the length and breadth of her territory, she is so abundantly stored, the advance of Austria, commercial and manufacturing, need not assuredly fear comparison with that of free-trading Switzerland. The following are the returns of the foreign trade of the Austrian empire, excepting for Hungary and Transylvania, which will be found hereafter for the years cited. Other documents are in our possession, bringing the information down to 1840, but as not entirely complete in respect of a portion of the traffic by the land frontiers, whilst in results they differ little from the last year of the table here given, it is not worth while to make the addition.

Imports. Exports. Total. 1829 By sea & land 95,321,861 florins. 107,254,048 202,575,909 1830 ... 99,545,289 ... 110,587,974 210,133 263 1831 ... 94,116,471 ... 98,937,022 193,053,493 1832 ... 107,825,991 ... 115,007,352 222,833,343 1833 ... 106,270,012 ... 116,624,202 222,894,214 1834 ... 107,781,409 ... 111,092,942 218,874,351 1835 ... 121,482,876 ... 115,217,804 236,700,680 1836 ... 130,865,339 ... 122,284,173 253,149,512 1837 ... 120,897,761 ... 119,721,758 240,619,519 1838 ... 127,445,295 ... 134,908,064 262,353,359

The florin is equal to 2s. 0d. 4-10 sterling. The increase under the head of importations within the ten years was equal, therefore, to nearly 33 per cent, and on exportations about 24 per cent. Amongst the imports may be remarked raw cotton to the value of about L.1,273,000; among the exports, raw silk, for about L.2,400,000; linens, for about L.770,000; woollens, for L.2,268,000; glass and earthen-ware, L.584,000; round numbers all. A mean value, imports and exports together, from 1835 to 1838 inclusive, of about twenty-five millions sterling annually, does not certainly represent a commercial movement so large as might be expected in an empire of the territorial extent, numerous population, and rich natural products of Austria. But, as appears, its progression is onwards; and seeing that, in 1836, she entered on the laudable undertaking of revising and reforming her prohibitory and restrictive system; that, in 1838, another not inconsiderable step in advance was taken by further relaxations of the tariff; and that she is at the present moment occupied with, and may shortly announce, fiscal improvements and tariff reductions of a more wisely liberal spirit still, it is not to be doubted that, with the accompanying extension of agricultural and mining industry, Austria is destined to take a much higher rank in the commercial world than she has yet attained.

The values of the external relations of Hungary and Transylvania with foreign nations direct, are of little importance. The bulk of the traffic with them doubtless passes through the Austrian dominions, properly so called. Thus their joint foreign traffic direct, was in—

1830, no more than 14,000,000 florins 1834, decreased to 11,511,000 ... 1837, ... 12,616,000 ...

The imports, only once, in 1836, surpassed those of 1830, within the eight years. The foreign exports were, in

1830, to the amount of ... 9,574,800 florins. 1837, the yearly amount had increased to 11,213,400 ...

But the commercial relations of Hungary and Transylvania, with the other provinces of the Austrian monarchy, were, on the contrary, satisfactorily extending. The returns before us, never before published here, it is believed, do not date further back than 1835, and exhibit the following results:—

Florins. Florins. 1835, Imports from Austria, 79,678,051 Exports to, 46,408,290 1836, ... 96,057,019 ... 53,876,115 1837, ... 90,404,555 ... 47,878,424 1838, ... 101,396,470 ... 61,684,111

The value of manufactured cottons alone, imported from the other Austrian provinces, amounted, in 1838, to the almost incredible sum of sixty-four millions of florins, or say not far short of six and a half millions sterling; of woollens, the import was nearly to the value of eighteen millions of florins. It is difficult to conceive that such a mass of cottons could be destined for internal consumption alone; and therefore the suggestion naturally occurs, that a considerable portion at least must pass only in transit to the ports for re-exportation to the coasts of the Black Sea and the Levant; but on reference to the exports, we find cottons entered only for 31,296 florins. The proportions in which the different leading articles of importation and exportation enter into the total amounts of each may be thus stated:—

Imports Cottons for 62 per cent. Woollens, 17 ... Linen and hempen fabrics, 47 ... Silks, 17

Exports Wool for 45.6 per cent. Grains and fruits, 19 ... Cattle, 12 ... Various raw products, 57 ...

The great bulk of this commerce with Hungary and Transylvania is carried on with the three great provinces of the empire—Lower Austria, which alone absorbs about two-thirds of the total; Moravia and Austrian Silesia, one-fourth; and Gallicia and Austrian Poland, the imports from whence represent above one-tenth, and the exports to which form one-twentieth of the whole.

Such has been the progress of the Austrian empire even under the unwisely strained regime of prohibition and restriction. The absolute theory men will not gain much certainly by its comparison with the free trading elysium of Switzerland, although the most favourable for the latter which could well be selected, inasmuch as representing a principle carried to a prejudicial extreme.

We have not, however, done with our absolutists of the one-sided free-trade theory yet. We must traverse Belgium with them, but at railway speed; Belgium, of commercial system less restricted than Austria, yet more exclusive than England, where, however, some approach towards the juste milieu of the equitable principles of reciprocity, may be observed in progress. How then has she fared in the general melee of industrial strife, and what are her prospects for the future in despite of her stubborn resistance to the new lights? Let the figures which follow answer for her. The imports and exports by land and sea, were in—

Imports. Exports. 1834, for 192,909,426 francs. 135,790,426 francs. 1838, ... 238,052,659 ... 193,579,520 ... 1842, ... 288,387,663 ... 201,970,588 ...

For commerce special, that is, of internal production and consumption alone, the returns show, in—

Imports. Exports. 1834, for 182,057,851 francs. 118,540,917 francs. 1838, ... 201,204,381 ... 156,851,054 ... 1842, ... 234,247,281 ... 142,069,162 ...

The commerce general comprises as well the imports and exports of the special commerce as the transit and deliveries in entrepot of foreign merchandise. From 1834 to 1842 the increase of imports and exports, combined under the special head, was equal to more than three millions sterling. Under the general head, the increase was nearly equal to six and a half millions sterling. The comparatively large and disadvantageous inequality betwixt the exports and imports, under both heads, results mainly from the loss of those markets in the Dutch colonies, and in Holland also, of which, during her connexion with Holland and under the rule of the same sovereign, Belgium was almost exclusively in possession. The formation of the German Commercial Union cannot have failed also to damage her intercourse with Germany, to the markets of which her contiguity afforded so easy and advantageous an access.

It was our intention to have reviewed at some length the progress of the German Customs Confederation since its complete formation, with some inconsiderable accessions subsequently in 1834; but space forbids. In brief, but conclusive, evidence of that progress under the rule of protection, we may afford, however, to cite the following returns of revenue accruing under the poundage system, representing, of course, the growing quantities imported. The alternate years only are given, to avoid the needless multiplication of figures:—

Gross sum. Net sum. 1834, 14,382,066 Thalers. 12,020,340 Thalers. 1836, 18,192,313 ... 15,509,758 ... 1838, 20,110,404 ... 17,801,113 ... 1840, 21,293,232 ... 19,019,738 ... 1842, 23,394,831 ... 21,059,441 ...

The Prussian thaler is 2s. 10-3/4d. sterling.

Year by year the rise has been uninterrupted; and with the growth of imported commodities thus represented by the revenue, have indigenous products multiplied, and native manufactures flourished and extended more rapidly and widely still.

In a review of protected nations it is impossible that France should be lost sight of. More rigorously protective than Belgium, prohibitive even in some essential parts of her system, whilst stimulating by bounties in others, the results of a policy so artificial and complicated can hardly fail to confound your dabblers in first principles and rigid uniformity. In the sense economical France has not hesitated to violate outrageously all these first principles, all that perfect theory, in the worship and application of which, politically and socially, her philosophers were wont to run raging mad, and her legislators, like frantic bacchanals, were in such sanguinary "haste to destroy." Singular as it may seem, and audaciously heretical as the consummation in defiance of the order inevitable of first causes and consequences invariable, the comparative freedom of commercial principles in the old regime of France allied with political despotism, was, however, ruthlessly condemned to the guillotine, along with the head of the Capets, never to be replaced by the ferocious spirit of democracy, revelling in the realization of all other visionary abstractions of perfect liberty, equality, levelling of distinctions and monopolies. With the reign of the rights of man was established, in the body politic, that of prohibition and restriction over the body industrial—gradually sobered down, as we find it now, to a system singularly made up of prohibition, restriction, protective, and stimulant, since the last great revolution of July. It is in vain to deny that, under the reign of that system, France has prospered and progressed beyond all former example; that whether freer Switzerland may have stood still or not, France, at least, has never retrograded one step, nor ceased to advance for one year, as thus may be concisely exemplified in the citation of three terms of her commercial career, faithfully indicative of the annual consecutive movement of the whole series:—

Imports.—General Commerce, Exports. 1831 512,825,551 francs, 618,169,911 1836 905,575,359 ... 961,284,756 1841 1,122,000,000 ... 1,065,000,000

Thus the imports in ten years had more than doubled, whilst the exports had advanced 400 millions in official value; say upwards of twenty millions sterling per annum for imports, and sixteen millions for exports. The special commerce of France, representing exports of indigenous and manufactured products, and imports for consumption, and, therefore, significative of the march of domestic industry, presents the following movement:—

Imports.—Special Commerce. Exports. 1831 374,188,000 455,574,000 1836 504,391,000 628,957,000 1841 805,000,000 761,000,000

The imports, therefore, for consumption, that is, duty paid upon and consumed, had multiplied twofold in the ten years; and the exports of the products of the soil and manufactures, at the rate of 300 millions of francs or twelve millions sterling.

Thus flourish, wherever we turn our eyes, the interests of industry, where defended and encouraged by that protection to which so righteously entitled at home. The abolition of all protection, in the economical sense, would be policy just as sane as, politically, to dismantle the royal navy, start the guns overboard, and leave the hulls of the men-of-war to sink or swim, in harbour or out, as they might. Conscious of the inherent rottenness or insanity of such a destructive principle of action, its advocates would now persuade us, that, although inimical to protective imposts, they are by no means averse from the imposition of such fiscal burdens as might be necessary for raising the amount of revenue required for State exigencies. The difference between one sort of impost and the other, would seem little more than a change of name—a flimsy juggle of words—"a rose by any other name would smell as sweet;" and, to the consumer, it matters little whether the tax he pay is levied for protection or finance, the sum being equal. It is, and it has been objected against various protective duties, that, as revenue, they are little productive; but, in fact, they were not originally or generally laid on with a view to revenue direct, but with the intent of protecting those growing or established interests, which are productive of revenue indirectly, by enabling protected producers to consume largely of taxed commodities, or to contribute, by direct taxation, their quota towards general revenue. If, by reciprocal agreement and stipulations with foreign states which are, or might become, consumers of the products of national industry, equitable equivalents can be found for the sacrifice of a certain amount of home protection, that may be a question deserving of consideration; but a very different question from the one-sided suicidal abolition of all protection. It may pass under review hereafter. In the mean time, let us hope that neither Government nor Legislature will be insidiously betrayed, or openly bullied, into any unsafe tampering with, or rash experiments upon, a sound and rational principle.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote I: See Morning Chronicle's report of an anti-corn-law farce called by himself at Uxbridge or Aylesbury, or elsewhere, which is not important, as the fact is vouched for. In answer to a query from a worthy farmer, "to what cause he attributed the present depressed state of agriculture?" Cobden unhesitatingly replied, "to over-production." Cross-questioning of this kind would speedily prove the emptiness and ignorance of the man.]

[Footnote J: Vide Blackwood, 1843.]



JOLLY FATHER JOE

A TALE FROM "THE GOLDEN LEGEND," IN HONOUR OF THE B.V.M., TO BE READ ESPECIALLY ON THE 15TH OF AUGUST, BEING THE FESTIVAL OF HER ASSUMPTION.

In olden times, when monks and friars, and priests of all degrees, About the land were cluster'd thick as swarms of summer bees, And, like the bees on sunny days, were wont abroad to roam, To gather, as they went along, sweet provender for home,

Bright blazed the abbey's kitchen fire, the larder well was stored, And merrily the beards wagg'd round the refectorial board. What layman dare declare that they led not a life divine, Who sat in state to dine off plate, and quaff the rosy wine?

Good men, and true as bricks were they, to every Church decree; Because as kings were called "The State,"[K] they said "the Church are we;" And then all men believed "The Church" could pardon every sin; And foul as was the outward stain, wash white the soul within.

No marvel that they prosper'd so, for then, as in our times, Sins ever were most plentiful—their traffic was in crimes; And as each man who pardon sought, became the Church's debtor, Each wicked deed their store would feed, the worse it was the better.

For they'd a regular tariff, as we've Sir Robert Peel's, Stating so much for him who "lies, swears, murders, stabs, or steals;" And p'rhaps a thousand items more, as "not attending mass," "Ogling the girls," "neglecting shrift," and others we'll let pass.

However, all a duty paid for priestly absolution, According to the culprit's sex, rank, purse, or constitution. Such was the pleasant state of things, some centuries ago, With holy men throughout the land and jolly Father Joe.

"A round, fat, oily man of God," as ever sang a psalm, Or closed a penitential fee devoutly in his palm, Was Father Joe; and he also, when psalms and prayers were done, In festive scene, with smile serene, aye cheerfully made one.

Fond of a jest, he'd do his best good-humour to provoke, Fill up his glass, extol some lass, and crack some convent joke; Nor heed the frown or looks cast down of atrabilious friars, Till his gills grew red, and his laughing head look'd a rose amid the briers.

Right well he knew each roast and stew, and chose the choicest dishes, And the bill of fare, as well as prayer, with its venison, game, and fishes; Were he living now he might, I vow, with his culinary knowledge, Have writ a book, or been a cook, or fellow of a college.

In those old days the wealthy knew such qualities to prize, And our good priest much favour found in lords' and ladies' eyes; For seldom in their ancient halls a sumptuous feast was dressing, But Father Joe that way would go thereon to "ask a blessing."

When lords and ladies bade their guests to castles, halls, and towers, Though every thing beside was good they seldom kept good hours; Course after course slow marshall'd in with dignity and state, Their prime repasts were apt to last sometimes till rather late.

And Father Joe esteem'd it rude to break a party up, Indeed, it was his usual plan, where'er he dined to sup; And then to take what modern rakes sometimes "a nightcap" call— That is, a friendly parting glass, a sort of "over-all."

He used to say it kept at bay the night-air, cold, and damp, And cheer'd him on his journey home as though it were a lamp; Nought cared he then how black the clouds might gather overhead, His heart felt brave as he humm'd a stave and boldly onward sped.

So Father Joe his course pursued—a pleasant mode of living; Alternately at prayers and feasts—now taking, now forgiving; But dark or light, by day or night, the great thing to be said is, Where'er he went he ne'er forgot due homage to the ladies.

By this it is not meant that he knelt down to living beauty— A deed forbidden and eschew'd by priests who mind their duty; His were not walking, breathing belles, to monkish rules contrary, But images of wood and wax, dress'd like the Virgin Mary.

He seldom pass'd by one of these without a genuflexion, Beseeching that she'd condescend to grant him her protection; Or if in too much haste to pray, he always bow'd politely Before her shrine, as heretics to damsels fair and sprightly.

But such a holy, jolly man could scarce escape the eye Of Satan, who, if all be true that legends testify, Was then allow'd great liberty, and took, of course, much more, Playing his pranks among all ranks, till he was "quite a bore."

Go where one might, some ugly sprite of his long-tail'd police Was ever on the dodge to break, instead of keep, the peace; And he himself at times appears to have appear'd where he, By rules canonical forbid, no business had to be.

Much he alarm'd the laity, while reverend men of grace, Like Father Joe, we're told, might snap their fingers in his face, Or order him to take a dip all in the sea so red; Wherefore, when holy men he saw, he turn'd about and fled.

Yet not the less watch'd he their steps, but set his imps to mark The paths they trode, in hopes to catch them stumbling in the dark; And one dark night—ah me! it is a grievous tale to tell— In coming home past twelve o'clock, our jolly father fell.

He fell—and fell into a stream that ran both deep and strong; No pain felt he, but seem'd to be as borne in sleep along; His head contused, or else confused, allow'd him not to swim, And Satan swore, with joyous roar, "At least, I'm sure of him!"

Crowding along the river's banks, his imps all eager ran, Each striving to be first to catch the fallen holy man; And when at length they fish'd him up, and laid him on the ground, 'Twas plain an inquest's verdict must have been brought in "found drown'd."

But twelve grave men were not there then, the case was graver far; An evil set, as black as jet, all gabble, grin, and jar, Claim'd Father Joe as lawful prize, and Satan said, "No doubt! Angels and saints abandon him, or they'd have pulled him out:

"So bear him off!" But as he spake a sudden gleam of light Broke forth, nor ceased, but still increased, till all around was bright; And then appear'd what most he fear'd, in white and wing'd array, A company of angels come to take from him his prey.

"We claim all holy men," said one who seem'd to be their chief; "I don't dispute that," Satan cried; "but really, to be brief, This friar or monk died reeling drunk, without or shrift or prayer; So yours can't be, but comes to me. I only want what's fair."

The bright one look'd, of course, surprised, and then observed, that he Could not conceive nor yet believe that such a thing could be; So Satan call'd his witnesses, who swore through thick and thin, That Father Joe couldn't stand or go before he tumbled in.

Now though the angel knew that imps were never over nice In swearing at their master's call to prop each foul device, He felt perplex'd, because the case look'd really rather shady, And so declared, "I daren't decide till I consult Our Lady."

While thus he spake, a sudden quake ran through the dingy crowd, And, as in votive paintings seen, encircled by a cloud, With 'broider'd coat and lace-frill'd throat, and jewels rich and rare, The Virgin Queen, with smiles serene, came sailing through the air.

The angels with an "Ave!" hail'd the lady to the place, The impish band, each with his hand conceal'd his ugly face, And Satan stared as though ensnared, but speedily regain'd His wonted air of confidence, and still his claim maintain'd.

Said he, "I'm sure your ladyship could never stoop to own Acquaintance with a libertine, to drunkenness so prone; A gormandizer too you see, as full as any sack," And here he gave poor Joe a kick, and turn'd him on his back.

The lady started with surprise, and cried, "That face I know: Oh yes! 'Tis he! I plainly see! Dear jolly Father Joe! I do not say but perhaps he may, be somewhat over fat, But there's no rule why sage or fool should go to you for that.

"His appetite was always good, a fact that makes it clear He was no heavy-headed sot, be-stupefied with beer, Nor spoil'd his dinners with hot lunch, but kept his palate clean, And sat down cheerfully to dine—and that's no sin, I ween.

"And as for drink, I really think a man who weighs twelve score, May be allow'd an extra pint, or p'rhaps a bottle more, Than folks who're slim, or gaunt and grim, like some that I could name, Who, when in company, are wish'd safe back to whence they came."

Here the black prince was seen to wince, the lady waved her hand, And then resumed, "But now I'll speak of what I understand A trifle better than you all—I mean of what is due To ladies from all gentlemen. Of course I don't mean you.

"I mean all those whom folks suppose, or who themselves believe, To be entitled to the name, (although I oft perceive That many are mistaken quite,) should keep on the alert In ladies' company, lest they our tender feelings hurt.

"A word or look that men may brook, may give a lady pain, Wherefore from all that's coarse and rude, real gentlemen refrain; Their manners gentle as their name, when they a lady greet, A pleasant thing enough it is such gentlemen to meet.

"And such a man was Father Joe. He never pass'd me by In disrespectful haste, although there might be no one nigh; Nor duck'd his head, or look'd askance, like some rude people now, Who seem to chuckle as they pass, to cheat one of a bow."

"But may it please your ladyship!" exclaimed the dusky wight, "A man may be a precious rogue, though perfectly polite." "I don't know that," the lady said, "but grant that now and then Some fellows may appear polite who really are rude men,

"'Tis not the simple smirk or bow that makes the gentleman, But constant care to please the fair in every way he can; And this good father never miss'd whene'er my shrine he pass'd, To kneel or bow, extremely low, up to the very last.

"Therefore I don't, because I won't, believe a word you say Against him in his present plight, which, happen how it may, Was doubtless accidental quite—at all events my will Must be obey'd, and I command, you'll let him lie there still."

The dark one scowl'd and mutter'd low, about "a losing game," And being "done clean out of one," "done brown," and "burning shame," Then hung his head, and slank away, and all his dirty crew Dispersed themselves about the land fresh mischief to pursue.

The lady then, in accents kind, accosted Jolly Joe, "They're gone! You're safe! Come! Rouse yourself! You are not dead, I know; But in a swoon that very soon away like dreams will pass, Much sooner than the cold you'll catch by sleeping on the grass.

"Go quickly home and get to bed—don't stop to thank me now, But come to-morrow to my shrine and make a solemn vow, That when for friends or fellowship henceforth abroad you roam, You'll never take a drop more wine than you can carry home."

She spake and vanish'd, and again the night was dark and drear; Joe gave a grunt and shook himself, then shook again with fear, For though his body lay inert, to all appearance dead, It seems his mind was quite awake to what pass'd overhead.

Such near escape from such a scrape was certainly enough To shake the stoutest nerves, and his were not by nature tough; He got upon his legs, and then went down upon his knees, Gave thanks, and said, "Dear Lady, pray do with me what you please."

Then up he rose and shook his clothes, and dripping by the way, Straight homeward sped, and went to bed, where long he sleepless lay; But natheless at the peep of dawn rose up again alert, And as beseem'd a penitent put on a hairy shirt.

With humble air he then repair'd unto the Lady's shrine, And took the vow, as she advised, concerning taking wine; And thenceforth, as the legend runs, was never after found In such a plight as on the night when he was nearly drown'd.

Here ends the tale. May it prevail this moral to impress On good men all, who're apt to fall at times into excess, To seek the ladies' company when sins or wine entice, And strive not only for their smiles, but follow their advice.

Now prosper long our lovely Queen, and Albert whom she loves; And may they, though at eagles' height, live lovingly as doves, From youthful prime till father Time may change their locks to gray, While all their Royal progeny "love, honour, and obey!"

May peace long smile on Britain's isle! may Blackwood's Magazine, If possible, be better still than it hath ever been; May every thing that's good increase, and what to goodness tends; And may the writer always have the ladies for his friends!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote K: "L'Etat. C'est moi!" Quoth some French Roi; but which of the "most Christian" set it was, I do not now recollect, and being from home at this present writing, have no means of reference.]



THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN.

BY ELIZABETH B. BARRET.

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers! Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing with the shadows, The young flowers are blowing from the west; But the young young children, O my brothers! They are weeping bitterly! They are weeping in the playtime of the others— In the country of the free.

Do you question the young children in the sorrow, Why their tears are falling so? The old man may weep for his to-morrow Which is lost in long ago. The old tree is leafless in the forest— The old year is ending in the frost; The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest— The old hope is hardest to be lost! But the young young children, O my brothers! Do ye ask them why they stand Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers, In our happy fatherland?

They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their looks are sad to see; For the man's grief untimely draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy. "Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary— Our young feet," they say, "are very weak! Few paces have we taken, yet are weary— Our grave-rest is very far to seek! Ask the old why they weep, and not the children; For the outside earth is cold— And we young ones stand without, in our bewild'ring, And the graves are for the old.

"True," say the young children, "it may happen That we die before our time! Little Alice died last year—the grave is shapen Like a snowball, in the rime. We look'd into the pit prepared to take her— Was no room for any work in the close clay! From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, Crying—'Get up, little Alice, it is day!' If you listen by that grave in sun and shower, With your ear down, little Alice never cries; Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, For the new smile which has grown within her eyes. For merry go her moments, lull'd and still'd in The shroud, by the kirk-chime! It is good when it happens," say the children, "That we die before our time!"

Alas, the young children! they are seeking Death in life, as best to have! They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, With a cerement from the grave. Go out, children, from the mine and from the city— Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do! Pluck your handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty— Laugh aloud to feel your fingers let them through! But the children say—"Are cowslips of the meadows Like the weeds anear the mine?[L] Leave us quiet in the dark of our coal-shadows, From your pleasures fair and fine.

"For oh!" say the children, "we are weary— And we cannot run or leap: If we cared for any meadows, it were merely To drop down in them and sleep. Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping— We fall upon our face, trying to go; And underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. For, all day, we drag our burden tiring, Through the coal-dark underground— Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron In the factories, round and round.

"All day long, the wheels are droning, turning— Their wind comes in our faces! Till our hearts turn, and our heads with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places! Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling— Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall— Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling— All are turning all the day, and we with all! All day long, the iron wheels are droning— And sometimes we could pray— 'O ye wheels' (breaking off in a mad moaning) Stop! be silent for to-day!'"

Ay! be silent! let them hear each other breathing, For a moment, mouth to mouth; Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth; Let them feel that this cold metallic motion Is not all the life God giveth them to use; Let them prove their inward souls against the notion That they live in you, or under you, O wheels! Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, As if Fate in each were stark! And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, Spin on blindly in the dark.

Now, tell the weary children, O my brothers! That they look to Him, and pray For the blessed One, who blesseth all the others, To bless them another day. They answer, "Who is God that he should hear us, While this rushing of the iron wheels is stirr'd? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us Pass unhearing—at least, answer not a word; And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door. Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, Hears our weeping any more?

"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember; And, at midnight's hour of harm, Our Father, looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm.[M] We say no other words except our Father! And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, He may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within his right hand, which is strong. Our Father! If he heard us, he would surely (For they call him good and mild) Answer—smiling down the steep world very purely— 'Come and rest with me, my child.'

"But no," say the children, weeping faster; "He is silent as a stone, And they tell us, of his image is the master Who commands us to work on. Go to!" say the children; "up in heaven, Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find! Do not mock us! we are atheists in our grieving— We look up for HIM—but tears have made us blind." Do ye hear the children weeping and disproving, O my brothers, what ye teach? For God's possible is taught by his world's loving— And the children doubt of each!

And well may the children weep before ye— They are weary ere they run! They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory Which is brighter than the sun! They know the grief of men, but not the wisdom— They sink in the despair, with hope at calm— Are slaves, without the liberty in christdom— Are martyrs by the pang without the palm! Are worn as if with age; yet unretrievingly No joy of memory keep— Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly— Let them weep—let them weep!

They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their look is dread to see; For you think you see their angels in their places, With eyes meant for Deity. "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation! Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, Trample down with a mail'd heel its palpitation, And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants! And your purple shows your path— But the child's sob curseth deeper in the silence, Than the strong man in his wrath!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote L: A commissioner mentions the fact of weeds being thus confounded with the idea of flowers.]

[Footnote M: The report of the commissioners represents instances of children, whose religious devotion is confined to the repetition of the two first words of the Lord's Prayer.]



LETTER TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH, ESQ.

RESPECTED CHRISTOPHER,

As an appendage to the "Whippiad," so happily rescued from the fate designed for it by its author, to be embalmed in the never-dying pages of Maga, the following jeu d'esprit, connected with its hero, may not be unacceptable, especially as both productions were generally attributed to the same pen. A note on the line—

"And cuckoo mingle with the thoughts of Bell,"

towards the end of the first canto, alludes to "a young lady of singular elegance and personal accomplishments," to whom Dr Toe's attentions were supposed not to have been unacceptable. This elegant and accomplished young lady, however, (a certain Miss Bell H——,) is said to have eventually jilted the Doctor, and married her footman; a circumstance which gave rise to the following stanzas:—

'Twixt footman John and Dr Toe A rivalship befell, Which of the two should be the Beau To bear away the Belle!

The Footman won the Lady's heart, And who can blame her?—No man. The whole prevail'd against the part: 'Twas Foot-man versus Toe-man.

By the way, Christopher, your compositor has "misused the queen's press most damnably" in the quotation from Coriolanus prefixed to the second canto, where he converts the "Great Toe of the Assembly" into its "Great Foe." Rap his knuckles with your crutch, old Gentleman; and tell him, too, that the "Shawstone's party" he speaks of was a very jolly symposium, given by a very hearty fellow of the name of "Rawstorne," whose cognomen stands sic in orig.

Thine ever.

My dear Christopher,

ERIGENA.

BRAZENOSE QUAD., July 15, 1843.



THE REPEAL AGITATION.

No popularity does, or can exist which is not liable to collapses. Two-fold infirmity, alike for him who judges, and for him who suffers judgment, will not allow it to be otherwise. Sir Robert Peel, a minister more popular by his tenure of office than any whom this generation will perhaps again behold, has not been able to escape that ordinary trial of human prosperity. Suddenly a great cloud of public danger has gathered around him: upon every path there were seen to lie secret snares: no wisdom could make an election amongst them absolutely safe: he made that election which comparison of the cases and private information seemed to warrant: and immediately, of his own supporters many are offended. We believe it to be a truth, one amongst those new truths whose aspiring heads are even now rising above our horizon, that the office of first minister, either for France or England, is becoming rapidly more trying by the quality of its duties. We talk of energy: we invoke the memories of Pitt and of Chatham: "oh, for one hour," we exclaim, of those great executive statesmen—who "trampled upon impossibilities," or glorified themselves in a "vigour beyond the law!" Looking backwards, we are right: in our gratitude we do not err. But those times are past. For Sir Robert Peel no similar course is open. Changes in the temper of the age, changes in the constitution of public bodies, absolute revolutions in the kind of responsibilities by which a minister is now fettered, forbid us to imagine that any raptures of national sympathy will ever crowd forward to the support of extreme or summary measures, such as once might have been boldly employed. That style of aspiring action presumes some approach to unity in public opinion. But such unity we shall hardly witness again, were a hostile invader even landed on our shores.

Meantime it will add weight to any thing we can offer in behalf of the Irish policy now formally avowed by Government, if we acknowledge ingenuously that for some weeks we ourselves shared in the doubts upon its wisdom, not timidly expressed by weighty Conservatives. We believe it, indeed, natural and honourable that the first movement of feeling upon cases such as those now proceeding in Ireland, should be one of mere summary indignation. Not that scurrility and the basest of personalities from Mr O'Connell are either novelties, or difficult to bear. To hear an old man, a man whose own approach to the period of physical decay, is the one great hope and consolation of all good subjects in Ireland, scoffing at grey hairs in the Duke of Wellington—calling, and permitting his creatures to call, by the name of "vagabonds" or "miscreants," the most eminent leaders of a sister nation, who are also the chosen servants of that mistress whom he professes to honour: this might have been shocking in any man who had not long since squandered his own ability to shock. As it is, these things move only laughter or silent disgust, according to the temper of readers. And we are sure that not merely the priests, or men of education amongst Mr O'Connell's followers, but even the peasantry, must in their hearts perceive how indispensable is a general habit of self-restraint and abstinence from abusive language to the effect of any individual insult These were not the causes of public indignation. Not what Mr O'Connell said, but what he did, kindled the general wrath. To see him marching and countermarching armies, to find him bandying menaces with the Government of this great nation, and proclaiming (openly or covertly) that he would not be the party to strike the first blow, but that assuredly he would strike the second—thinking it little to speak as a traitor, unless also he spoke as an European potentate; this was the spectacle before which the self-control of so many melted away, and which raised the clamour for vindictive justice. It quickened the irritation to know, that hostile foreigners were looking on with deep interest, and every where misinterpreting the true readings of the case. Weeks passed before we could thoroughly reconcile our own feelings to the passive toleration, or apparent apathy, of the Government. Our sense of prudence took the alarm, not less than our feelings. And finally, if both could have acquiesced, our sense of consistency was revolted by what met the public eye; since, if the weak were to be punished, why should the strong be connived at? Magistrates, to the amount of three score, had been dismissed for giving their countenance to the Repeal meetings; and yet the meetings themselves, which had furnished the very principle of the reproach, and the ground of punishment, were neither dispersed nor denounced.

Rarely, however, in politics, has any man final occasion to repent of forbearance. There may be a tempest of provocation towards the policy of rigour; that policy may justify itself to the moral sense of men; modes even of prudence may be won over to sanction it; and yet, after all the largest spirit of civil prudence, such as all of us would approve in any historical case removed from the passions of the times, will suggest a much nobler promise of success through a steady adherence to the counsels of peace, than any which could attend the most efficient prosecution of a hostile intervention. The exceeding weight of the crisis has forced us into a closer comparison than usual of the consequences probably awaiting either course. Usually in such cases, we are content to abide the solutions of time; the rapid motion of events settling but too hastily all doubts, and dispensing with the trouble of investigation. Here, however, the coincidence of feelings, heavily mortified on our own part, with the serious remonstrances in the way of argument from journals friendly to Sir Robert Peel's government, would not suffer us to rest in the uneasy condition of dissatisfied suspense. We found ourselves almost coerced into pursuing the two rival policies, down to their separate issues; and the result has satisfied ourselves, that the minister is right. We shall make an effort for bringing over the reader to our own convictions. Sir Robert, we shall endeavour to show, has not been deficient in proper energy; his forbearance, where it has been most conspicuous, is either absolute—in which case it will be found to justify itself, even at present, to the considerate—or it is but provisional, and waiting for contingencies—in which case it will soon unmask itself more terrifically than either friend or enemy, perhaps, anticipates.

The Minster's defence is best pursued through the turns of his own admirable speech in the recent debates on the grievances of Ireland. But, previously, let us weigh for a moment Mr O'Connell's present position, and the chances that seem likely to have attended any attempt to deal with him by blank resistance. It had been always understood, by watchful politicians, that the Repeal agitation slumbered only until the reinstalment of a Conservative administration. The Whigs were notoriously in collusion at all times, more or less openly, with this "foul conspiracy:"[N] a crime which, in them, was trebly scandalous; for they it was, in times past, who had denounced the conspiracy to the nation as ruinous; in that they were right: but they also it was, who had pointed out the leading conspirator as an individual to national indignation in a royal speech; and in that they degraded, without a precedent, the majesty of that high state-document. Descending thus abjectly, as regarded the traitor, the Whigs were not unwilling to benefit by the treason. They did so. They adulterated with treason during their term of power: the compact being, that Mr O'Connell should guide for the Government their exercise of Irish patronage so long as he guaranteed to them an immunity from the distraction of Irish insubordination. When the Tories succeeded to power, this armistice—this treasonable capitulation with treason—of necessity fell to the ground; and once again Mr O'Connell prepared for war. Cessante mercede cessat opera. How he has conducted this war of late, we all know. And such being the brief history of its origin, embittered to him by the silent expression of defiance, unavoidably couched in any withdrawal of the guilty commerce, we all guess in what spirit he will wish to conduct it for the future. But there presents itself the question of his ability—of his possible resources—for persevering in his one mode of hostility. He would continue his array of mobs, but can he? We believe not. Already the hours of his sorceries are numbered: and now he stands in the situation of an officer on some forlorn outpost, before a superior enemy, and finding himself reduced to half a dozen rounds of ammunition. In such a situation, whatever countenance he may put on of alacrity and confidence, however rapidly he may affect to sustain his fire in the hope of duping his antagonist into a retreat, he cannot surmount or much delay the catastrophe which faces him. More and more reluctantly Mr O'Connell will tell off the few lingering counters on his beadroll: but at length comes the last; after which he is left absolutely without resources for keeping the agitation alive, or producing any effect whatever.

Many fancy not. They suppose it possible that these parades or field-days may be repeated. But let us consider. Already it impresses a character of childishness on these gatherings of peasants; and it is a feeling which begins to resound throughout Ireland, that there is absolutely no business to be transacted—not even any forms to be gone through—and, therefore, no rational object by which such parades can be redeemed from mockery. Were there a petition to be subscribed, a vote to be taken, or any ostensible business to furnish an excuse for the meeting—once, but once only, in each district, it might avail. As it is, we have the old nursery case before us—

"The king of France march'd up the hill, With twenty thousand men,"

followed by his most Christian majesty's successful countermarch. The very children in the streets would follow them with hootings, if these fooleries were reiterated. But, if that attempt were made, and in some instances should even succeed, so much the worse for the interests of Repeal. The effect would be fatal. No device could be found more excellent for killing the enthusiasm which has called out such assemblies, than the evidence thus forced upon the general mind—that they were inoperative, and without object, either confessed or concealed. Hitherto the toil and exhaustion of the day had been supported, doubtless, under a belief that a muster of insurrectionary forces was desired, with a view to some decisive course of action, when all should be found prepared. The cautionary order issued for total abstinence from violence had been looked upon, of course, as a momentary or interim restraint. But if once it were understood that this order was absolute, or of indefinite application, the chill to the national confidence would be that of death. For we are not to suppose that the faith and love of the peasantry can have been given, either personally to Mr O'Connell, or to Repeal, as a cause for itself. Both these names represent, indirectly, weightier and dearer objects, which are supposed to stand behind: even Repeal is not valued as an end—but simply as a means to something beyond. But let that idea once give way, let the present hope languish, let it be thrown back to a period distant or unassigned—and the ruin of the cause is sealed. The rural population of Ireland has, it is true, been manoeuvred and exhibited merely as a threatening show to England; but, assuredly, on that same day when the Irish peasants, either from their own sagacity, or from newspapers, discover that they have been used as a property by Mr O'Connell, for purposes in which their own interest is hard to be deciphered, indifference and torpor will succeed. For this once, the nationality of Ireland has been too frantically stimulated for the toleration of new delays. Mr O'Connell is at last the martyr of his own success. Should the priestly order refuse to advance further on a road nominally national, but from which, at any moment, the leader may turn off, by secret compromise, into a by-road, leading only to family objects, universal mutiny must now follow. The general will of the priesthood has thus far quelled and overruled the individual will; but that indignant recusants amongst that order are muttering and brooding we know, as well from the necessities of human nature, as from actual letters already beginning to appear in the journals. Under all these circumstances, a crisis is to be dreaded by the central body of Repealers, which body is doubtless exceedingly small. And what will hasten this crisis is the inevitable result from a fact noticed as yet only for ostentation. It is this. The weekly contributions in money, and their sudden overflow, have occasioned some comments in the House of Lords; on the one side with a view to the dishonesty apparent in the management of this money, and to the dark purposes which it may be supposed to mask—on the other, with a view to the increasing heartiness in the service, which it seems to express. It is, however, a much more reasonable comment upon this momentary increase, so occasional and timed to meet the sudden resurrection of energy in the general movement, that the money has flowed so freely altogether under that sane persuasion which also has drawn the peasantry to the meetings—viz. the fixed anticipation of an immediate explosion. Multitudes in the belief, suddenly awakened and propagated through Ireland—that now at length, all further excuses laid aside, the one great national enterprize, so long nursed in darkness, had ripened for execution, and would at last begin to move—have exerted themselves to do what, under other circumstances, they would not have done. Even simple delay would now irritate these men beyond control. They will call for an account. This will be refused, and cannot but be refused. The particular feeling of these men, that they have been hoaxed and swindled, concurring with the popular rage on finding that this storm also, like all before it, is to blow over—if there be faith in human nature, will do more to shake the Repeal speculation than any possible course of direct English resistance. All frauds would be forgiven in an hour of plausible success, or even in a moment of undeniable preparation. But disappointment coming in the rear of extravagant hopes will be fatal, and strike a frost to the heart of the conspiracy. For it cannot be doubted that none of these extra services, whether in money or personal attendance, would have been rendered without express assurances from high quarters, and not merely from fond imaginations founded on appearances, that the pretended regeneration for Ireland was at land.

Now let us see how these natural sequences, from the very nature of the showy demonstrations recently organized, and from the very promises by which they must have been echoed, will operate in relation to the measures of the Government; either those which have been adopted, or those which have been declined. Had the resolution (a fatal resolution, as we now think) been adopted in the cabinet to disperse the meetings by force, blood would have flowed; and a plea, though fraudulent in virtue, would have been established for O'Connell—such as we may suppose to be built upon a fact so liable to perversion. His hands would have been prodigiously strengthened. The bloodshed would have been kept before the eyes of the people for ever, and would have taken innumerable forms. But the worst, ultimately the ruinous, operation of this official intervention would have lain in the plenary excuse from his engagements furnished to Mr O'Connell, and in the natural solution of all those embarrassments which for himself he cannot solve. At present he is at his wits' end to devise any probable scheme for tranquillizing the universal disappointment, for facing the relapse from infinite excitement, and for propitiating the particular fury of those who will now hold themselves to have been defrauded of their money. Leave this tempest to itself, and it will go near to overwhelm the man: or if the local separation of the parties most injured should be so managed as to intercept that result, assuredly it will overwhelm the cause. In the estimate, therefore, of O'Connell, we may rely upon it—that a battalion of foot, or a squadron of horse, appearing in aid of the police to clear the ground at Mallow or at Donnybrook, would have seemed the least questionable godsend that has ever illuminated his experience. "O jubilate for a providential deliverance!" that would have been his cry. "Henceforward be all my difficulties on the heads of my opponents!" But at least, it is argued, the fact would have been against him; the dispersion would have disarmed him, whatever colouring he might have caused it to bear. Not at all. We doubt if one meeting the less would have been held. Ready at all times for such emergencies, the leader would not suffer himself to be found without every conceivable legal quillet, sharpened and retouched, against the official orders. He would have had an interview with the authorities: he would have shown a flaw in the wording of the instructions: he would have rebaptized his assembly, and, where no business goes on, any name will answer: he would have called his mob "a tea-party," or "an agricultural association;" the sole real object concerned, which is the exhibition of vast numbers trained and amenable to instant restraint, would have proceeded under new names. This would no longer have languished when Government had supplied the failing impulse: and in the mean time to have urged that, merely by its numbers, combined with its perilous tendencies, the gathering was unlawful—would have availed nothing: for the law authorities in parliament, right or wrong, have affected doubts upon that doctrine; and, when parliament will not eventually support him, it matters little that a minister of these days would, for the moment, assume the responsibility of a strong measure. Or, if parliament were to legislate anew for this special case, the Repealer would then split his large mobs into many small ones: he would lecture, he would preach, he would sing, in default of other excuses for meeting. No law, he would observe coolly to the magistrate, against innumerable prayer-meetings or infinite concerts. The items would still be reported to one central office: the facit would be the same; and it would tell for the same cause.

Thus it appears that no fact would have resulted against the Repealers, had the Government taken a severe course. Still, may it not be said that a fact, and a strong one, survives on the other side, viz. against the Government, under this forbearing course which they really have taken? What fact? Is it the organization of all Ireland? Doubtless that bears an ominous sound: but it must be considered—that if the leader cannot wield this vast organization for any purposes of his own, and plainly he cannot so long as he acquires no fresh impulses or openings to action from the indiscretion of his opponents, but on the contrary must be ruined—cause and leader, party and partisan chief, by the very 'lock' (or as in America is said, the 'fix') into which he has brought himself, by the pledge which he cannot redeem—far less can that organization be used by others or for any other purpose. It is an organization not secret; not bound by oaths; loose and careless in its cohesion; not being good for its proper object, it is good for no other, and we hear of no one attribute by which it threatens the public peace beyond its numerical extent.

But is that true? Is it numerically so potent as it is represented? We hardly need to say, that the exaggerations upon this point have been too monstrous to call for any pointed exposures. With respect to one of the southern meetings—that at Cork, we believe—by way of applying some scale or measurement to the exaggerations, we may mention that a military man, actually measured the ground after the retirement of the crowd. He ascertained that the ground could barely accommodate twenty-five thousand men standing in regimental order. What was the report of the newspaper? Four to five hundred thousand, as usual. Indeed, we may complain of our English Conservative Journals as, in this point, faithfully reflecting the wildest statements of the Repeal organs. So much strength was apparently given, for the moment, to the Repeal interest by these outrageous fictions, that we, for our own parts, (whilst hesitating as to other points of the Government policy,) did not scruple to tax the Home Minister and the Queen's Lieutenant with some neglect of duty[O] in not sending experienced officers of the army to reconnoitre the meetings in every instance, and authentically to make returns of the numbers present. Since reading the minister's speech, however, we are disposed to think that this neglect was not altogether without design. It appears that Sir Robert relies in part upon these frightful falsehoods for effecting a national service by rousing the fears of the Roman Catholic landholders. In this there is no false refinement; for, having very early done all the mischief they could as incendiary proclamations of power to the working classes, the exaggerations are now, probably, operating with even more effect in an opposite direction upon the great body of the Catholic gentry. Cordially to unite this body with the government of Ireland would, by much, overbalance the fickle support of the peasantry, given for the moment to the cause of disaffection. That disaffection, under its present form, is already, perhaps, on the point of unlocking its union. It cannot be permanent as an organization; for, without hope, no combination can sustain itself, and a disaffection, founded purely upon social causes, can be healed by no Government whatever. But if the Catholic gentry, treated as they now are with fraternal equality, should heartily coalesce with the party promoting a closer British connexion, that would be a permanent gain.

The Irish policy, therefore, the immediate facts of the policy, pursued by the Government, if we distinguish it from the general theory and principles of their policy as laid down in the speech of the Premier, has not been what it is said to have been. Summing up the heads, let us say that we are not resigned negligently to the perils of civil war; those perils, though as great as Mr O'Connell could make them, are not by any means as great as Mr O'Connell describes them; the popular arrays are ridiculously below the amounts reported to us: in some instances they have been multiplied by 20, probably in all by 15; the rumour and the terror of these arrays have operated both ways; for us more permanently than against us. Lastly, it is not true that the Government has proceeded only by negative steps; the army has been increased in Ireland, the garrisons have been better arranged; military stations have been strengthened, and seditious magistrates have been dismissed.

Upon this last point, one word: we have seen nothing more grossly factious in the conduct of the Whigs, than the assertion, that these magistrates ought not to have been dismissed. Well might the Chancellor say, that the discussion had been conducted by petty lawyerlike quibbles. The case stands thus: there are two principles concerned in the tenure of the magistrate's office—theoretic amenability to the letter of the law, and practical serviceableness for his duties. Either furnishes a ground of dismissal. To be scandalously indecorous, to be a patron of gambling in public places, would offer no legal objection to a magistrate; but he would be dismissed as a person unsuitable by his habits to the gravity of the commission. If you hire a watchman to protect your premises, and you discharge him upon the ground that he has been found drinking with reputed burglars, no man will hold the watchman to have been hardly used, because the burglars had not been convicted judicially. That allegation amounts to this: that he has not committed any offence known to the laws. What will you reply? "I know it," you say: "I grant it; and therefore I charge you with no offence. But I dismiss you on a principle of expedience. You have violated no law; but you have shown yourself to be a man disqualified for the very urgent duties of the post—much more disqualified than you would have been by sickness, blindness, or any other physical infirmity."

Mr O'Connell now threatens to pursue his career, by repeating that same absurd misdemeanour of summoning a mock parliament, which, some twenty and odd years ago, a Staffordshire baronet expiated by the penalties of fine and imprisonment. At that crisis we shall see the tranquil minister unmask his artillery. But could it be reasonable to look for a faithful discharge of painful duties, arising in these later stages of the Repeal cause (and duties applying probably to the cases of gentlemen, neighbours, fellow partisans,) from one who had already promoted that cause, in its previous stages, to the extent of sedition and conspiracy? He who has already signalized to the nation his readiness to co-operate in so open a mischief as dismemberment of the empire, wherefore should he shrink from violating an obscure rule of the common law, or a black letter statute?

But enough of the policy which has been pursued. That, by its nature is limited, and of necessity, in many points of recent application, is a policy of watching and negation. Now, let us turn to the general policy, as it is reviewed in the very comprehensive speech of the Prime Minister. This applies equally to the past and the future. The French journals, and in particular the Debats, complain that it is crowded with details. How should this be otherwise? Can there be an answer given to charges whose vice is their vagueness, otherwise than by circumstantial exposures of their falsehood? Ireland, for instance, has been unfairly treated as to taxes, partition of indulgences, pecuniary advances. That is the charge. Can it be met with another answer than by absolute arithmetic, tax-office proofs, or returns from the Exchequer? "But in these a foreigner takes no interest." Doubtless! and that should be an argument with the foreigner for his declining to judge upon the question. Want of understanding is not at all a worse disqualification for acting as a judge than want of interest in the subject. We mention this pointedly; because it is not to foreigners chiefly that this maxim applies: a profound injustice continually operates in this way amongst the parliamentary foes of Government. Often in private life we witness the unprincipled case—that, upon suspecting a man's vindication to be established by any investigation, men will decline to look into it, as really possessing too little interest for themselves; though these same people had not found any want of interest in the allegations—nay, had mastered all the details—so long as the charges pointed to some disgraceful issue, and the verdict threatened to be unfavourable. An instance of this baseness, truly shocking to the moral sense, is found in the ridiculous charge against the ministers, founded upon the mail-coach contract. This was not at all too petty to be pressed with rancour. However, it was answered. The answer, on the principle of the case, and coupled with the illustrations from parallel cases, is decisive. And then the taunt is—"But why fasten upon charges so minute and frivolous?" Minute and frivolous, we grant; but not so in that degree which prevented you gentlemen in opposition from dwelling on then with genial spite, as being odious in proportion to their pettiness. "You, you, it was," says Sir Robert, "that pressed the case!" Certainly: and they it was who would never have withdrawn the case had they not found it untenable. It is thus easy for two men to concert a collusive attack which shall succeed either way, and be dishonest both ways. "Do you," says the one, "try on this particular case for harassing the minister. If it tells, if it sticks, then we both pitch into him. If it fails, then rise I and say:—'How shameful in an official person to throw dust in the eyes of the House by detaining it upon a miserable trifle, whilst the criminal gravities of his conduct are skulking in the rear under this artifice for misleading the public attention!'"

With this prefatory explanation, called for, perhaps, by the unequal importance of the points reviewed, we shall now rehearse the heads of this speech. It is a speech that, by anticipation, we may call memorable, looking before and after; good, as a history for half a century gone by since our union with Ireland; good, we venture to hope, as a rule and as a prophecy for the spirit of our whole future connexion with that important island. We shall move rapidly; for our rehearsal will best attain the object we have in view by its brevity and condensation.

I.—Mr Roebuck had insisted that Ireland was made the victim of our English parsimony; not once and away, but systematically. This happens to be a charge peculiarly irritating to all parties—to the authors of the parsimony, and to its objects. And, says Sir Robert, I am told to avoid it as secondary; but observe, it is quite substantial enough, as others say, to justify "an impeachment." This is the honourable barrister's word; and a "soft" impeachment it will turn out.

a. By the Act of Union, it was provided that, in voting the civil estimates for Ireland, whatever sum it should appear that Ireland had averaged for six years before the Union, in her own votes for a particular purpose, annually that same sum should be voted for a period prescribed by the United Parliament. The purpose was, internal improvement in Ireland, and any national uses, whether pious or charitable. What, then, had been the extent of the Irish vote? We neglect small fractions, and state that it had averaged seventy-three thousand a year. For the first twenty years, therefore, the obligation upon the Imperial Parliament had been, to vote twenty times that sum, or L. 1,460,000. This was the contract. What was the performance? Five millions, three hundred and forty-eight thousand pounds, or three and a half times the amount of the promise.

b. Another extraordinary vote in the Irish Parliament, previous to the Union, had been upon the miscellaneous estimates. This vote, when averaged on the same principle, had produced annually one hundred and twenty-eight thousand pounds. To the same sum the United Parliament stood pledged for the first period of twenty-eight years succeeding the Union. The reader will see at once that the result ought to have been little more than three and a half millions. That was the debt. What was the payment? Something beyond five millions.

c. Upon another comparison, viz. between Scotland and Ireland, as to another class of extras and contingencies, it turns out—that, during the last period of seven years, to Scotland had been voted six hundred and sixty thousand pounds, to Ireland two million, two hundred, and sixty thousand; to Scotland, that is, less than one hundred thousand per annum; to Ireland, more than three hundred thousand.

In the same category stands the relative taxation. Ireland was to pay two-seventeenths of the whole imperial burden. That was the bargain, which we are not called on to reopen. But, as extras, as a liberal bonus upon this bargain, Ireland has been excused from paying for windows—for assessed taxes—for soap. At this moment, in addition to these liberal discounts, she has no national share, as Ireland,[P] in the Income Tax: and she may be said, in one sense, to receive her letters gratuitously, for the postage yields nothing to Government, all being absorbed by the Irish post office. It is little, after this, to start possibilities of unequal contribution as regards the indirect taxation: this could not be separately apportioned to the three great limbs of the empire without disturbing the great currents of commerce. It is enough that by exemptions upon the direct taxes, so far as concerns three of them—window, assessed, and income—Ireland receives a large indemnity.

II. Connected with the last head is the reproach made to Great Britain upon the subject of railway encouragement. What encouragement? By money? Yes, says Lord John Russell, whose experience in office (as one of a cabinet plagued in the way that all cabinets are by projectors and scheming capitalists) ought to have taught him better. Have we given any money to our own railways? No: but England is rich. True: and Ireland is not suffered to be so rich as she might be by her Irish "friends." But rich or not rich, is no question here. If schemes of profit are not profitable in this country, we do not encourage them. If they are profitable, they want no encouragement. Still, it is said, might it not be prudent to feed the railroads in Ireland, not with any view to the scheme for itself but considered as a means of development for the circumjacent country? No, replies Sir Robert, that is an error: railways may benefit by the country: but the country through which they race, is rarely affected by them more than the atmosphere aloft by the balloons. The great towns on the route, or at the extremities, doubtless benefit; but in too small a degree, unless they are manufacturing towns, to warrant the least thoughtful of ministers in assisting them. However, to make a beginning, and as a topic to be borne in mind, how much would be wanted? A matter of ten millions, says Lord John. Olli subridens, replies the minister, "What! only that?" But, returning to business, he reminds the house—that, even for so small a sum as ten millions sterling, the nation would perhaps expect security. Who is to give it? Are the counties traversed to be assessed? But they will disown the benefit arising. And, says Sir Robert, take a miniature case—a sum little more than one-tenth of ten millions was advanced by this country on account of the Irish work-houses, and for a time there was some advantage gained to the industry of the land. But that soon passed away, and then two evils arose at once. The money was to be repaid, and the employment was at an end. But this latter evil was worse than it seemed, for it did not act as a simple privation of so much good; the extra stimulation of the national industry, as invariably happens, and as at this moment we see in England upon the cessation of a ten years' demand for iron, on account of our own railways, brought about a corresponding, exhaustion for the new Poor Law, tending violently to civil tumults. The repayment of that advance will yet cost Ireland many a groan.

III. If Ireland, then, is not ill-treated as to her taxation, or her public improvements, is it true that she is ill-treated in the persons of her children? That also has been said; but Sir Robert disperses that fancy by facts which are as conclusive as they are really little needed at this day. Sculptors had been appointed by members of the cabinet, police commissioners, &c.; and, as will easily be believed, with no question ever mooted as to their birth, whether English, Scotch, or Irish. Subsequently, however, it had turned out as a blind fact, which is useful in showing the entire indifference to such a point in the minds of public men, that the larger proportion of successful candidates were Irish. This was an accident certainly, but an accident irreconcilable with the least shadow of prejudice pointing in that direction.

IV. Of social grievances, grievances connected with the state of society, there are but too many in Ireland: relations between landlord and tenant for instance; but these are so little caused or aggravated by Parliament, that they cannot even be lightened by Parliament. What little is possible, however, says Sir Robert, we will attempt. The elective franchise is another case; yet, if that is now too much narrowed, why is it so? Let Ireland thank herself, and the growing indisposition amongst Irish landlords to grant leases. Might we not, then, transfer to Ireland our English franchise? But that, applied to Irish institutions and arrangements, would narrow the electoral basis still further than it is narrowed. Not, therefore, against the Irish, but in their behalf, we withhold our own unsuitable privileges. It is a separate question, besides, whether the moral civilization of Ireland is equal to the exercise of our English franchise. Education of the people again, if there is an obstacle at this time to its movement in Ireland, where does it originate? We all know the great schism upon that subject existing amongst the Irish Protestants, and how embarrassing the Government has found that fend—how intractable and embittered, for the very reason that it rested upon no personal jealousies which might have relaxed or been overruled, but (for one side at least) upon deep conscientious scruples. Reverence those scruples we must; but still the Irish are not entitled to charge upon ministers a public evil of their own creation. In all these calamities, or others of the same nature, oppressing the state of society in Ireland, and derived as an inheritance from ancient times, the blame too notoriously, in no part of it, rests with the English ministers; and the proof is evident in this fact—that, except by one monstrous anti-social proposal from a very few of the opposition members, as a remedy for the land-occupancy complaints—a proposal strongly disavowed by the leaders of the party, no practical flaw was detected, either of omission or commission, as affecting the ministerial policy. The objections were pure generalities; and even Lord John Russell, who adopted the usual complaint against the minister, that he brought forward no definite plan, and whose own field of choice was therefore left all the wider, offered nothing more specific than the following mysterious suggestion, which is probably a Theban hieroglyphic—that, like as the "celebrated" Cromwell, in times past, did appoint Sir Matthew Hale to the presiding seat on the bench of justice, even so ought Sir Robert Peel to——. But there the revelation ceased. What are we to suppose the suppressed apodosis of the proposition? Was it to disarm Mr O'Connell, by making him an archbishop? Little propensity have we to treat a great national crisis with levity; but surely every man is entitled to feel indignant, that when the burden of attack upon Government, is for their silence with regard to specific measures, (which, to be effectual, must often be secret,) those who have the good fortune to be under no such restraints of secrecy, find themselves able to suggest absolutely nothing. National resources were not locked up in the treasury—the particular choice may be secret, but the resources themselves lie open to the whole world—to us, to Lord John Russell, who have no power, quite as much as to Sir Robert Peel, who wields the thunder. And we cannot but remind the reader, that one reason, beyond the policy of concealment, which made it hard for Government to offer suggestions absolutely new, was the simple fact, that such as were fit to be published they had already acted on. The remodeling of arrangements for the army, the bill for intercepting the means of arming a rebel force, and the suppression of insurrectionary magistrates—these three measures were clearly the first steps to be taken. One only of the three is still lingering; whom, have we to thank for that? A ministry to which the Duke of Wellington belongs, is not likely to talk first and act afterwards. By the time it became necessary to talk, their work, for the present, had been done. But some few significant words there were from leaders in both Houses, which convince us, that, upon any important change of movements on the part of the Repealers, the silent menaces of Government will begin to speak in a tone such as no man can misunderstand.

V. Patronage.—Has that great instrument of government been abused by Sir Robert Peel in the management of Ireland? This question might have arranged itself under either of the two first heads; but we choose to bring it forward in an insulated form. For we believe that no administration of any day has ever made the avowal, or had it in their power to make the avowal, which Sir Robert Peel made to the House of Commons in the speech we are now reviewing. He read two separate extracts from his own official instructions to Lord De Grey, which actually announced his resolution (unfettered by the slightest reserve) to renounce the entire church patronage of Ireland as an instrument of administration. The Lord-Lieutenant was authorized to dispense this patronage with one solitary view to merit, professional merit, and the highest interests of Ireland. So noble an act as this, and one so unprecedented in its nobility, needs no praise of ours. It speaks for itself. And it would be injurious to spend words in emblazonry of that which, by a spontaneous movement, both sides of the House received with volleying cheers. That kind of applause is as rare and as significant as the act itself.

VI. and VII. Finally, however, all other questions connected with this great crisis, sink in importance by the side of the one great interest at stake upon the Union—is that to be maintained? And, as the Union could not possibly survive the destruction of the Protestant Establishment, is that to be protected? Are we to receive, at the hands of traitors, a new model for our glorious empire? and, without condescending to pause for one instant in discussing consequences, are we to drink of this cup of indignity—that the constitution and settlement of our state, which one hundred and fifty five years ago required the deliberations of two ancient nations, England and Scotland, collected in their representatives, to effect, now at this day are to be put into the furnace anew by obscure conspirators, and traitors long since due to the gallows. Say not, with Sir James Graham, "that this all-conquering England would perish by the consequences." If that were endured, already she has perished: and the glory of Israel has departed. The mere possibility that, by a knot of conspirators, our arch of empire could be dismembered, that by a bare shout of treason it could be thrown down for ever like the battlements of Jericho at the blast of trumpets, would proclaim, as in that Judean tragedy, that we stood under a curse of wrath divine. The dismemberment itself would be less fatal than the ignominy of its mode. Better to court the hostility of foreign nations, better to lay open our realms to a free movement of that wrath against us which is so deeply founded in their envy, than to perish by the hands of poltroons, of thieves, of conspirators. But this fate is not ours. Many times our Government have repeated that assurance. But, as in the expressions of our affection to the Sovereign, this assurance is rightly renewed from time to time, and occasions are sought for renewing it, let the ministers be assured—that, on this point, we are all sound at heart. All of us are with them from shore to shore. In this island there will be no faltering. It is shocking, undoubtedly: it is awful, and at such a moment, to hear three lords of old official standing—Lords Palmerston, Howick, and John Russell, taking occasion to propound ridiculous and senseless modifications of a plan essentially rebellious, the plan of partial confiscation, or of partial degradation, for the Protestant Church. Patience hardly can keep pace with the deliberate consideration of the contradictions which would follow—whether from tampering with the Church, or with the political settlement of our nations. Sir R. Peel has traced both. From the one case must follow an independent army, for Ireland an independent government, an independent war as often as the popular will should speak loudly. From a participation of Protestant property, or Protestant dignities with the Roman Catholics, would follow instantly the transfer of Protestant churches, already few enough, the translation of Popish priests (that is, of selected traitors) to our senate. The very hint is a monument to the disgrace of these noble lords; fatal to all pretences of earnest patriotism; but still in them accounted for, and perhaps a little palliated, by the known necessities of party. As respects the general mind, there is no such imbecility abroad; no such disposition to traffic or go halves, temporize or capitulate with treason. One only error is prevalent: it has been noticed by Sir R. Peel, who indeed overlooked nothing; but it may be well to put the refutation into another form. The caballing for dissolution of the Union, why should that be treasonable? Is the Act of Union more than an Act of Parliament? Is not every act of Parliament open to objection, petition, annulment? No. It is dismemberment, says Sir Robert Peel, of the state. We add this—How, and in virtue of what law, does the house of Brunswick reign? By the Act of Settlement—an act of Parliament—an act about a hundred and fifty years old. That is but an act of Parliament. Is it open, then, to any of us, or all of us, to call a meeting for rescinding the Act of Settlement? But all will now advance to a rapid consummation; Mr O'Connell pursues only his old movement—then he is lost by the decay of the enthusiasm. He adopts a new one—that which he has obscurely announced. Then we are as sure as we are of day and night, of his treason, as of British power to crush it, that the suspended thunderbolt, now raised aloft by the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel, will put an end to him for ever.

THE END