CHAPTER XLVI.

Fane had spent some time in diligent pursuit of Onslow; at first with no great promise of success, but latterly with some certainty of being upon his track. Just, however, as his hopes of securing him were strongest, he had received a letter which had been following him for some time from town to town, summoning him to attend the sick-bed of his uncle, who had been attacked with sudden and dangerous illness.

Of course he set off at once, as in duty bound; but he was surprised and ashamed, knowing the obligations he lay under to his relative, to notice how little anxiety and pain the news occasioned him. Fane was very honest in analysing his own emotions, and on the present occasion laid more blame to the account of his own nature, which he accused of unsympathising callousness, than it by any means deserved. He would have done as much to serve a friend, and was capable of as warm attachment, as most people, but his feelings required a congenial nature to call them forth. He was not one of those who wear their hearts on their sleeve for any daw to peck at, and had none of that incontinence of affability which insures a man so many acquaintances and so few friends. Had he been Lear’s eldest son, he would, to a certainty, have been disinherited, along with Cordelia, in favour of those gay deceivers, Goneril and Regan.

Now, Mr Levitt his uncle, though naturally amiable, was an undemonstrative character, full of good impulses which terribly embarrassed him. He would read a poem or romance with the keenest enjoyment, yet with affected contempt, turning up his nose and screwing down the corners of his mouth, while his eyes were watering and his heart beating. He would offer two fingers to a parting friend, nod good-by to him slightly, and turn away, feeling as if a shadow had come upon his world. He had been used to write to his nephews in the spirit of a Roman or Spartan uncle, giving them stern advice, and sending them the most liberal remittances, in the most ungracious manner—throwing checks at their heads, as it were—while all the time he was yearning for their presence. In fact, he was so ashamed of his best points, and so anxious to conceal them, that the rigid mask wherewith he hid his virtues had become habitual, and he was a very sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Those, however, who had known him long, rated him at his true value. Fane found the household in great grief. Miss Betsey, an ancient housekeeper, distinguished principally by strong fidelity to the family interests, a passion for gin-and-water, and a most extraordinary cap, wrung her hands with great decorum; and Mr Payne the banker, Orelia’s father, at the first news of his old friend’s illness, had left a great money transaction unfinished to rush to his bedside, where Fane found him on his arrival. Indeed, it was from him he had received intelligence of his uncle’s illness.

Mr Payne’s temperament had suffered foul wrong when they made him a banker. He had naturally an intense dislike to matters of calculation, his bent being towards _belles lettres_, foreign travel, and the like pleasant paths. Somehow or other he had got rich, and flourished in spite of his want of talent for money-making. His worldly pursuits, perhaps, made his tastes keener, for he fell upon all manner of light reading with wonderful zest after a busy day at the bank. As for his taste for travelling, it was whispered among his acquaintances that its development was not so much owing to an erratic and inquiring spirit, as to the fact that in the second Mrs Payne he had caught a Tartar, and availed himself of any plausible excuse to escape from her domestic tyranny. Orelia, coming home from school one vacation, and finding her stepmother in full exercise of authority, not only, as a matter of course, rebelled herself, but tried to stir up her father to join in the mutiny. Finding him averse to open war, she proclaimed her intention forthwith of quitting the paternal mansion, and living in the house which had become hers by the death of her godmother, as before related; and Mr Payne, coming down on Saturdays after the bank was closed, would spend one-half of his weekly visit in lamenting the ill-temper of his spouse, and the other in his favourite studies.

Fane found his uncle slowly recovering from the effects of the attack which had prostrated him, and by no means secure from a relapse. Mr Levitt caught the sound of his step on the stair, and recognised it; and Mr Payne, seated by the bedside, saw the invalid glance eagerly at the door. Nevertheless, he received his nephew almost coldly, though the latter testified warm interest in his state.

“You’ve been some time finding me out, Durham,” said his uncle, after shortly answering his inquiries. “I’m afraid you’ve been summoned to this uninteresting scene from some more agreeable pursuit.”

“It was an important one, at any rate, sir,” returned Fane; “yet even that did not prevent me hastening hither the moment Mr Payne’s letter reached me. I only got it this morning.”

“An important one, hey, Durham!” said Mr Levitt, with the cynical air under which he was accustomed to veil his interest in his nephew’s proceedings. “We may judge of its importance, Payne, by his hurrying away from it to look after the ailments of a stupid old fellow like me. Some nonsense, I’ll be bound.”

Mr Payne, a bald benevolent man of fifty, in spectacles, came round the bed to shake Fane’s hand.

“Without the pleasure of knowing the Captain, I’ll answer for his holding you in due consideration,” said Mr Payne. “And your uncle knows that, too; he’s only joking,” he said to Fane.

“Well, but the important business, Durham?” said the invalid, as Fane seated himself beside his pillow.

Fane, remembering that his cousin’s was a prohibited name, and fearing the effect it might produce, attempted to laugh off the inquiry.

“Love!” said Mr Levitt, with another cynical glance at Mr Payne, who had resumed his station at the other side of the bed. “A charmer for fifty pounds; why, I grow quite curious—don’t you, Payne? It’s exactly what you suggested as the cause of his delay. Come, let’s hear about her—begin with the eyes—that’s the rule, isn’t it?”

“Wrong, sir, quite wrong,” said Fane, with another disclaiming laugh.

“Poor, bashful fellow!” persisted his uncle. “But we won’t spare his blushes, Payne. And how far did you pursue the nymph, Durham?—and why did she fly you? Is she at length propitious? I hope so!—you know my wishes.”

“There’s no lady in the case, sir, I assure you,” said Fane earnestly.

“Ah! it’s always the way with your sensitive lovers,” pursued his questioner, addressing Mr Payne. “They’re as shy of the subject which occupies their thoughts as if they didn’t like it. Come, if you’re afraid to speak out before my friend Payne (though I’m sure you needn’t be—he’s discretion itself), he’ll go away, I daresay. What is she like? and when is it to be?”

“When is what to be, sir?” asked Fane, trying to humour the old gentleman, but getting impatient, nevertheless.

“Why, the wedding, of course. Seriously, Durham, I’m all impatience. Your last letter seemed to point at something of the kind; and it was written long enough ago to have settled half-a-dozen love affairs since. I’m more earnest than ever on the subject, now that my admonitions seem likely to be cut short; and this matrimony question may affect the dispositions of my will, Durham.”

“Consider it settled, then, I beg, sir,” said Fane seriously. “I shall never marry.”

“I shall be sorry to find you serious, Durham. A bachelor’s life is but a dreary one. Just look at the difference between me and my friend Payne—he is rosy and happy, and, if he were lying here, he would have quite a family meeting assembled round him—while I should be alone, but for a nephew who has no great reason to care about me, and a friend whose good-nature brings him to see what may, perhaps, be the last of an old acquaintance. My opinions on the subject I’ve so often spoken to you of, haven’t changed, you see, in the least—and perhaps I shall act upon them.”

“As you please, sir,” said Fane. “I speak my deliberate thought when I say I don’t intend to marry.”

Here Miss Betsey tapt at the door, to say that Mr Durham’s supper was ready.

“Go down with him, Payne,” said Mr Levitt. “I’ll go on with this story here—a silly thing; but sick people mustn’t be too critical.”

“An excellent novel!” exclaimed Mr Payne—“full of feeling.”

“Ay, ay, well enough for that kind of trumpery,” said the invalid, who was secretly burning to know how the hero and heroine were to be brought together through such a sea of difficulties; and his friend and his nephew, after making a few arrangements for his comfort, went down stairs together.

Fane dismissed the servant who waited at table. He wished to open what he intended to be, and what proved, a very interesting conversation.

“You’re a very old friend of my uncle’s, Mr Payne,” he said. “I’ve so often heard him speak of you, that I seem almost familiar with you, though this is our first meeting.”

“A school friendship,” said Mr Payne; “and it has continued unbroken ever since.”

“I will tell you,” said Fane, “what the pursuit was I was really engaged in, and you will perceive I could not mention it to my uncle. The fact is, I believe I was on the point of discovering my cousin Langley.”

Mr Payne dropt his knife and fork, and leant back in his chair. “You don’t say so!” cried he. “Poor Langley—poor, poor Langley!”

Fane told the grounds he had for suspecting Langley and the ex-dragoon Onslow to be one and the same person.

“Following some faint traces,” said Fane, “I reached a town where, exposed for sale in a shop window, I saw some drawings which I recognised for his. You know his gift that way.”

“Ay, a first-rate draughtsman, poor fellow,” said Mr Payne.

“He had sold these for a trifle far below their value, and, as I found, had left the town only the day before. I therefore felt secure of him when your letter diverted me from the pursuit.”

“Poor Langley!” repeated the sympathetic Mr Payne. “Such a clever fellow! Draw, sir! he had the making of half-a-dozen academicians in him—and ride!—but you’ve seen him ride, of course. And such an actor!—nothing like him off the London boards, and not many on them equal to him, in my opinion. And to end that way, I don’t know if I should like to see him again.”

“You can perhaps enlighten me on a point I’ve long been curious about,” said Fane. “I mean the real cause of my uncle’s displeasure towards him—the extravagance attributed to Langley doesn’t sufficiently account for it.”

“No,” said Mr Payne, “your uncle would have forgiven that readily enough. He pretended, as his way is, to be angrier at it than he was. But the real cause of estrangement was more serious.

“Your uncle finding, by his frequent applications for money, that accounts which had reached him of Langley’s gambling were but too true, at length replied to a request for a hundred pounds by enclosing a check to that amount, at the same time saying it was the last he must expect, and expressing his displeasure very harshly. The check was brought to our bank the next day, and it was not till after it had been cashed that it was suspected that the original amount, both in words and figures, had been altered. Four hundred pounds it now stood, and that sum had been paid on it. The 1 had easily been made into a 4, and the words altered to correspond—neatly enough, but not so like your uncle’s as to pass with a close scrutiny. While we were examining it, your uncle came in, his anxiety on Langley’s account having brought him to town. He took the check, looked at it, and then drew me aside. ‘’Tis forged,’ said he; ‘mine was for a hundred: but not a word of this, Payne—let it pass as regular—tell the clerks ’tis all right.’ This was a terrible blow to him. From that day to this we have heard nothing of Langley, nor does your uncle ever mention his name; and no one but an intimate friend like me would guess how much he felt the dishonour.”

“But Langley must have known ’twould be discovered immediately,” said Fane, who listened with deep attention.

“Ay—but meantime his end was answered. The money was paid, and he doubtless calculated that your uncle would rather lose the sum than suffer the disgrace of exposure—and he was right.”

“I can’t believe him guilty,” said Fane.

“He must have been severely tempted, poor boy,” said Mr Payne—“always so open and upright; but there can, I’m afraid, be no doubt of his guilt. Consider, he has never showed his face since.”

Fane thought for a minute or two. “No,” he said—“no, not guilty, I hope and believe. No guilty man could have borne himself as he has done since. But there is now more reason than ever for resuming my search for him. Yes, yes—I must see and question him myself.”

“Where do you believe him to be?” asked Mr Payne.

“I traced him to Frewenham, in ——shire,” answered Fane.

“Frewenham! God bless me! Why, my daughter’s place, Larches, is close to that. I’m going down there in a day or two to see Orelia.”

“Orelia!” exclaimed Fane; “then Miss Payne is your daughter.”

“Oh, you have met, then, perhaps?” said Mr Payne, with interest; “where and when?”

“At the Heronry,” said Fane. “My troop is at Doddington, the town nearest to where Miss Payne was staying.”

“Oh, ho! this is fortunate,” said Mr Payne. “As soon as your uncle gets better, we will go down together to Frewenham. My friend Levitt,” he resumed presently, “is, I see, much disappointed to find his surmises as to your matrimonial prospects incorrect. He had set his heart on their fulfilment; and some expressions of admiration for some lady, in a late letter of yours, prepared him to expect something of the kind.”

Fane coloured deeply. He remembered, indeed, that, writing to his uncle one evening, after a delightful afternoon passed with Lady Lee, he had suffered his admiration to overflow in expressions which, though they seemed to him slight compared with the merits of the subject, were yet, perhaps, sufficiently warm to warrant his uncle’s inferences. It was some comfort to remember that he had not mentioned her name in this premature effusion.

“My uncle seems to have quite a monomania on the subject of my becoming a Benedict,” he said presently, by way of breaking an awkward silence. “His doctrine would have seemed more consistent had he inculcated it by example as well as by precept. One doesn’t often see a more determined bachelor.”

“A love affair was the turning-point of your uncle’s life,” said Mr Payne. “He knows and feels that a different, and how much happier man he might have been, but for an early disappointment, and that makes him so desirous to see you comfortably established.”

“Now, do you know,” said Fane, “I can’t, by any effort of imagination, fancy my uncle in love. His proposals, if he ever reached that point, must have been conveyed in an epigram.”

“Your uncle is a good deal changed, in every respect, within the last few years, especially since that sad business of poor Langley,” said Mr Payne; “but I scarcely recognise in him now my old (or rather, I should say, my young) friend Levitt. However, you may take my word for it, Captain Durham, that your uncle knew what it was, some five-and-twenty years ago, to be desperately in love. He seemed, too, to be progressing favourably with the object of his affections, till a gay young captain in the Guards turned her head with his attentions—Captain, afterwards Colonel Lee.”

“What! Bagot!” said Fane.

“Ah, you know him, then,” said Mr Payne; “then you also know it was no great alleviation to your uncle’s disappointment to find a man like Colonel Lee preferred to him. Lee, it seems, had no serious intentions, and jilted her—and your uncle disdained to renew his suit.”

This account seemed to Fane to throw a good deal of light upon parts of his uncle’s character which he had hitherto been unable to fathom.

“Yes,” resumed Mr Payne, “yes; your uncle is a great advocate for marriage, and certainly ’tis all very well in its way, though, perhaps,” he added dubiously, in an under tone, to himself—“perhaps it may be done once too often.”

Here Mr Payne left Durham while he went up-stairs to visit his sick friend, and presently returned to say he had found him asleep, and thought he had better not be disturbed again. Shortly afterwards, finding Durham more disposed to ruminate over what he had heard than to converse, he bid him good night, and went to bed.

Fane’s meditations were interrupted by Miss Betsey, who came in, not altogether free from an odour of gin-and-water, to express her gratification at seeing him well. Miss Betsey was a thin old lady, with an unsteady eye, and a nose streaked with little veins, like a schoolboy’s marble. She wore on her head the most wonderful structure, in the shape of a cap, ever seen. It was a kind of tower of muslin, consisting of several stories ornamented with ribbons, and was fastened under her chin with a broad band like a helmet. Her aged arms protruded through her sleeves, which were tight as far as the elbow, and sloped out wider till they terminated half-way to her wrist, where a pair of black mittens commenced.

“Your dear uncle’s been bad, indeed,” said Miss Betsey, taking a pinch of snuff. “I a’most thought we should have lost him, Mr Durham; but he’s better now, poor dear. But there’s no knowing what might happen yet,” said Miss Betsey, shaking her head; “and I’ve had a thought concerning you, and him, and another, Mr Durham.” Here Miss Betsey closed her snuff-box—which was round, black, and shining, and held about a quarter of a pound of princes’ mixture—and, putting it in her ample pocket, laid the hand not occupied with snuff on Fane’s shoulder with amiable frankness, which gin-and-water generates in old ladies. “Mr Durham, your dear uncle’s never forgot your cousin, Master Langley—and ’twould be a grievious thing if he was to leave us” (a mild form of hinting at Mr Levitt’s decease) “without forgiving him. Couldn’t you put in a word, Mr Durham, for your dear cousin?”

“The very thing I intend, Miss Betsey,” returned Fane, “as soon as it can be done effectually.”

“Ah, Mr Durham,” the old lady went on, waxing more confidential, “your dear uncle’s fond of you, and well he may be, but you’re not to him what Master Langley was;—no,” repeated the old lady, shaking her forefinger, and looking sideways at him, “not what Master Langley was; and your dear uncle’s never been like the same man since that poor dear boy left us.”

“You seem to be quite as fond of him as my uncle ever could have been, Miss Betsey,” Fane remarked.

“Fond!” said Miss Betsey, “who wasn’t? He had that coaxing way with him that he could”—she completed the sentence by flourishing her forefinger in the air, as if turning an imaginary person round it. “Everybody was fond of him;—the maids (the pretty ones in particular) was a’most too fond of him—so much so, that it rather interfered with their work.”

Fane’s smile at this proof of his cousin’s irresistibility called forth a playful tap on the shoulder from the old virgin, who presently afterwards dived down into her pocket for her snuff-box, and, screwing off the lid, which creaked like the axle of a stage waggon, stimulated her reminiscences with a pinch.

“Well-a-day! your uncle’s never been the same man since. You don’t know, perhaps” (whispering in a tone that fanned Fane’s cheek with a zephyr combined of gin-and-water and princes’ mixture), “that he keeps Master Langley’s room locked up the same as the poor boy last left it, do you? There now, I said so,” giving him a gentle slap on the back, and retreating a pace, as he answered in the negative; “for all you lived here weeks together, on and off, you never knew that. Come with me,” added the old lady; “I’ve got the key, and we’ll go in there together.”

Fane willingly followed her, taking deep interest in all fragments of his cousin’s history. Arriving at the door of a room looking out on the lawn, Miss Betsey stopped, and, after some protracted fumbling at the keyhole, opened it. “Once or twice, when he thought nobody was watching him, I’ve seen your uncle coming out of this door with tears in his blessed eyes,” said she, as she entered, preceding him with the candle.

The rooms were, as Miss Betsey had said, just as their former occupant had left them. The pieces of a fishing-rod, with their bag lying beside them, were scattered on the table, together with hackles, coloured worsteds, peacocks’ herls, and other materials for fly-making. An open book was on the window-seat, and an unfinished sketch in oils stood on an easel.

“There,” said Miss Betsey, holding the candle up to a painting over the mantelpiece, “there you see the dear fellow taking a leap that none of the others would face. Your uncle was so proud of that deed that he got it painted, as you see—and a pretty penny it cost him. There were other likenesses of him here, but your uncle put ’em all away before you came from Indy.”

Fane approached to look at the picture, which set at rest any uncertainty that might remain as to his cousin’s identity with the rough-riding corporal. There was the same handsome face, only younger, and without the mustache. The same gay air and easy seat that distinguished the dragoon Onslow on horseback appeared in the sportsman there represented, who rode a gallant bay at a formidable brook, with a rail on the farther side. The work was highly artistic, being the production of a famous animal-painter.

At this stage of the proceedings Miss Betsey’s feelings seemed to overpower her. She wept copiously, and even hiccupped with emotion; and, setting the candle on the table, abruptly retired.

Fane lingered round the room, looking at the backs of the books, and turning over portfolios of drawings, which would, of themselves, have identified the hand that produced them with Onslow’s, as exhibited in the sketch-book of Orelia. Among these was a coloured drawing of his uncle—a good likeness—and another of the artist himself. Fane, looking at the bold frank lineaments, internally pronounced it impossible that their possessor could have been guilty of the mean and criminal action imputed to him. He pictured to himself, and contrasted his cousin’s condition before he lost his uncle’s favour, with his life as a soldier, and decided it to be contrary to experience that any one could, under such a startling change of circumstances, have behaved so well, had he been conscious of guilt.

After some time spent in these and similar meditations, suggested by the objects around him, he went out and locked the door. Passing the housekeeper’s room, he went in to leave the key. Miss Betsey appeared to have been soothing her emotions with more gin-and-water, for she sat still in her elbow-chair, with her wonderful structure of cap fallen over one eye, in a manner that rather impaired her dignity, while she winked the remaining one at him with a somewhat imbecile smile.

“Come, Miss Betsey,” said Fane, “let me see you to bed.”

Miss Betsey rose, and, taking his offered arm, they proceeded slowly along the passage together. “By Jove,” thought Fane, “if those youngsters, Bruce and Oates, could see me now, what a story they’d make of it!”

“You must make haste and get a wife, Mr Durham,” said Miss Betsey, whose thoughts seemed to be taking a tender hue—“though, to be sure, you’re not such a one for the ladies as Mr Langley was”—and here the old lady commenced the relation of an anecdote, in which a certain housemaid, whom she stigmatised as a hussy, bore a prominent part, but which we will not rescue from the obscurity in which her somewhat indistinct utterance veiled it.

Fane opened the old lady’s bedroom door, and, putting the candle on the table, left her, not without a misgiving that she might possibly set fire to her cap, and consequently to the ceiling. This fear impressed him so much that he went back and removed it from her head, and with it a row of magnificent brown curls, which formed its basis, and, depositing the edifice, not without wonder, on the drawers, he wished her good night, and retreated; but, hearing her door open when he had got half-way along the passage, he looked back, and saw Miss Betsey’s head, deprived of the meretricious advantages of hair, gauze, and ribbon, protruded shiningly into the passage, as she smiled, with the utmost blandness, a supplementary good night.

CORAL RINGS.[5]

Montgomery’s well-known lines in praise of the coral polyps have given these animals a tolerable share of poetical celebrity. Mr Darwin’s ingenious researches have invested them with a degree of importance which elevates them to the rank of a great geological power. These minute creatures are now entitled to a larger share of consideration than the greatest and most skilful of quadrupeds can claim. All the elephants and lions which have been quartered in this world since its creation—all the whales and sharks which have prowled about in its waters—have done much less to affect its physical features, and have left far slighter evidences of their existence, than the zoophytes by whose labours the coral formations have been reared. For the most colossal specimens of industry we are indebted to one of the least promising of animated things. Comparing their humble organisation with that of other tribes, we feel pretty much the same sort of surprise as a man might express were he told that the pyramids and temples of antiquity had not been constructed by Egyptians or Romans, but by a race like the Earthmen of Africa, or by a set of pigmies like the Aztecs now exhibiting in London.

Though the works now before us have been long in the hands of the public, the substance of their contents is far from being generally known. Yet the beauty of the results at which their authors have arrived, and the interest with which they have invested the coral reefs, may well recommend these volumes to universal perusal. While Dana, more than all his predecessors, has illustrated the natural history of the little gelatinous creatures by which the coral is secreted, Darwin has described the growth and consolidation of their labours into lofty and extended reefs, and connected these with the broadest and most striking phenomena of physical geology. The toiling of the minute zoophytes in the production of vast masses of coral rock which wall round whole islands, and stretch their mural barriers across deep and stormy seas, he has shown to be successful only through the conjoined operation of those wonderful physical forces which are now lifting and now lowering large areas of the earth’s surface.

Mr Darwin’s views not only exhibit a charming sample of scientific induction, but carry with them such an air of probability, that the most cautious investigators may subscribe to them without any particular demur. Being the result of very extensive inquiries, and confirmed by collating the peculiarities of many reefs, they are grounded upon a sufficient quantity of data to entitle them to reasonable confidence. We propose, in the present article, to indicate some of the principle steps in the theory which this gentleman has propounded; and that the reader may examine them consecutively, we shall imagine an intelligent voyager visiting the Pacific for the first occasion in his life. As he sails across that noble sheet of water, observing with a philosophic eye every object which presents itself to his view, he suddenly perceives in the midst of the sea a long low range of rock against which the surf is breaking with a tremendous roar. He is told that this is a coral reef; and having read a little respecting these curious productions, he resolves to investigate them carefully, in order to fathom, as far as possible, the mystery of their origin. As he approaches, the spectacle grows more interesting at every step. Trees seem to start up from the bosom of the ocean, and to flourish on a beach which is strewed with glistening sand, and washed by the spray of enormous billows. When sufficiently near to survey the phenomenon as a whole, he perceives that he has before him an extensive ring of stone, set in an expanse of waters, and exhibiting the singular form of an annular island. Launching a boat, and following the curve of the shore for some distance, he finds at length an opening through which he penetrates into the interior of the ring. Once entered, he floats smoothly on a transparent lake of bright green water, which seems to have been walled in from the rest of the ocean, as if it were a preserve for some sort of nautical game, or a retreat for the more delicate class of marine divinities. Its bed is partially covered with pure white sand, but partly also with a gay growth of coral—the stems of this zoophyte branching out like a plant, and exhibiting the most brilliant diversities of colour, so that the floor of the lake glows like a sunken grove. All the hues of the spectrum may be seen gleaming below, whilst fishes scarcely less splendid in their tints glide to and fro in search of food amidst this shrubbery of stone. A fringe of trees, consisting principally of graceful palms, decorates the inner portion of the ring, and when surveyed from the centre of the lagoon, this edging of verdure springing up in the midst of the Pacific presents one of the most picturesque sights the voyager can conceive. Indeed, as he contemplates the tranquil lake within, and listens to the dash of the surf without—as he runs over the features of this beautiful oasis in the wilderness of waters, we may pardon him if he almost expects to be accosted by ocean nymphs or startled mermaids, and indignantly expelled from their private retreat.

The whole structure is so striking, that the most careless observer must feel some little curiosity to ascertain its origin. Our voyager regards it with much the same sort of interest as an intelligent wanderer would display, were he to stumble upon a ring of blocks like those at Abury or Stonehenge in some distant desert. In order to pursue his inquiries systematically, he proceeds to note down the principal characteristics of the scene. The first peculiarity which arrests his consideration, is the circular form which the rock assumes. Though far from constituting a smooth and perfect ring, its outline is sufficiently definite to rivet the attention at once. Then he observes that the outer portion of the annulus scarcely rises above the level of the sea, whilst the inner portion—the bank on which the belt of trees is mounted—is not more than ten or twelve feet in height at the utmost. From this he infers that the agency concerned in the formation of the structure was probably restricted in its upward range. Next he notices that the ring itself—that is, the wall of rock enveloping the lake, though by no means uniform in breadth—is not more, perhaps, than three or four hundred yards across in any part of its extent: this seems to say, that the agency was also restrained by circumstances in its lateral expansion. Again, as he runs his eye along the whole sweep of the reef, he remarks that it is not quite continuous, the ring being broken here and there by openings, through one of which he himself passed into the lagoon. If he then endeavours to estimate the size of the whole formation with its included lake, he may find it in this particular case to be eight or ten miles in circumference. Should he stoop down to examine the material of which the reef is composed, he will discover it to be dead coral rock mixed with sand where it is not washed by the sea; but on breaking off a fragment where it is covered with water, he may observe multitudes of little worms, or curiously shaped polyps, which, incompetent as they seem, are in reality the architects of the pile. But perhaps the most significant circumstance to be noticed is the difference in depth between the internal lagoon and the external ocean. If he takes soundings within the reef, he ascertains that the water is comparatively shallow, the slope of the rock beneath the lake being tolerably gentle, and the depth rarely more than thirty or forty fathoms. Let him cross the ring, however, pushing his way through the belt of trees; and on trying the experiment in the contrary direction, seawards, he finds that the ground shelves downwards gradually under the water, until it reaches a depth of five-and-twenty fathoms, after which it plunges precipitously into the abyss. So abrupt, indeed, does the descent become when this point has been attained, that at the distance of a hundred yards from the reef he cannot reach the bottom of the sea with a line of two hundred fathoms. If, then, our explorer were capable of existing under water for a while, and could be lowered to the bed of the ocean, he would see before him an enormous cone or mound of rock shooting upwards through the liquid to a prodigious height, its summit being hollowed into a kind of cup or shallow basin, the rim of this lofty vase just peering above the level of the waves, and its interior being partially inlaid with a gorgeous and flower-like growth of coral.

Now, without glancing at minor details, it must be admitted that our voyager has stumbled upon a fine physical problem. As the Round Towers of Ireland have constituted one of the most perplexing questions on shore, so these coral towers of the tropics seem to present an equally perplexing mystery for the sea. In the course of his researches, however, he detects a circumstance which appears to be perfectly paradoxical. Climbing the cliff from the bottom of the ocean, he perceives that the creatures which produce the coral cannot exist at any greater depths below the surface than from twenty to five-and-twenty fathoms. Within that limit, upwards, the rock is covered with life; below, it is tenantless and dead. Yet, descending as the structure of coral does to immeasurably greater depths, the question naturally arises—how could the animal ever toil where it cannot even live? How has that part of the edifice, which lies buried in a region where no sunbeam ever pierces, been built by architects whose range of activity is comparatively so restricted?

Brooding over an inquiry, which only adds fuel to his curiosity, he proceeds on his cruise. He has already noted the prominent features of one particular reef, which exhibits a coral construction in its simplest shape—namely, as a ring enclosing a lagoon. He now falls in with specimen after specimen of a similar class, and carefully observes the differences in character they present. In point of shape, he finds that some are oval, others greatly elongated, and many very jagged and irregular in their form. Here is one like a bow, and there another like a horse shoe, whilst none can be said to be geometrically round. In regard to size, he meets with reefs which are a single mile only in diameter, and then with others, which amount to as many as fifty, sixty, or even more. If he compares the various rings, he observes that some are perforated by few openings, and in rare cases there are none—the fissures having apparently been filled up with sand or detritus, so as to form a continuous girdle round the lake. But, in other instances, the reef is so freely intersected by these openings, that the ring itself may be said to consist of a series of small islands arranged upon an extensive curve. In general, however, he perceives that the channels connecting the ocean with the lagoon are confined more especially to that side of the structure which is least exposed to the action of the wind; and as he is sailing within the region of the trade-winds, the portion of the reef which fronts the breeze and the billow perpetually, appears to be more lofty and substantial than the other. Glancing, too, at the bank which carries the fringe of trees, he observes that it never seems to rise higher than a certain level in any case whatever; and as he finds that it consists chiefly of sand and sediment, he concludes that it has been heaped up by the waves themselves. The vegetation, indeed, which frequently gives such a gay and graceful aspect to coral rocks, does not always gladden the eye; but where it is wanting, he infers that the circumstances which favour the dissemination of seeds or the growth of plants, have failed to operate as yet, but may, perhaps, in process of time produce their accustomed effects. Comparing also the depth of the lagoons with that of the surrounding ocean, he ascertains that the striking discrepancy which attracted his attention in the first reef he examined, obtains to a considerable degree in every subsequent instance: however shallow the sea may be within the ring, its depth rapidly increases, and frequently becomes quite unfathomable at no great distance without. Finding, then, that though certain differences exist in the formations he has already inspected, yet certain general features of resemblance invariably prevail, he concludes that all of these structures are due to the operation of a kindred agency. But here there arises another perplexing question. If he must admit—and the admission is inevitable—that the coral polyps have been the builders of these piles, how can he suppose that a number of small animals, each labouring separately, as it were, could erect an immense wall of rock, leagues in circumference, which, though far from regular in its composition, shall yet exhibit any marked approach to a circle, an oval, a horse shoe, or any other symmetrical form? Still more, how could they build, not one, but innumerable reefs, differing in various particulars, but all indicating some common principle of construction? How is he to explain the appearance of co-operation, where, from the nature of the creatures, he cannot imagine any intentional co-operation to exist? A troop of moles working beneath a field will never cast up a succession of hillocks in such a way that they will all combine to form a spacious circle, or any other regular and definite figure. If, therefore, he is compelled to believe that a number of insignificant creatures like the coral polyps are capable of executing such prodigious undertakings, wanting, as they do, the intelligence which enables higher beings to carry out a coherent scheme, he must look for an explanation, not in the _instincts_ of the animals, but in the _conditions_ under which they pursue their toils.

Hitherto, however, our voyager has only encountered reefs of one class—namely, “atolls,” or lagoon islands. He looks anxiously, therefore, in the hope of falling in with a specimen of a different description. He knows that if a process is too slow in its action to admit of direct observation, yet its character may probably be ascertained by comparing several cases where the same agency is employed—that is, by criticising the phenomenon in distinct stages of development. He proceeds on his voyage, and at length is fortunate enough to meet with a coral formation which varies in type from those already inspected. There is the same sort of ring springing hastily from the sea; but instead of an internal lagoon, the central space is occupied by a beautiful and populous island, leaving only a belt of water between the reef and the shore. Where all the elements of such a scene are sufficiently defined, a more charming spectacle can hardly be conceived. The land appears like a pleasant picture framed in coral. Round a group of mountains, forming the nucleus of the isle, there runs a verdant zone of soil—next comes a girdle of tranquil water—then a ring of coral—and last, a band of snowy breakers, where the swell of the ocean is shattered into surf. The island of Tahiti, whose mountains rise to the height of seven thousand feet, and whose greatest breadth is about thirty-six miles, is almost encompassed by a reef of this description. When this spot is approached so as to make the separate objects visible, the appearance becomes quite striking. “Even upon the steep surface of the cliff, vegetation abounds; the belt of low land is covered with the tropical trees peculiar to Polynesia, while the high peaks and wall-faced mountains in the rear are covered with vines and creeping plants. This verdure is seen to rise from a quiet girdle of water, which is again surrounded by a line of breakers dashing in snow-white foam on the encircling reefs of coral.”[6] Perhaps, however, the descent of the waves upon the ring—curling and chafing like coursers suddenly curbed—constitutes the most magnificent feature of the scene. “The long rolling billows of the Pacific, arrested by this natural barrier, often rise ten, twelve, or fourteen feet above its surface, and then, bending over it, their foaming tops form a graceful liquid arch, glittering in the rays of a tropical sun, as if studded with brilliants; but before the eyes of the spectator can follow the splendid aqueous gallery which they appear to have reared, with loud and hollow roar they fall in magnificent desolation, and spread the gigantic fabric in froth and spray upon the horizontal and gently broken surface of the coral.”[7]

With a reef like this before him our explorer may now collect some additional data which will help him a few steps onward in his inquiry. The distinction between a formation of this class and those of the former description, consists principally in the substitution of an internal island for a lagoon. Were that island pared away or dug out, a simple lake surrounded by a ring of coral rock would be left. The one structure would pass into the other by the erasure of the central land. But here again he has stumbled over a difficulty apparently as great as any he has previously encountered; for it would be preposterous to suppose that large areas or lofty hills could be readily expunged from the surface of the earth. There is a stage, however—call it rather a pause—in the reasoning process, when the great master of inductive logic recommends that, after having arranged all our available facts, and extracted from them all the inferences they can legitimately supply, we should allow the mind to take a little leap forward, just by way of venture, and see what conclusions it will suggest. In short, we are to send for the imagination, yoke it to the materials we have accumulated, and observe in what direction it will conduct us. Our explorer does this. He sets that faculty to work—with due discretion, however—and in a short time it hints to him that islands may possibly _sink down slowly_ in the ocean by the action of the subterranean forces. And if so, would not that explain everything?

He proceeds, therefore, to inquire how this supposition will work; for there are many conditions which it must satisfy, and many puzzles which it must solve, before its probability can be affirmed. In the first place, the coral polyps, as we have seen, can only operate within a limited depth of water, which has been roughly fixed at twenty or five-and-twenty fathoms. Mr Dana, indeed, considers that sixteen fathoms will perhaps measure the whole extent of the region assigned to the principal artificers. Consequently, when the creatures laid the foundation of any particular reef, they must have done so in shoal water, or in the neighbourhood of land. Next, where a small isle issues from a profound sea, it will in general be tolerably regular in shape; because, with relation to the bed of that sea, it must in reality be a kind of mountain: therefore, as the coral builders find the requisite range of water in the zone which encircles the shore, the reef they form will be tolerably regular too. Hence the circular or curvilinear outline which these structures generally assume. Then, if, after the basement of such a ring has been laid, the land should begin to descend slowly, the polyps must proceed to raise the edifice storey after storey, for thus alone can they keep themselves within the region of vitality; and here we have an explanation of the singular fact, that the reef, where it constitutes a true atoll, or coral-lagoon, usually ascends to the level of the sea. A singular fact we call it; because, if we consider how variable are the heights of any series of mountains on land, the equality of stature which distinguishes these marine elevations is certainly a remarkable result. If it were possible for some great giant to run the palm of his hand along the tops of the Andes or Himalayas, it would describe a very irregular sweep, rising or falling with every peak it visited; but were he to draw it over the summits of a succession of atolls, though these might stretch through a space thousands of miles in length, he would scarcely perceive any difference whatever in point of altitude. It will be seen, therefore, that the uniformity characterising these Alps of the ocean is a circumstance which our explorer’s hypothesis readily solves. But in raising their embankment higher, it is clear that the animals must build up vertically, and hence the abrupt or precipitous face which it presents externally towards the deep water. Landwards, again—that is, within the reef—the pigmy architects will labour more feebly, because it is found that the kind of polyps which exist in smooth still water are more delicate in their productions than their gallant little brethren who flourish amongst the breakers. This serves to explain, again, why there is an interval of fluid left between the rising reef and the sinking shore; but as the land subsides, the space which it occupies within the magic ring will obviously diminish, whilst the space covered by water will proportionately increase. The girdle of coral will not maintain its original dimensions, because the polyps will probably incline inwards, instead of building directly upwards; but the contraction of the ring will proceed slowly, because the wall is invariably steep seawards, even if it should not be altogether precipitous. Finally, when the island is fairly drowned, when we have got its whole body well under water, we shall have an enormous mass of coral raised by successive additions of coral skeletons, and resting upon a basis which may be hundreds of feet below the level of the sea. A zone of rock, constituting the rim of the structure, will just show itself above the waves, whilst within this zone sleeps a shallow lake, where the polyps, for various reasons, have not followed the growth of the ring with equal rapidity, or where the sediment deposited has not accumulated in sufficient quantities to fill up the interior. And when the lake is obliterated, as ultimately it may be, either by the labours of the feebler animals, or by the deposition of detritus from the reef, we shall have the platform of a new country where tropical forests may some day flourish, where towns and villages may hereafter arise, and where man may exhibit the strange and mingled play of virtue and vice, which has marked his footsteps from the first. “The calcareous sand lies undisturbed, and offers, to the seeds of trees and plants cast upon it by the waves, a soil upon which they rapidly grow, to overshadow its dazzling white surface. Entire trunks of trees, which are carried by the rivers from other countries and islands, find here, at length, a resting-place, after many wanderings: with these come some small animals, such as insects and lizards, as the first inhabitants. Even before the trees form a wood, the sea-birds nestle here; stray land-birds take refuge in the bushes; and at a much later period, when the work has been long since completed, man appears, and builds his hut on the fruitful soil.”[8]

Thus, it will be seen that the supposition of a slow descent of the land appears to meet the prominent requirements of the case; and however startling the assumption might seem when first suggested, yet the pressure of certain conditions, which this theory alone can sustain, renders its adoption almost, if not altogether, inevitable. But, says the explorer, if this hypothesis be correct, it should follow that, as the sinking isle may vary in altitude in different parts—as it may have several peaks or elevated districts—all these higher portions must be left projecting out of the water for some time after the lower lands have been entirely submerged. Accordingly, we may expect to discover coral reefs, containing within their circuit several small islands, the relics of some larger district which has died a watery death. And this is just what frequently occurs. The two isles of Raiatea and Tahaa, for example, are included in one reef. The group known as Gambier’s Islands consists of four large and a few smaller islets encircled by a single ring. The reef of Hogoleu, which is one hundred and thirty-five miles in circuit, contains ten or eleven islands in its spacious lagoon.

So, again, says our explorer, as islands are frequently arranged in clusters, it should follow that, if the areas whereon any of these groups were stationed, have subsided, whole _archipelagoes_ of coral reefs ought to exist. And some of these archipelagoes may be expected to exhibit a series of perfect lagoons, where the land has been fairly submerged; whilst others, where the process is less advanced, or the ground more elevated, ought to present a series of reef-encircled islands merely. Here also the theory is fully corroborated by facts. Low Archipelago is composed of about eighty atolls; and of the thirty-two groups examined by Captain Beechy, twenty-nine then possessed the internal lakes which we have seen are characteristic of this class; the remaining three having passed, as he believed, from the same condition originally to the dignity of closed or consolidated reefs. The Society Archipelago, again, consists of tolerably elevated islands, encircled by coral ledges, and lying in a direction almost parallel to the last.

Indeed, it will be readily imagined that the shape and character of the coral formations must be considerably influenced by the nature of the site upon which they are reared. They will assume different aspects according to the physical configuration of the land to be entombed. They must be interrupted where the water is too deep, or the shore too precipitous to permit the artificers to acquire a proper footing. They will exhibit breaches where the descent of cold streams from the mountain heights, or the presence of mud carried down by rivers, rendered it impracticable for the creatures to pursue their avocations. They may also adopt peculiar forms where the lowering of the ground may not have taken place gradually, or where, from some eccentric action of the subterranean force, one portion may have sunk under different circumstances from the rest. A reef may, therefore, be submerged in part, or, as in some instances, throughout its whole extent. Thus, in the Peros Banhos Atoll, forming a member of the Chagos group in the Indian Ocean, a portion of the ring dips under water for a distance of about nine miles. This sunken segment consists of a wall of dead coral rock, lying at an average depth of five fathoms below the surface, but corresponding in breadth and curve with the exposed reef, of which it is obviously the complement. Or a ring may be wholly submarine. The same group affords, amongst others, an admirable example of this in the Speaker’s Bank, which is described as a well-defined annulus of dead coral, let down into the sea to a depth of six or eight fathoms, with a lagoon twenty-two fathoms deep and twenty-four miles across. It is apparently a drowned atoll. Hence from these, or from other causes, such as the action of the sea, the killing of the zoophytes by exposure or otherwise, we may have several modifications of the model reef.

As yet we have only mentioned two principal types of structure—first, the _atolls_ or coral-lagoons; and, second, the _encircling reefs_. But we may here refer, in a sentence or two, to a third and an important class—namely, the _barrier reefs_. These are extensive lines of coral masonry, which pursue their course at a considerable distance from the shore, but with a degree of conformity to its outline, sufficient to prove that some relationship subsists between them. They do not, however, surround an island like the encircling reefs. The West Coast of New Caledonia is armed with a reef of this character, 400 miles in length; but in some parts it is sixteen miles distant from the shore, and seldom approaches it nearer than eight miles in any other quarter. This great ledge of coral rock is, moreover, prolonged for 150 miles at the northern extremity of the island; and then, returning in the form of a loop, and terminating on the opposite shore, seems to intimate that, in ancient days, New Caledonia was of much greater extent in this direction than it is at present. There is a still more magnificent specimen of the barrier reef on the north-east of Australia. This noble coral ridge is a thousand miles in length. Its distance from the coast is generally between twenty and thirty miles, but occasionally as much as seventy. The depth of the sea within the barrier is from ten to twenty-five fathoms, but at the southern extremity it increases to forty, or even sixty. On the other side, without the barrier, the ocean is almost unfathomable. The breadth of this embankment varies from a few hundred yards to a mile, and it is only at distant intervals that it is intersected by channels through which vessels may enter. It is a causeway for giants, and yet the architects were mere polyps!

It is time, however, that our voyager should proceed to verify the supposition his fancy suggested. As yet he has adduced no proof that subsidence is, or has been, the order of the day where its results are supposed to appear. He knows that mountains and islands must not be sunk by a mere assumption, however plausibly that assumption may seem to solve the mystery of the reefs. Now, it is an admitted fact that, in certain parts of the globe, extensive regions have been hoisted up, some suddenly, some slowly; whilst others have gone down in the world just as suddenly or as slowly. The coast of Chili and the adjoining district, as is well known, were once elevated several feet, throughout an area of perhaps 100,000 square miles, in the course of a single night. Sweden has long been rising in its northern portion, and sinking in its southern, as if it were playing at see-saw on a magnificent scale. But we want evidence from the coral localities themselves. Of course, from the nature of the case, the testimony must necessarily be somewhat limited; because the question relates to a tardy movement, operating through ages, and occurring in regions which may be wholly uninhabited, or else peopled by tattooed and unphilosophical savages. But there seems to be tolerable proof for the purpose in hand. For instance, in an island called Pouynipate, in the Caroline Archipelago, one voyager describes the ruins of a town which is now accessible only by boats, the waves reaching to the steps of the houses. Of course, it is not likely that the founders of that place would build their habitations in the water; and, therefore, it must be inferred that this spot is in course of depression. Such, according to theory, should be its condition, because it consists of land encircled by a reef—that is, of land which must all vanish before the formation can be converted into a true coral-lagoon. At Keeling Island, again, Mr Darwin observed a storehouse, the basement of which was originally above highwater, but which was then daily washed by the tide. Many other instances of the same sort might be advanced; but there is still more striking evidence on this point, perhaps, in the existence of certain reefs which may now be introduced as links in the theory, or rather as tests by which its validity may be tried. These have been styled “shore” or “fringing” reefs. They differ from the other classes in the shallowness of the foundation on which they rest, and in the closeness of their approach to the land—either lining the shore itself, or, if separated, leaving a channel of no great depth between the coral bank and the coast. Wherever these exist, it is clear that the soil is stationary, or that it must be in course of elevation. It cannot be undergoing depression, because the coral beds would increase in thickness, and graduate into another class of structure. And in many instances where these fringes abound, there is the clearest proof, derived from organic remains, and other geological evidences, that the land has been actually upraised. A resident at Oahu, one of the Sandwich Islands (which are all fringed), stated that, from changes effected within a period of sixteen years only, he was satisfied that the work of elevation was proceeding at a very perceptible rate. Indeed, in numerous cases of this kind, coral deposits are found at a height where it is as certain that the polyps could never have toiled, as it is certain that fishes could never have lived. But elevation in one quarter implies depression in another. And, accordingly, it has been shown that the Pacific and Indian Oceans might almost be divided into a series of great bands, where the bed of the sea has alternately risen and sunk—just as if in one band the crust of the earth had been heaped up into a great solid wave, and in the next had subsided into a huge submarine trough or valley. For it happens that the reefs abounding over one of these areas belong almost universally to the class of formation which, according to theory, indicates that the ground is subsiding, whilst those which distinguish the next area are quite of the opposite description, and intimate that the crust is rising. Thus, for example, if we select the broadest illustration available, it will be seen, on referring to a map of the Pacific, that there is an extensive chain of islands, beginning to the west of the Caroline Archipelago, and running through Low Archipelago—a distance of several thousand miles—the whole family of which belong to the type denoting depression; whilst there is another long chain of islands, corresponding or parallel, in some measure, with the first, and extending, say from Sumatra to the south-east of the Friendly Isles, most of which indicate, by their reefs, that they belong to the type denoting elevation.

The general coincidence, therefore, of fringing reefs with raised or stationary districts, and of atolls or lagoons with regions which appear to be subsiding, affords considerable support to the theory our voyager is maturing. But there is another remarkable criterion, which in due time he contrives to discover. In the districts where fringing reefs occur, or where the coral has been plainly uplifted, active volcanoes are frequently established. But where reefs of the contrary character prevail, these agents are rarely, if ever, to be found. Of course, where a volcano presents itself in any particular locality, and especially if it happens to be a volcano in a state of activity, this shows that the subterranean forces are disposed to upheave the soil above them; whereas, if volcanoes are wanting in another quarter, or if, being there, their activity has ceased, the conclusion is, that in this region no upward tendency at present exists. Now, this test, too, is in striking accordance with geographical fact. The two great chains of reefs already mentioned may again be adduced. In the series of atolls or subsiding islands extending from Caroline Archipelago to Low Archipelago, not a single working volcano is to be detected within several hundred miles of any moderate cluster; whereas, in the band or series of isles which are characterised by fringes, numbers of these powerful agents are busily engaged; and in some of them, as, for instance, in Java, the subterranean forces are known to be intensely energetic. In fact, it may be stated as a pretty authentic conclusion, that whilst volcanoes frequently appear in those areas where the crust of the earth is now, or has recently been, in upward motion, “they are invariably absent in those where the surface has lately subsided, or is still subsiding.”[9]

At the same time, it may be interesting to remark, that whilst busy volcanoes are thus shown to be irreconcilable with the presence of true atolls, yet at one period the theory most in fashion assumed that all coral-lagoons were mere submarine craters, whose rims had been coated with calcareous matter by the coral polyps. However plausible this hypothesis might seem when applied to a few particular cases, its insufficiency was soon discovered when a considerable number of reefs had been compared, and when the order of transition from one type to another was clearly understood. The vast size of some of these atolls—the elongated shape which many assume—the mode in which they are frequently clustered—the precipitousness of their flanks, rendered it difficult, if not impossible, to treat them as drowned Etnas or Heclas. Then the equal altitudes they must have attained as submarine mounts, is totally inexplicable, if the fact of the limited operations of the polyps be admitted; for it would be preposterous to imagine that thousands of volcanic cones could all rise to the surface of the sea, or within a range of five-and-twenty fathoms, and yet never overtop the waves to a greater height than a dozen feet. But, above all, the existence of coral rings, with land in the interior—where, if the theory were correct, a large cavity should have taken the place of primitive rocks, exhibiting no signs of volcanic action—has proved utterly fatal to the theory. It is manifest that Tahiti, for example, with its lofty mountains, could never have been the centre-piece of a huge crater; and it is certain that a volcanic vent would not assume the shape of a mere moat, like the girdle of water which encompasses an ancient castle.

Combining, then, the various data already adduced, and observing that there is a general harmony in the results, our voyager may reasonably conclude that his theory has now been mounted upon a tolerably fair basis of facts. He has explained the seeming paradoxes which thrust themselves upon his view at the earlier stages of the inquiry. He has brought all the different varieties of coral formations under the grasp of one law, and shown how, by the continued operation of a subsiding force and the continued addition of coral skeletons, the “fringing” reef would pass into an “encircling” reef, and this again would graduate into a perfect “atoll.” It is true that in doing this he has been compelled to draw a pretty picture of the fluctuations to which the earth’s crust is exposed. Large areas are supposed to sink in one quarter, and to rise in another. Here and there a spot which has once been lowered may again be uplifted; and this fitful movement may, in the course of ages, be repeated, as if to show what “ups-and-downs” a poor island may be called upon to endure. He knows, indeed, that his theory trenches upon the marvellous. Were it not for the light which geology has latterly thrown upon the pranks played by the Earth in its youthful days, he is aware that his hypothesis would be condemned as a thing far too romantic for belief.

But perhaps the most surprising circumstance, after all, is, that such stupendous structures should really be fashioned by such puny artificers. When he turns his attention to the builders themselves, he finds that they are little better than lumps of jelly.[10] The workmen, who far surpass, in the vastness of their erections, all the proud masonry of man, belong to the lowest classes of animated things. They are half-plant, half-animal. Until the commencement of the last century, indeed, their pretensions to a higher dignity than that of marine vegetables was denied; and when a certain M. Peyssonel interested himself on their behalf, and endeavoured to raise them to a higher position in the scale of organisation, his proposal was treated with much the same sort of derision as if he had demanded the admission of monkeys into the ranks of humanity. These zoophytes consist, in the main, of a mere visceral cavity, containing no distinct system of vessels, exhibiting no decided appearance of nerves, possessing no other senses than an imperfect touch and taste, and certainly manifesting no distinction of sex. They are simply digestive sacs, for which a troop of tentacles are continually foraging: they eat, drink, secrete coral, throw off young polyps, and die, without in general wandering an inch from the place where they were produced.

Of all living things we should least expect that creatures so imbecile as these would be able to run up great embankments capable of repelling billows which sometimes roll along in an unbroken ridge of a mile or two in length, or of resisting a surf whose roar may be heard at the distance of eight or nine miles. That a feeble zoophyte should have the power of breasting the waves of the Pacific, did we not know it to be a fact, would appear a more preposterous notion than that of the memorable lady who attempted to keep the Atlantic out of her dwelling with a mop. No other animals seem to possess a faculty at all approaching to this: none exhibit a constructive propensity which leads to such massive results. The bee, for example, produces more geometrical works, but we cannot conceive of a honeycomb as large as a county, or a mountain of cells as tall as Skiddaw or Snowdon. It would be absurd to dream of fabricating a reef of sponge, though, if its animal character be admitted, this creature will almost hold as high a rank in life as the coral polyp; nor would it be pardonable to imagine that such a miserable material could ever become the basis of a new island. The beaver, it is true, executes very extensive dams; he is an excellent carpenter—perhaps the most skilful four-footed artisan with which we are acquainted; but put him in the midst of a boisterous sea, to erect a great circular rampart fifty or a hundred miles in diameter, with the billows tumbling about his ears continually, and he might just as well have contracted to build the Plymouth Breakwater, or the Eddystone Lighthouse. In fact, if we consider what difficulty men have in achieving their simplest specimens of marine architecture, it may be said that, were a whole nation of human beings set to work in the Pacific, they could not accomplish one of the colossal enterprises which these morsels of pulp silently effect.

What renders the undertaking more surprising is, that these soft-bodied things have to _make rock_ for themselves; they have to provide the very stone which constitutes the edifice they build; they have not only to find straw to produce their bricks, as it were, but to procure the clay itself. The hard coral composing their edifices is the internal skeleton of the animals, and appears to be a secretion from their own tissues. Chemical analysis has shown that it consists principally of carbonate of lime—upwards of 95 parts out of every 100—including also small quantities of silica, alumina, magnesia, iron, fluorine, and phosphoric acid. It is remarkable, however, that this secreted matter is harder than calcareous spar or common marble—much harder, indeed, says Mr Dana, than its peculiar chemical composition will explain. “Using an iron mortar,” observes Mr B. Silliman, junior, “in the earlier trials, the iron pestle was roughened and cut under the resistance of the angular masses of coral, to a degree quite remarkable, considering the nature of the substance operated on. So much iron was communicated to the powder from this source, that recourse was had to a mortar of porcelain; and even this was not proof against wear, the porcelain pestle being pitted by the repeated blows. The more porous species, of course, were crushed with less difficulty.” Whence, then, do the animals procure the materials which they fashion into such dense and enormous piles? Here are millions of tons of calcareous matter heaped up by their agency, and yet there is no visible storehouse from which they can obtain any solid supplies. For as the land subsides, the builders of the reef are cut off from the shore: there is little but coral beneath them—there is nothing but water around them. It must therefore be from the billows of the ocean that the creatures possess the power of picking out the small quantity of carbonate of lime which the fluid contains. Their food may, of course, contribute to the supply; but from what source again did the minute animals they devour procure their stock of salts and earths?

It is singular, too, to observe how limited is the sphere of activity assigned to these creatures. In order to complete a reef, it is not sufficient that one tribe or species alone should be employed; the Madrepores, Astræas, and Gemmipores are the principal masons engaged; but each structure exhibits considerable diversity of workmen. There are some polyps, as we have seen, which love the contention of the surf, and thrive only when exposed to the play of the waves; there are others which covet a more tranquil life, and prosper only in the peaceful lagoon. Neither could change places with safety, any more than the reindeer could barter climates with the camel. A reef might almost be divided into a number of zones, in each of which a particular sort of coral polyp finds its appropriate habitat. The sea-front of the ring appears to be partitioned into belts, like the vegetable regions on the slope of a mountain. “The corals on the margin of Keeling Island,” says Mr Darwin, “occurred in zones: thus the _Porites_ and _Millepora complanata_ grow to a large size only where they are washed by a heavy sea, and are killed by a short exposure to the air; whereas three species of _Nullipora_ also live amidst the breakers, but are able to survive uncovered for a part of each tide. At greater depths a strong _Madrepora_ and _Millepora alcicornis_ are the commonest kinds, the former appearing to be confined to this part. Beneath the zone of massive corals, minute encrusting corallines and other organic bodies live.” Thus, even in the limited range allotted to these zoophytes, we have a minute illustration of the law which has been so admirably developed by Professor Edward Forbes—that the bed of the sea exhibits a series of regions, each peopled, according to its depth, by its peculiar inhabitants.

But if the creatures which are employed in the erection of the reefs are restricted to so narrow a field of exertion, a very peculiar provision has fitted them for the work they have to perform. This consists in what is called their _acrogenous_ mode of increase. If, for example, the zoophytes assume the form of a plant, it is not the whole mass which is alive, but only a very small portion at the summit and at the extremities of the branches. All the remainder of the stem and boughs has been converted into dead coral. To grow, with them, is therefore to mount. The skeleton of the young animal is hoisted upon that of its defunct predecessor. Some zoophytes, like the Goniopores, spring up in columns to the height of two or three feet; and to each of these coral pillars a capital of live polyps, two or three inches in extent, is affixed. Or if the creatures assume a more clustered or globular form, as is the case with many of the Astrææ, Porites, and others, the depth of life in the mass is extremely small. A dome of Astræas, twelve feet in diameter, is supposed to consist of a thin film of living polyps, extending not more than half or three quarters of an inch below the surface—a solid nucleus of coral being, in fact, merely coated with vitality. It is to this property of upward and outward growth that we must ascribe the prodigious power these animals possess. Their labours are _cumulative_; and hence, though in themselves the most insignificant of creatures, they are enabled to heap up tier after tier of skeletons, until the mountain which has sunk in the waters is rivalled by the monument they erect upon its site.

If we wish, however, to form some conception of the marvels which these zoophytes accomplish, we have only to remember that the coral formations in the Pacific occupy an area of four or five thousand miles in length, and then to imagine what a picture that ocean would exhibit were it suddenly drained. We should walk amongst huge mounds which had been cased and capped with the stone these animals had secreted. Prodigious cones would rise from the ground, all towering to the same altitude, and reflecting the light of the sun from their white summits with dazzling intensity. Here and there we should come to a huge platform, once a large island, whose peaks, as they sank, were clothed in coral, and then prolonged upwards until they rose before us like the columns of some huge temple which had been commenced by the Anakims of an antediluvian world. If, as Champollion has said, the edifices of ancient Egypt seem to have been designed by men fifty feet high, here, whilst wandering amongst these strange monuments, we might almost fancy that beings hundreds of yards in stature had been planting the pillars of some colossal city, which they never lived to complete. But the builders, as we have seen, were mere worms; the quarry from which they dug their masonry was the limpid wave; and the vast structures which have been calmly upreared in the midst of a tempestuous sea, are the workmanship of creatures which possess neither bodily strength nor high animal instinct. That duties so important should have been assigned to beings so lowly, is one of the finest moral facts science has unfolded. It is the function of the coral polyp, under the present geological dispensation, to counteract the distant volcano, and to repair in some degree the ravages of the subterranean fires. Its task is to fasten upon a sinking island, and keep its top on a level with the sea. The haughtiest of physical forces—that which sometimes shakes great continents—which lifts or lowers whole regions in a night—is often kept in check by the industry of these diminutive things. When the earth’s crust is collapsing, and it becomes necessary to fill up the vacancy, the commission is not given to any gigantic workmen, but a number of mere polyps are bid to labour upon the subsiding soil, as if to show that the Creator could employ the humblest of His creatures in executing the largest of physical undertakings.

THE AGED DISCIPLE COMFORTING.

Fear not, my son; these terrors are from GOD. Hast thou not heard how, when Elijah stood On Horeb, waiting while the LORD passed by, Before the still small voice, there came a blast That rent those ancient mountains? after the wind An earthquake, after that again a fire? Aye, when Christ visits first a sinful heart, The devils that abide there shake with fear; Who can abide his coming? I remember, (How could I not?) that, in his days of flesh, We—even we, who called ourselves his friends— As little knew him as dost thou to-day. In a dark night we sailed upon the lake, Alone, not knowing where our Master was. The night was dark, and dark our lonely hearts; A moon there was, but low, and blurred with clouds; Only upon the horizon lay a line, A level line of light, which, near and far, Marked the black outline of the eastern hills. Stern was our toil, with every art we had To speed our vessel; for the breeze had sunk, Or only came by snatches—till the rain— Then flashed the incessant lightnings, then the hills Rang, roared, as though the thunder shattered them; Then surged the waves against the opposite wind, Rattled our useless cordage, rent our sail, Rent, flapping in the tempest, and his might Seized on our boat, and drave it at his will. No man was free from fear; we knew too well Those treacherous waves; and He, whose master voice Had laid them cowering at his feet, like dogs, Where was He now?—In some lone mountain wood He communed with his Father and the angels, And knew not that we perished there alone. Alas! far otherwise when in the stern He slept, amid the hubbub of the storm, As if on priceless couches, in the pomp Of Herod’s palace; now He was afar, Each of us felt the terror of the night, And each one acted as his nature was. One fell to prayer; one muttered instant vows; Another lay and wept aloud; some few Deemed that the gale was transient, and sate still Watching their idle nets; some, bolder, strove To save the canvass, and the labouring mast. Amongst the band were two, forever first; One was a reverend man, of ripening years, Whose steel-grey beard fell on his fisher’s coat, Even to his belt; the other was a youth, Whose face, made ruddy by the genial suns Of five-and-twenty summers, always shone A God-wove banner of celestial love. These two were working still, to save the ship, When the cry rose, “A spirit!” There it walked, Or seemed to walk, the waters, and drew near. Then he that wore the fisher’s coat cried out; “If not to be afraid be brave,” he said, “When fear were preservation, be not bold; What men could do we have done; now let be, Lest haply we be found to fight with GOD.” Thus spake he; but we lay down, motionless, Struck by despair, and waited for our end: Only the young man bared his trusting brow. Then spake the Form majestic: “It is I; Be of good cheer;” and then we knew our Lord, And took him up into the ship with us, And fell before him worshipping, and said, “Ah, doubt is dead; ah, blessed Son of God!” Thus scant of faith were we, and ignorant That he was with us, when we saw him not, Or deemed him but some spirit of evil, sent To make complete the horrors of the night. Our hearts calmed with the waters, we were saved, And knew our Master’s power, and blessed his love, And, lo! were landed at the wished-for shore. H. G. K.

THE EXTENT AND THE CAUSES OF OUR PROSPERITY.

TO THE EDITOR OF BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE.

The majority of the Legislature and of the great Conservative party throughout the country have declared, either openly or tacitly, that our present commercial policy cannot be reversed; and, in the present temper of the people, such submission was almost inevitable. Whatever might be the convictions of Conservative statesmen as to the working and tendency of Free Trade, the expression of those convictions, and evidence, however strong, in support of them, would have fallen idly upon the ear of the masses, taught as they have been—and, indeed, are predisposed—to jump to the nearest conclusion, when tracing effects to their causes. They see the outward and visible marks of prosperity accumulating around them on every side. Blue books and merchants’ and brokers’ circulars at length speak the same language and tell the same story of a widely-spread prosperity, which every man hears boasted of in his daily avocations, whilst exulting Liberalism continually proclaims to the world the coexisting fact of free imports. It is of no avail to remind those men that the prosperity in question is not that which they predicted or anticipated; that it is not the prosperity meant by the men whose most loudly-urged inquiry was, “How can we compete with the foreigner, whilst food is at war prices?” It is of no avail to remind them that the foreigner has not, as was promised us, reciprocated our generous policy, and that the tariffs of the world are still maintained in their restrictive character; or to point to the palpable fact that we have not even that “cheapness” of all the necessaries and comforts of life, which was held up as the great boon to be achieved by Free Trade legislation. The arguments, assumed to be conclusive, brought to bear against those who still adhere to the principles which they have all along maintained, are that the commercial and industrial enterprise of the country is extending—that our population is fully employed—that the revenue increases in elasticity—that property of every description maintains its value—and that, through the length and breadth of the land, there is scarcely a cry of suffering raised which is not at once drowned by counter acclamations of satisfaction with the existing condition and prospects of the great masses of the community.

Whilst statesmen, however, are forbearing, and refrain from active opposition to the conclusions, be they founded on delusion or not, drawn by the advocates of onward policy in the direction of Free Trade, it is the legitimate province of the political essayist to investigate _facts_, which lie below the surface from which ordinary inquirers derive their arguments, and to take care that such facts are brought with sufficient prominency before the public. The _suppressio veri_ has ever been a favourite weapon of casuists; and when we see that a precisely opposite result is admitted by all parties to have followed the adoption of a given policy, it is reasonable to conclude that some suppression of the truth has taken place as to the facts, or that they do not legitimately lead to the conclusions drawn from them. We see at the present moment high prices of every commodity prevailing, whereas we were assured that low prices would bring them within the reach of the mass of consumers. We have dear labour in every department of industry, instead of the cheap labour which the capitalist made no secret of expecting as the result of free imports of foreign food. We have high freights for our shipping, both inwards and outwards, yet both Free-Traders and Protectionists prophesied low freights as the result of the repeal of the Navigation Laws. We have well-employed artisans, notwithstanding the anticipated displacement of their labour by the introduction of foreign manufactured articles. Lastly, the British farmer is not ruined; a good Providence has protected the tiller of the soil from the annihilation which was predicted for him; and he is enabled indirectly, by high prices of certain portions of his produce, to wring an ample reward for his industry from the consuming classes. The obvious inference to be drawn from such a state of things is that some circumstance or circumstances, previously unforeseen, have interfered to derange and falsify the calculations of both the great opposing parties in the country; and it is most desirable to know what are those circumstances, and what their past and probable future operation.

To arrive at the solution of these questions, we may be excused if we refer to a notice of the industrial and commercial condition of the country given in this Magazine in June 1851, or a little more than two years ago. At that period, as admitted by the circulars of our leading merchants, brokers, and manufacturers, we were in anything rather than a condition of general prosperity. Importation of foreign produce was unattended with profit, the export trade to foreign markets was equally unprofitable, and the home demand, both for produce and manufactures, was seriously restricted. With respect to the latter, an eminent Manchester firm, Messrs M‘Nair, Greenhow, and Irvine, reported in their circular of March 31, 1851—“The market is far from satisfactory. Complaints to this effect are very frequent, and determined resolutions _in favour of reducing the production of cloth of certain descriptions are becoming general on the part of manufacturers, who assign, with reason, their inability to render their manufactures remunerative. Vitality is wanted, and the absence of anything approaching to a demand for the country trade contributes necessarily to aggravate and deepen the dissatisfaction._” The Shipping Interest was at that time in a most disastrous condition, freights being reduced in many cases fully 50 per cent, and far below the remunerative point. Such was the condition of the country five years after the repeal of the Corn Laws, and two years after the repeal of the Navigation Laws. With respect to the latter interest, it is important to bear in mind that the low freights in 1851—particularly for long voyages—were very generally attributed to the competition of the American shipowner, who, having a valuable passenger and carrying trade secured to him by the new conquests of his countrymen in California, could afford to bring return cargoes from India, China, and the markets of the Pacific, at much lower rates than British shipowners. The changed fortunes of the latter class afford striking testimony of the fact that _their_ prosperous position, at all events, is not attributable to Free-Trade measures, or to legislation of any kind. A few months after the ruinous period to which we have referred, the country was electrified by intelligence of the discovery in our Australian possessions of wealth equal in amount, if not even superior, to that which was being gathered by the adventurers in California; and although at first doubts were expressed of the correctness of the intelligence, a large emigration to those colonies at once set in, which has continued to increase up to the present time. We ceased to hear of shipping lying idle in the docks of our leading seaports. We ceased to hear of our seamen entering into the service of rival countries. Our building-yards, both at home and in the American colonies, became scenes of unprecedented activity; and every branch of industry connected directly or indirectly with shipping, was placed in a prosperous condition. To enable the reader to form an idea of the amount of tonnage employed in this new trade, it may be stated that the amount of shipping which sailed from the port of Liverpool for Australia, since the first of January 1852, to the end of July 1853, was 175 ships of 138,500 tons register. These were exclusively passenger-ships. If we add 40 more as the number taking cargo or cabin passengers alone, which are not mentioned in the Government officer’s returns, we have in round numbers 215 ships with a tonnage of 170,000 tons, from the port of Liverpool, engaged in this new trade. The departures from London and other ports, of which we have not at hand correct returns, but which very materially exceed those of Liverpool, will swell the amount of tonnage to about 500,000 tons. Of the shipping from Liverpool, 52 vessels—in all, 46,000 tons—have been chartered by Government for the conveyance of Irish and Scotch emigrants chiefly, sent out by the Emigration Board. There were loading in Liverpool, on the 8th inst., 48 ships, with an aggregate tonnage of 33,369 tons. Moreover, from the nature of the trade, and the peculiar temptations which present themselves to our seamen to desert when they arrive in the colony, and proceed to the diggings, the wages paid them have been nearly double the average paid for other voyages.

Here, then, we have the prosperity of one great interest in the country distinctly accounted for, with which Free Trade has manifestly no connexion. Australia has saved the British shipowner from ruin; and it has done more. An increasing population, attracted to the colony from every quarter of the globe, have become large consumers of British products, and promise at no distant date to be still larger consumers. In the first six months of 1851 we exported to Australia 3,003,699 yards of plain calicoes, and 3,611,751 yards of printed and dyed calicoes. In the corresponding period of 1852 the exports were 1,453,079 yards of plain, and 5,683,822 yards of printed and dyed calicoes; and in the six months just ended they have increased to 6,856,010 yards of plain, and 5,751,431 yards of printed and dyed. This is in addition to the large quantity of these goods taken as outfits by emigrants, and the stocks which may have gone from our Indian and other markets. The hardware trade of Birmingham has been largely benefited by the consumption of Australia; and, in fact, there is scarcely a branch of industry in this country which it has not stimulated. Even the farmer owes to it much of his present position. The absorption of agricultural labour by the diggings of Australia, from which colony we derive the finest wools used in the manufacture of broadcloth, has, by raising the price of those wools, encouraged the substitution of an inferior article. This cause, and the great increase in the home consumption, a portion of which increase has been taken by emigrants in the shape of slops, blankets, &c., has contributed materially to raise the value of our own produce. The extent of this advance is thus stated by a leading firm in the wool trade in Liverpool—“The advance in the value of the various kinds of British sheep’s wool, from August 1851 to August 1853, varies from 30 to 40 per cent. Production has not decreased, but perhaps the contrary, while consumption is very much increased.” Farm produce of all kinds—butter, cheese, bacon, &c.—have found in the colony a new market, which has greatly contributed to produce the high prices existing at home.

If we turn to the manufacturing interest, we suspect it will be found that much of its present boasted prosperity is attributable to other causes than our Free-Trade policy. We have had a considerable increase in our exports of cotton manufactures during the first six months of the present year; but when we inquire to what countries this increase has gone, we find that nearly the whole has gone to four—viz., the United States, China, Australia, and the coast of Africa. The three last we may certainly exclude from the countries whose increased dealings with us are at all distinctly traceable to Free Trade. We have therefore to examine how far those of America can properly be so considered. The exports of cotton goods to that country, as given in _Burn’s Monthly Colonial Circular_ for the first six months of 1851, 1852, and 1853, were as follows:—

Plain Calicoes. Printed and Dyed.

First six months of 1851, 6,580,713 yds. 21,078,887 yds. „ „ 1852, 8,928,610 „ 22,144,002 „ „ „ 1853, 26,428,896 „ 49,478,800 „

The shipments to that country are still being made on so extended a scale that, whilst every sailing vessel which can be secured is promptly filled up at high rates of freight, the steamers are actually compelled to shut out goods, although the rates have lately been advanced to £5 per ton for those chiefly of the class called “fine,” which they are in the habit of carrying. It is calculated that there are at present lying in Liverpool for shipment by the “Cunard” line of mail boats, more cargo of this description than can go for three weeks to come; and the consignees of the American or “Collins” line had recently a lottery in their office, to decide whose goods were to go by the steamer then loading. To what cause, then, can we attribute this amazing increase of our exports to America? It cannot be the operation of Free-Trade measures in this country which has enabled America to take from us, in the first six months of 1853, twenty million yards of plain, and nearly twenty-eight and a half million yards of printed and dyed calicoes, more than in 1851. We have not extended to _her_, in particular, any material concessions since the latter year. We have not been greater importers of her bread-stuffs, or of any other article of her production, with the exception of cotton. Of this great staple the clearances from all the ports of the Union to this country, from 1st September 1852 to 5th July 1853, were 1,617,000 bales, against 1,577,160 bales in the corresponding period of 1851–2, and 1,285,173 bales in that of 1850–51; showing an excess this year of 39,840 bales over last, and 331,827 bales over 1851. This may account in part for the increased purchases of America from the British manufacturer; but, on the same grounds, she must also have increased her purchases from other countries; for we find that, whilst her excess of exports to Great Britain was 331,827 bales last year, as compared with 1851, the excess to “_all_ countries” was 533,386 bales, showing that other countries had also received increased supplies to the extent of 201,559 bales: and we are not aware that any of those countries have been legislating of late in the direction of Free Trade; The conclusion which it strikes us as most likely to be correct, as to the cause of our increased exports to America, is that something has occurred to improve the condition and enlarge the consuming power of that country. Such, on inquiry, we find to have been the case; for with the comparatively light import of British fabrics in 1851, what was the state of the American market for those fabrics? We have it thus stated by the _New York Courier and Enquirer_ of the 16th of April in that year, as quoted in the article to which we have before referred—“The very heavy sales made of domestic light prints have put an end to all inquiry for the foreign article; and _we do not know a case of English prints that will bring prime cost, whilst the majority must suffer a heavy loss_...... Nor is the prospect better for ginghams; _few, if any, bring cost and charges_.”

It is true that reference was made by the American writer to accidental causes, which were alleged to have produced this unprofitable state of business in 1851; but it is tolerably clear that there must have been besides a want of the power to buy—and it is the fact that there was such a want—compared with that which exists at present. The American planters have had, since 1851, two crops of cotton, in succession, larger than were ever raised before, which have been sold, especially the last, at higher prices than those which prevailed in 1851—a year of short crop, as will be seen from the following table, made up to the 30th ult.:—

Mobile Fair. Orleans Fair. Crop to July 5. 1853, 6¾d. to 6¾d. 6⅝d. to 7d. 3,172,000 bales. 1852, 5⅝d. to 5⅝d. 6⅜d. to 6⅜d. 2,963,324 „ 1851, 5¼d. to 5⅜d. 5¾d. to 5¾d. 2,273,106 „

The American farmer also has had this year considerably enhanced prices of grain of all kinds—cheese, butter, pork, beef, and other produce—for which large markets have been opened in California and Australia. Emigration has greatly swelled the number of the population, and thus increased domestic consumption. Employment throughout the Union is ample, every fresh body of labourers, as soon as they are landed, being sought out and engaged at good wages for the various railways, canals, and other public works, which are constructing in almost every state. California, with its vast mineral wealth, is exercising an almost inconceivable influence throughout the entire continent, enlarging and rendering more secure its monetary resources, stimulating domestic enterprise, and furnishing that which a new country most urgently requires—the means of extending its foreign commerce. It is not the Free-Trade policy of Great Britain _per se_, if indeed at all, which has rendered the United States better customers of Great Britain, but mainly the increased and unparalleled prosperity of the American people—a prosperity which, it should ever be borne in mind by the statesman, is coexistent with a strictly protected domestic industry.

In addition to the effect produced upon the industrial portion of the community in our own country by the increased demand for British productions to supply the wants of America and Australia, we must not omit to notice some other important circumstances which have been in operation during the past three or four years. We have recently been sending away to our North American Colonies, to the United States, and, for two years past, to Australia, large numbers of our population, and particularly of that portion of them whose position at home may be termed one of struggling for the means of living. Large tracts of land in Ireland, once thronged with this class, are at present almost literally unpeopled; and from England and Scotland many thousands of able-bodied labourers, skilled artisans, and small farmers, have swelled the tide of emigration. It may be said, with truth, that this is not a sign of prosperity at home. These classes confessedly left their native soil because it no longer afforded remunerative employment for their industry. Yet, indirectly, an increased prosperity has been the result of their departure, especially in our large towns and in the manufacturing districts. We feel no longer the pressure upon the labour market of continual immigration from Ireland to this country of a semi-pauper class, ready to accept employment at the very lowest rate of wages upon which life can be supported by the coarsest description of food. The visits of Irish agricultural labourers are now decreasing year by year; and although many still come to settle amongst us, and to partake with our own working classes of the advantages of continuous employment, they are no longer satisfied with that low scale of remuneration for which they were formerly content to labour.

The comparative dearness of what used to be their staple article of food—the potato—has driven them, during the past few years, to the adoption of a higher scale of living. They have imbibed, even in their own workhouses, the taste for aliments similar to those upon which the English labourer is fed. In proof of this change, which has been taking place in Ireland during the past few years, we may point to the fact of that country having ceased almost entirely to supply the British markets with cereal productions, and to its diminished exports of other descriptions of farm produce; for it is not true that this has been altogether caused by diminished production. The result is felt upon their arrival in this country, by the Irish emigrants speedily falling into the scale of living, and demanding the same wages, as our own labouring classes. To the causes referred to is, in a great measure, to be attributed the improved condition of those classes generally in every department of industry. Labour is no longer in excess of the demand for it, and commands a higher rate of remuneration. An additional portion of the working masses, too, have become consumers of both foreign and domestic produce and manufactures, and hence some of those marks of prosperity which political economists see in increased imports and customs, and excise receipts, and attribute exclusively to the operation of Free Trade. We have got rid of the surplus portion of our labouring masses; and, as the result, those who remain to us are better employed at better wages.

The operation of this change, so far as regards the revenue, the importing merchant, and the manufacturer, is much greater than is generally supposed. Below a certain scale of wages the working classes contribute almost nothing to the revenue, or to the profits of the importer, and comparatively little to those of the manufacturer; and the bulk of the population of Ireland had ever been hitherto below that scale, where they were in receipt of wages at all. Any addition to such wages, half of which at least is expended upon customable or exciseable commodities, tells immediately upon revenue and upon the profits of imports; whilst the remainder is probably expended upon the consumption of home productions, and thus further stimulates the prosperity of the producing classes. The comforts of life are sought for, instead of the mere necessaries being endured; and, virtually, an improvement in the condition of the labourer becomes a real increase in the numbers of the population. The United States are experiencing this fact in the immense consumption of every description of produce and manufactures by her prosperous gold miners in California; and Great Britain is experiencing it also in the consumption of the settlers in the gold regions of Australia. Our merchants had paused in their shipments to that colony. They feared that they might have glutted its markets. In doing this they had simply overlooked the fact, that a highly prosperous community consumes ten times the quantity of commodities of all kinds, which suffices for the wants of the same number of individuals prohibited by their position from indulging the tastes and desires natural to them. A few hundred thousand of diggers in Australia, with Anglo-Saxon habits, gathering each their ounce of gold per day, are equal to as many millions of rice-eating Hindoos in India, or opium smokers in the Celestial Empire.

Since these remarks were written, they have received a very striking confirmation from the circular of Messrs W. Murray, Ross, and Co., commission merchants of Melbourne, dated 20th May. After referring to the high prices existing in Melbourne, and the rapidity with which the supplies of goods which had arrived up to that date had been taken off, the writer proceeds, with respect to the apprehended glut to be created by the large shipments known to be on the way—“Great though the quantity of goods to come forward may be, it is yet equally evident that consumption will keep pace with, if it do not exceed, the import. The fact, moreover, must not be omitted out of the calculations of operators at foreign ports, that the exorbitant rates current in Melbourne have attracted such large importations from all the other Australian colonies, that the markets of every one of them are more bare of commodities than our own. The consequence will be, that as Melbourne and Sydney will be the principal recipient ports for foreign merchandise, large transhipments must be made to fill up the vacuum which our extraordinary demand has created. _The European population of the Australias is estimated at 600,000, the consuming power of whom is equal to at least three times as many in England. Therefore, the wants of a population, equivalent to 1,500,000 at home, have to be provided for._ The immense addition which will also be made to these numbers by the rapid immigration which is, and will continue flowing from the mother country and elsewhere, must also be taken into account. The average immigration has latterly been about 3000 souls per week. No diminution is expected; on the contrary, an increase is expected. Some idea of the probable increase of the population during this year may be formed from knowing the increase which took place during the last year in Victoria alone, namely, 100,000. _As respects our power of consumption, nothing need be feared by the foreign shippers; all the goods that come forward will be wanted._” When it is borne in mind that the bulk of the population, described to be thus rapidly increasing, have Anglo-Saxon tastes, and consume principally British articles of the best description, we need scarcely be surprised if present prices at home, especially of agricultural produce, are not only maintained, but very materially enhanced. We find, from the same circular, that Australia is diverting from this country a large portion of our usual supplies of flour, cheese, &c., which we should otherwise have received from the United States, thus accounting for the advance in prices in the British market already experienced. All other commodities, whether of British, colonial, or purely foreign production, are bringing enormous rates in that country. English products, however, such as butter, cheese, hams, bacon, &c., are those most materially increased in value; and large quantities must go out to meet the demand, thus trenching still more upon the amount of the necessaries and comforts of life which are at present within the reach of our consuming classes.

That, under all these circumstances combined, we have a high range of prices of produce existing, is scarcely to be wondered at; but, whilst we must decline to admit that such high prices are attributable to our adoption of a Free-Trade policy, we are rather doubtful of the fact that they are altogether the result of the undeniably-increased consumption of our population. Other causes are operating, which account, in part, for such high prices, irrespective of those which are urged by the advocates of that policy, and of those who attribute them to the prosperous condition of the country. We have had, during the present year and a portion of the last, decreased imports of some of the leading articles of foreign produce. Thus we have received in the ports of London, Liverpool, Bristol, and the Clyde, during the first seven months of 1853, only 100,080 hhds. and 13,065 tierces of West India sugar against an import of 122,300 hhds. and 15,685 tierces during the corresponding months of 1852. We have received of Bengal and Madras sugar 401,970 bags, &c. against 526,345 last year. From the Mauritius our receipts have been 777,900 against 708,730 mats, &c.; and from Java, and our other East Indian possessions 62,360 bags, &c. against 88,915 last year. Decreased stocks and advanced prices naturally follow such a state of things. On the other hand, we have both increased imports and stocks of Havana, Brazil, and other foreign sugar—which, however, being chiefly used for refining purposes and for export, is not so correct an index of the consuming power of our home population. We have a slightly increased import of colonial molasses, and a considerable decrease of stocks. Our imports of colonial rum have been 19,330 puncheons only against 23,450 puncheons last year, whilst the stocks are only 15,530 against 25,695 last year. The causes of this decline in the productiveness of our West Indian possessions, as well as in our imports from the East Indies, need scarcely be glanced at; and, as a just retribution, we find that the exports of cotton manufactures to the most important of the former—Jamaica—have fallen off from 2,413,611 yards of plain cottons, and 2,036,598 yards of printed and dyed, in the first six months of 1851, to 874,382 yards of plain, and 888,565 yards of printed and dyed in the corresponding period of 1853. Of another important article—tea—our imports during the first seven months of the present year have been less than in the corresponding months of last year, viz. 30,086,000 lb. in 1853 against 32,867,000 in 1852; and prices have been enhanced in part by the civil war going on in China, and by the effect of the reduction made in the duty by Mr Gladstone’s Budget. Dried fruit, which was cheapened by the Tariff of 1841–2, has advanced enormously in price; but the principal cause of such increase has been a blight, which has occurred during the past two years. The supply of many articles of home produce, too,—such as butchers’ meat, butter, bacon, &c.—has been limited by the wet season at the beginning of this year, which was unfavourable to every description of agricultural produce. All these are distinctly exceptional causes of apparent prosperity, as shown by high prices of commodities, and have nothing whatever to do with the question of Free Trade v. Protection.

It is not our intention here to enter into an inquiry as to the effect which the increased production of gold in California and Australia has produced, in inflating prices by enlarging the basis of our monetary circulation. Political economists of our modern school persist in treating the question of the currency as a bugbear; and in maintaining that the price of gold, irrespective of its increased supply, must remain, unlike that of all other commodities, _fixed_. It is useless to direct their attention to the effect upon prices which an enlarged currency, sustained by the golden treasures of California, has produced throughout the length and breadth of the American continent. It is useless to attempt to show them, although such is the fact, that the increased banking facilities gained by that country during the past two or three years have enabled her growers of grain, of cotton, and other produce, to maintain prices above what European and other countries could afford to pay, and to liquidate an almost continually adverse balance of trade. This much, however, the most strenuous advocate of the bullionist theory will perhaps admit: The mercantile community of this country, notwithstanding their imports have in the aggregate very largely exceeded their exports—thus inducing of necessity large exports of specie—have not during the present year, as we might have expected, been incapacitated by the position of the bank from holding their stock of produce. Money for commercial, and even for speculative purposes, has been abundantly afforded; and even in the face of a somewhat high rate of interest, advances on mortgage and for permanent investment have been readily procurable at reasonable rates. But for this circumstance, we could certainly not have sustained prices of imported produce; and our merchants, having been compelled to submit to the inflated ones of foreign countries, must have been utterly prostrated. The same reasoning applies to the internal industry of the country. Had money not been cheap, and easily procurable on _bona fide_ security and for investment, the vast amount of enterprise which has recently been manifested in the erection of new buildings, and new works of every description, in the drainage of our soil, in the beautifying of our large towns, and the health-producing improvement of their sanitary regulations, must have been checked, until, by a restriction of our imports, and something approaching to a general commercial bankruptcy, we had wrung back the limited amount of truant specie, upon which our currency is based, from the hands of the foreigner. We are not at all certain, however, for what period this pleasant state of things may last. For many weeks successively we have seen the stock of bullion in the Bank of England decreasing, notwithstanding the large arrivals from Australia and other quarters; and although this may in part be accounted for by the increased amount required to conduct the enlarged internal trade of the country, there can be no denial of the fact, that we are experiencing a serious external drain, required to meet our increased imports. For three or four months past the fear of a considerably tightened money market, as the result of such drain, has very greatly tended to repress speculation, which would otherwise have run into excess; and at the present moment anticipations of an advance in the rate of interest by the Bank of England and the large discounting houses are beginning to be seriously entertained.

We have, then, the following facts established with tolerable clearness—viz., first, that nearly all the most important commercial interests of the country have been placed during the past two years in a condition of great prosperity; and, in the second place, that our industrious classes are now fully employed, at good wages. But it cannot be admitted that the cause of such a beneficial change is altogether, or even mainly, the Free-Trade policy which we have recently adopted. Notwithstanding this fact, we are perfectly ready to admit that we cannot at present disturb that policy, or retrace our steps. A large majority of the public believe that the change in question has been produced by Free Trade. They cannot perceive the exceptional causes which have been in existence, or these are sedulously kept from their eyes. A large portion of our working masses, during the temporary cheapness which followed the first adoption of the system, which cheapness was increased by the commercial sacrifices caused by monetary paralysis in 1847, 1848, and 1849, became acquainted with luxuries to which they had ever previously been strangers. A population, whose staple food had been oatmeal in its various forms of preparation, became acquainted with wheaten bread, with tea, coffee, &c., and were enabled to resort more frequently to butchers’ meat. They found themselves enabled to be better housed and better clothed, as well as better fed. The change in this respect, which took place throughout the manufacturing districts especially, was most striking, and was dwelt upon as affording ample proof of the successful results of Free Trade policy, so far as regarded these classes, at a period when it was manifest that they were consuming every description of foreign and domestic commodities at prices which were ruinous alike to the importer and the home producer. It was only reasonable to expect that those classes, thus substantially benefited, would resolutely refuse to listen then to any proposal for the reversal of measures to which they were taught to attribute the increased comforts they were enjoying; and the same indisposition to do so continues to prevail now, with prices of all the necessaries of life materially enhanced. Any return to protection, however modified, is regarded by them as, so far, a return to their old diet, and to the discomforts of their previous condition. For any party to insist upon such a retrograde policy, would be to throw them once more into the hands of the political demagogues, from which they have, during the past few years, happily emancipated themselves. Without any legislative interference with Free Trade, however, the position of these masses is just now becoming materially changed for the worse; and notwithstanding the fact, which we have admitted, that employment is more abundant than at any former period, it is very questionable whether we are not threatened with serious difficulties and social disorganisation, arising from the efforts of the labouring classes to maintain themselves in that position which they have been taught was their right, and was the natural result of Free Trade. For some months past the temper of these classes has been in a state of almost universal ferment. With continuous employment superseding the intermittent employment of a large portion of them, demands have been made for increased wages, and have in most cases been conceded. We have had strikes of our dock labourers and porters for rates which were never heard of previously, even when three or four days’ work in a week was considered as affording a fair amount of the means of living. The same classes, on our railways and other public works, have given evidence of dissatisfaction with their position by similar proceedings. Handicraftsmen of every description have joined in the movement; and even the police of our large towns have shown a disposition to seek other avocations than those of wielding a truncheon for from 18s. to 21s. per week, with a livery. Throughout the manufacturing districts there has been, during the past three months, a large suspension of labour, the hands in one branch after another seeking advances of from 5 to 10 per cent, and in some instances attempting to impose conditions upon their employers. Turn-outs, of short duration, resulting in concessions to their demands, have served to show the operatives that they are now the most powerful body, and to lay the foundation of further aggressive efforts. Next only in importance to the increase thus caused in the cost of manual labour, the manufacturer has had to submit to a large increase in the cost of his fuel, to the extent, in some districts, of 15 to 20 per cent—the miners in most of the small-seam collieries, and in several of the deep pits, having successfully stood out for higher rates of remuneration. The iron-miners, especially in Wales, have followed the example of their brother operatives in other branches of industry; and in one district in South Wales it is expected that upwards of 20,000 of the working population will shortly be deprived of the means of living by the blowing out of furnaces by the masters, in the endeavour to resist the demands of their men.

There are two or three rather important questions which offer themselves for solution connected with these aggressive movements of the working classes. Are they the result of a confidence, on their parts, of power to coerce their employers? Is capital being compelled to relax its gripe upon industry? Or are these movements merely the defensive ones of men who feel that the comforts, which they have been recently enjoying through a factitious cheapness, are being withdrawn by high prices of the various articles of consumption? We believe that we must attribute them to all these causes combined. To this important part of our subject we entreat the earnest attention of our readers.

It is natural to conclude that the working classes must feel somewhat confident of the fact that, to a great extent, the pressure upon the labour market, caused by immigration of fresh hands into the large manufacturing and other towns, has been withdrawn. The surplus population of the agriculturists have either sought, or are seeking, new spheres for the exercise of their industry in other lands, which offer to them a surer prospect of permanent prosperity; but there is this striking difference between the present movement of our operatives and those of former years, that the opportunity for it has not been seized upon in a pressing emergency of the masters—that it is not confined to a particular class, or a particular district. It is, in fact, universal, and apparently unprompted. No demagoguism has been required to bring it about; and, with a few rare exceptions, we have observed characterising every conflict for higher wages the best possible feeling between the employers and the employed. So long as the latter remained in the enjoyment of cheap food, they were quiescent; and in the majority of the strikes which have recently occurred, the plea most prominently put forward has been the advanced price of all the necessaries of life. In some few cases only has a scarcity of labourers appeared to warrant a demand for advanced wages; and it is a remarkable fact that these have resulted from causes distinctly unconnected with Free-Trade policy. The carpenters in our shipbuilding yards, and other branches of industry connected with the shipping interest, have been enabled, by the increased demand for ships for the Australian trade, to command higher rates of remuneration, irrespective of the advance in the prices of food. The men employed in building trades generally—masons, house-joiners, bricklayers, &c.—have been placed in a similar position by the internal improvements, and the increase of public and private works, which a more plentiful currency has stimulated throughout the country. But the main inducing cause of the aggressive attitude of the industrious classes, as a body, has been the fact that employment, at the wages paid from 1845 up to within the past few months, was insufficient to enable them to keep up to the standard of living which the cheapness prevailing in the greater portion of those years had given them a taste for. The following comparison of the present prices of a few of the leading articles, which form the consumption of the working classes, with those existing in the corresponding period of 1851, will enable the reader to draw a tolerably accurate conclusion with respect to their condition in the respective years. We take the prices from the authorised Liverpool data, as this port may be said to regulate those of the manufacturing districts:—

│ 1st August 1851. │ 1st August 1853. │_s._ _d._ _s._ _d._│_s._ _d._ _s._ _d._ Good beef, per lb. │ 0 4½ to 0 5│ 0 5¾ to 0 6¼ (carcase), │ │ Good mutton, per lb. │ 0 5½ to 0 6│ 0 6¼ to 0 6¾ (carcase), │ │ Good American flour, │ 20 0 to 21 0│ 28 0 to 29 0 per barrel, │ │ Wheat, imp. average, │ 40 0│ 52 7 per qr., │ │ Butter (best brands),│ 74 0│ 93 0 to 95 0 per cwt., │ │ Butter low qualities,│ 65 0 to 66 0│ 84 0 to 86 0 Butter American, duty│ 32 0 to 40 0│ 80 0 to 87 0 paid, │ │ Bacon, best Irish, │ 44 0│ 60 0 to 63 0 per cwt., │ │ Bacon, American, per │ 38 0 to 44 0│ 46 0 to 52 0 cwt., │ │ Pork, American, per │ 55 0 to 63 0│ 72 0 to 85 0 200 lb., │ │ Cheese, American, │ 34 0 to 39 0│ 40 0 to 48 0 middling, 200lb., │ │ Cheese, Cheshire, │ 50 0│ 65 0 middling, 200lb., │ │ Sugar, good dry brown│ 36 0 to 37 0│ 36 0 to 37 0 colonial,[11] │ │ Tea, good congou, in │ 0 11│ 1 0½ to 1 1 bond, per lb., │ │ Tallow, per cwt., │ 37 9 to 38 0│ 52 0 Coffee, fine ord. to │ 44 0 to 58 0│ 45 0 to 84 0 good mid., per │ │ cwt., │ │ Oatmeal, Irish, per │ 25 0 to 26 0│ 23 6 to 24 6 sack, │ │

There has obviously been upon the bulk of these articles an advance of from 25 to 30 per cent; and this advance has been most signal upon the articles which the working man’s family chiefly consumes—bread, butchers’ meat, cheese, bacon and pork, butter, &c. With respect to tea, which has recently formed an important item in their expenditure, we have had within the past few weeks a reduction of the duty. This, however, has been nearly met by the increase in price which it now commands in bond. We had in July last a reduction of 1s. per cwt. in the duty upon sugar, and since 1851 the total reduction is 2s. This also has been more than met by increased price, in the average, at least, of the period between 1851 to 1853, for we find that the price of “good dry brown” was, in 1852, only 35s. 6d. per cwt. The reduction of duty on soap is neutralised by the high price of the materials. In order to ascertain, or at all events to approximate to, an idea of the extent to which the working classes have been affected by the changes of the past two years, we shall take the instance of an average family, composed say of a man and wife and three children, earning the advanced wages of 24s. a-week. Such a family would consume at present, according to the scale of living enjoyed by them two years ago, when commodities were cheap, as follows:—

Bread, produce of 21 lb. flour, 3s. 0d. Tea, 2 oz., 0s. 6d. Coffee, 4 oz., 0s. 4d. Sugar, 2 lb., 0s. 9d. Butter, 1½ lb., 1s. 3d. Candles, 1 lb., 0s. 7d. Coals, 1½ cwt., 0s. 10½d. Soap, 1½ lb., 0s. 7½d. Butchers’ meat, 5 lb., 2s. 11d. Bacon, 1 lb., 0s. 8d. Cheese, 1 lb., 0s. 8d. Currants, &c., 1 lb., 0s. 8d. Potatoes, 20 lb. (average price of 1853), 1s. 3d. Sundries, 0s. 2d. Rent, water, &c., 3s. 6d. ———— ————— 17s. 9d.

We have thus an expenditure of 17s. 9d. a-week for food and rent out of an income of 24s., leaving only a balance of 6s. 3d. for clothing, malt and other liquors, medical attendance and casualties. Such a scale of living may appear a high one to some parties, who have been in the habit of gauging the human appetite for the purpose of getting up statistics for union workhouses, model prisons, or model conditions of society. It will be found, nevertheless, to be pretty nearly that into the enjoyment of which our able-bodied working classes, pursuing moderately healthful though laborious avocations, rushed with eagerness during the period of cheapness resulting from the early operation of Free Trade. The cost of such a scale in 1851, calculated according to the prices of that period, would be about as follows:—

Bread, produce of 21 lb. flour, 2s. 0d. Sugar, 2 1b., 0s. 8d. Butter, 1½ lb., 1s. 0d. Candles, 1 lb., 0s. 5½d. Coals, 1½ cwt., 0s. 9d. Butchers’ meat, 5 lb., 2s. 3½d. Bacon, 1 lb., 0s. 6d. Cheese, 1 lb., 0s. 5½d. Currants, Mr 1 lb., 0s. 4½d. Potatoes, 1s. 0d. Articles in which no material reduction has taken place, 5s. 1½d. including rent, ———— ———— Total week’s consumption, 14s. 7½d.

Thus the working man’s family in 1851 were enjoying the same scale of living for 3s. 1½d. less than it now costs them; and would have had 9s. 4½d. left for clothing, &c., out of 24s. per week, if the same range of prices which were then existing had continued. Their present wages, however, have only been gained by them during the last few months. The utmost advance realised by any class of workmen has been 6d. per day; and such a family as we have instanced were called upon, by the increased prices to which their food has risen since 1851, to adopt one of these alternatives: Their wages of a guinea a-week, with 17s. 9d. of expenditure for food and lodging, leaving them only the insufficient margin of 3s. 3d. for clothing, medical attendance, malt liquor, &c., they must either have gone back to their old scale of living, or insisted upon an advance of wages. The allowance of wheaten bread must have been curtailed and oatmeal substituted; a less comfortable dwelling must have been submitted to; their consumption of butchers’ meat must have been stinted; and they must have resigned altogether the whole, or a portion at least, of the luxuries contained in their dietary—tea, sugar, currants, &c., to the serious loss of the revenue. They preferred, and happily for them they have been able to obtain, the latter alternative, an increased remuneration for their labour. It is clear, however, that large as this increase has been, it has not placed the working man’s family in any better position than they occupied in 1851. They have at present 3s. per week more to live upon; but their living costs them 3s. 2d. more.

This, however, it will be said, is only the position of a family provided with constant work both in 1851 and at present. We readily admit that there is a class below this who are very materially better off now than they were in the former year. The condition of the working man who has now four or five days per week of employment, where he had formerly only three days, is materially improved, notwithstanding the recent advance in prices of commodities. But this is precisely the class which has been most materially benefited by the emigration of their competitors in the labour market, and by the activity which has been imparted to the internal enterprise of the country by our discoveries in Australia, and the enlargement of the currency resulting from them.

It must be tolerably clear to most men that no portion of our working classes will readily submit to a reduced scale of living, either as the result, or the fancied result, of legislation, or from known ordinary causes. There is a further source of social danger in the circumstance that, having been taught that legislation had realised whatever benefits have accrued to them since the adoption of Free-Trade policy, they will be inclined to look to further legislation in the same direction for a remedy, whenever, through an advance in the price of the necessaries and comforts of life, or circumstances at present unforeseen, anything may occur to injure their position. They have tasted of those comforts; and they will insist upon enjoying them whatever other interests or institutions may have to be prostrated in order to bring about that result. Indeed, the Ministry of Lord Aberdeen, as shown by their policy during the whole of the past session, have impressed upon the minds of the working classes the fact that nothing will be permitted to stand in the way of further progress of the policy upon which the country has entered, or of cheapness for the consuming classes. With a view to relieve those classes, we have just witnessed an impost, which may be almost called one of spoliation, authorised to be levied upon the owners of our soil; and, ludicrous though its failure has been, the operation of the Chancellor of the Exchequer upon the interest of the National Debt may be only a prelude to what the fundholder may expect from a more unprincipled minister. We are not at all assured that even the national honour will be permitted, without a struggle, to stand in the way of cheapness of the necessaries of life. Happily society is at present undisturbed by the efforts of the political demagogue. Our Brights and Cobdens, and their “peace progress” associates, are at present too small a minority to dare embarking in an attempt to persuade the highest-souled nation on earth to embrace degradation. But signs and portents have not been wanting during the past two months, whilst we have been upon the verge of a collision with Russia, which, combined with the temporising course of her Majesty’s Ministers, ought to be seriously weighed by every patriotic man. The world at large, reading the tenor of our trade circulars, and looking at the same time at our tedious protocolling and negotiations with an aggressive power, may well draw the conclusion that England is more anxious for uninterrupted supplies of grain from the Black Sea than for the maintenance of her prestige as the leading power in Europe; and reflecting men may seriously ask the question—how long, in the present temper of the consuming masses, would a state of warfare be tolerated with patience? Unprincipled persons there are sufficient amongst us, who, although at present their bad passions are without a profitable sphere for their exercise, would willingly emerge from obscurity to undertake the task of inflaming the minds of our working masses, and who might probably do so successfully if they could point to dear food as the result of a manly and consistent foreign policy.

Whatever may be the future price of food—and we are satisfied that it must maintain its present, if not a higher value, as measured in gold—there is another reason why we may look for a prematurely advanced rate of wages in this country. The great American continent is now bridged over, as it were, by a constant succession of passenger-ships—“clippers,” whose voyages rarely average above eighteen to twenty days, and of which eight or ten sail every week from the port of Liverpool, in addition to those which go from other ports of the United Kingdom. The postal arrangements between the two countries are as regular as those between London and Edinburgh. A month’s time suffices to exchange communications between this country and the Far West of the United States; and £5 or £6 will suffice to convey the British labourer or artisan to the prairies of the Mississippi, the Ohio, or the Western States of our North American colonies. Moreover, it is no longer to a new land, or amongst strangers, that the Celt and the Saxon now go to push their fortunes, and find new scope for their industry and enterprise. A hearty welcome awaits them in these countries from friends and relatives who have preceded them; and, in a majority of cases, it is the success of these pioneers which furnishes their connexions at home with the means of emigrating. Whilst high wages and prosperity prevail in new countries situated as the United States and Canada are, and must continue for years to be with respect to the old countries of Europe, it is sheer folly to imagine that low wages in those old countries can ever be secured. The cost of a passage across the Atlantic for an adult operative is insignificant, compared with that of a strike of even a few weeks’ duration; and the dangers and hardships of the voyage are regarded now, as compared with those contemplated by the emigrant a few years ago, very much like those attending modern railway travelling as compared with that by “the heavy stage,” which our great-grandfathers patronised, when the journey from Edinburgh to London was advertised to be performed in a fortnight—“God willing.” To a far greater extent than our statesmen imagined we are committed to the fortunes, and bound by the rate of labour, enjoyed by the working classes of the American Republic. If Free Trade, as was boasted, has placed Manchester alongside the valleys of the Mississippi, the increased facilities now afforded for emigration have also placed our operatives in closer proximity to their highly-paid American brethren. Those classes in Great Britain will never again succumb to the dictation of the capitalist, whilst there is afforded to them a way to the prosperity enjoyed by their fellow-labourers in the United States and Canada. And here a serious question arises for the consideration of those politico-economical schemers who have built up their expectations of manufacturing prosperity and enlarged foreign trade upon the basis of cheap production in this country. Great Britain cannot spin and weave for the world whilst her labouring population have the wages of new countries thus easily open, as we have seen, to their acceptance. We may command for a time the trade with our own colonies. The abundant capital of our merchants may maintain our commercial predominance for a time. But colonies situated as Australia and Canada are—the resort of the enterprise of every nation—will seek to be independent. Capital, the Free-Traders reminded us, owns no allegiance, and may command the cheap labour of countries differently situated to our own. It is worth the while of our manufacturing interest, whose selfishness has been manifested in our Free-Trade policy, to ponder upon the probable future operation of those signal events, which Providence seems to have thrown in the way of the realisation of their ambitious designs.

But the middle classes—the men who exercise the franchise—surely these, it will be urged, are, and have been for some time past, in a condition of unqualified prosperity. The retailers in our large towns and boroughs, as distributors of commodities between the merchant, or the producer, and the consumer, must have been benefited materially by the enlarged consumption of the country. The assumption is a natural one, and yet it may be only partially true. The business of the retailer is one of which we possess no statistics. We have no means of gauging the results of his dealings. A larger amount of money may be passing through his hands now than formerly. Enhanced prices of every article in which he deals, independently of increased consumption of those articles, will account for his receipts being larger. But the great question to be solved is—are his profits increasing in the same ratio? It would be a healthy sign if we could find that the increased consumption of the country had operated to put an end to that ruinous competition which has for years past been going on amongst these classes;—a sign that the consumers, being in possession of increased means to buy, were willing to afford to those from whom they buy a fair remuneration for their industry and their capital. It would be most gratifying to find that puffery and clap-trap were declining amongst our shopkeepers; that frauds were less rife than formerly; that adulteration was no longer practised, and just weight and measure were universally meted out. We observe, however, none of these healthy signs of a profitable trade. On the contrary, we have evidence around us on every side, that the retailer has for some months past been placed, as it were, in a vice between two opposing conditions of the community, by whose custom he has to live. He has to fight against rising markets and dear labour on the one hand, and the determination of the consumer to insist upon cheapness on the other. For every purchase which he makes, he has to pay higher prices; and he can only extort these from the community after a severe struggle. He is, in fact, in the position of the traveller, who has no sooner surmounted one hill than he sees another on the path before him. It is notorious that this is always the case in rising markets. Every advance in the price of raw materials or other commodities is followed by a period of business without profits. Traders are withheld, by mutual jealousy and the fear of competition, from the necessary efforts for self-protection. Doubts intervene as to the permanency of such advanced prices. And when at length the step is resolved upon of demanding a corresponding advance from the consumer, it is frequently found that a further upward movement has taken place in the wholesale markets, which once more compels the retailer to resign the gain which he ought to derive from his industry. This has been the position of these classes during the whole of the past twelve months; and it is one in which capital is rapidly exhausted, especially in the case of men whose dealings are from hand to mouth, and whose means are limited. The tradesman of large means and extensive credit may buy a stock in advance of his consumption; and thus for a time protect himself from the loss which rising wholesale markets, unattended with higher retail prices, would occasion; but the small capitalist has no such resource. He is continually reversing the principle extolled by the Free-Trader, by buying in the dearest market and selling in the cheapest.

The severity of this operation of rising markets has been very greatly increased on the present occasion by the prevailing temper and opinions of the consuming classes, especially throughout the manufacturing districts. They have been taught that free imports were to bring about a permanently low range of the prices of all commodities; and they are disposed to regard and to resist high prices, as the result of speculation on the part of the capitalist, or undue extortion on the part of the retailer. When being charged 8d. for a pound of beef or bacon, which a year ago was only worth 6d., or 10d. for a pound of butter, which a year ago was sold at only 7d., they have regarded the extra charge as something approaching to a fraud. It is of no use reminding those persons that they are themselves demanding from the community a higher price for their labour; and that dear labour involves dearness of every product of labour. They are deaf to such appeals to their reason, and resolutely ignore every fact which tends to account for the high prices of which they complain. The prosperity which they contemplated, and believed that they had secured by free imports, was one which the consumer could monopolise. Each class seems to have imagined that the remainder were to be prostrated for their own particular benefit.

It is perfectly natural that, during such a struggle between the distributors and the consumers of commodities, and whilst competition was unabated amongst the former, no effort would be left untried by them to secure business and profit. The great object to be achieved was to induce a belief on the part of the consumer that he was not paying advanced prices, and was still in the enjoyment of the idol “cheapness.” This could only be done by the aid of adulteration, and deception of every kind; and never were these dishonest practices of traders more rife, throughout the manufacturing districts especially, than they have been of late. The price of flour began to rise towards the close of last year. From an average of about 21s. for the best quality of American, it has gradually risen to 28s. Was the price of bread advanced, in proportion, to the consumer? It was not—at least apparently. A less profit was submitted to by the baker and retailer; and wherever it was possible, just weight was withheld. For example, the small loaves, nominally of two pounds weight, with which the small shopkeepers are supplied for retailing amongst that portion of the working classes in the manufacturing districts whose payments are usually weekly ones, were not very perceptibly advanced in price, but decreased in weight. Twenty pounds of bread contained in such loaves were manufactured into twelve or thirteen, nominally of two pounds each, instead of ten. The price to the consumer of each loaf remained the same. Although tallow has risen in price at least thirty per cent, the price of the candles principally consumed by the working classes remained mysteriously almost the same. We have had this accounted for by the fact that dishonest manufacturers have been supplying equally dishonest tradesmen with the article in quantities, purporting to be pounds in weight, but, in reality, two or three ounces less. Thus, candles sold as twelve, fourteen, or sixteen to the pound, contain still _the number_ represented; but, as the buyer never asks to have them weighed, as he does beef or mutton, they are short of the proper _weight_. This practice has lately been shown to prevail throughout a great portion of the manufacturing districts, especially of the north of Lancashire and the West Riding of Yorkshire. The adulteration of coffee with chicory, it is well known, has prevailed so long, and the tastes of the consuming classes have become so accustomed to the mixed article, that the Legislature has had to submit to its permanent practice. Cheatery of every description, in short, has been resorted to by the dishonest trader, to disguise from the consumer the fact of dearness, and to wring a profit from the low range of prices which alone the public are disposed to tolerate; whilst the honest trader, who is not willing to descend to such arts, has been carrying on a continually losing business, and contemplating in despair the gradual absorption of his capital.

Unfortunately there are not in existence the requisite data to enable us to arrive at the precise position of these classes as compared with that which they formerly occupied. The humbler portions of them—the small retailers in our large towns and manufacturing districts—were never in the habit of attaining a place in that truth-telling and widely-read record, the _London Gazette_. They embark in their petty course of ambition, trusting to the enterprise which they feel stirring within them for a successful result; and when the reverse comes, and disappointment is their lot, they retire from the struggle, disappear amongst the classes from which they rose, and are forgotten. The other sources of information, with respect to the condition of these classes, have been so altered recently, since the extension of increased powers to the County Courts, that the means of an accurate comparison of any two periods are wanting. Moreover, the resort to legal proceedings, in cases of insolvency, is less now than in former years. Compositions and amicable private arrangements between creditors and debtors are found to be cheaper, and more satisfactory in their results, than the ordinary formal modes of proceeding. Hence the statistician, who would fain persuade mankind that nothing of ill exists in the world save that which such records reveal, can prate glibly of prosperity to classes, who, knowing the reality of their own position, must feel such prating to be a bitter mockery. The facts which we have shown above, as to the tendency of rising markets to decrease the profits of the retailer’s trade, are sufficient of themselves to prove that he cannot, at the present moment, be in the enjoyment of a satisfactory position; and we have the further fact to adduce, that at no previous period was credit more reluctantly extended to that class than at present. The merchant and the wholesale dealer are well aware, and watch well when the retailing classes are doing business without profit. They are aware when those classes are living upon their capital. And that a large portion of them are doing so at this moment, and have been so for many months past, is clear, not only from the increased jealousy of the wholesale dealer, but also from their almost general exclusion from the benefits of a money market which, up to within the last few weeks, might be fairly described as “easy” to most other classes. The extensive merchant who has produce in his hands to pledge, or the speculator who can raise capital of his own equal to cover the probable margin of loss to arise from his temporary investment, can command almost unlimited pecuniary accommodation, on tolerably reasonable terms. But the same facilities are not open to the retailer, who may for a time require an increase of his means. To this class money is always dear. It is to be had by the bulk of them only upon usurious terms. The retailer cannot command a capital by paying in to his banker small bills drawn upon his customers. He must resort to the Loan Society, to the Insurance Office, or to the moneylender, whose terms are even more ruinous than those of the previously mentioned parties; and it is a sad fact that such modes of raising money are more practised amongst tradesmen of the present day than formerly. We can scarcely glance over the columns of a newspaper published in any of our large commercial towns, without observing one or more advertisements of societies professing to lend money on personal security, repayable by instalments, the interest of which is seldom less than ten per cent; or of insurance companies, whose directors hold out to parties in want of money the inducement that life policies may be pledged, and the provision which might have been made, through the beneficial medium of insurance, for a widow or an orphan family, anticipated, for the purpose of bolstering up perhaps unprofitable speculations. There is known to be existing amongst the trading classes an underground ramification of involvements of this description, which would startle the world if it could be brought to light, as it is seen occasionally in the schedules of insolvents in our Bankruptcy and our County Courts. The most profitable business would not suffice to maintain a man who is paying ten to twenty per cent for every money accommodation which he may require in temporary emergencies, and is besides compelled from time to time to make up the defalcations of friends, between whom and himself a mutual system of guaranteeship for loans is constantly existing. The evil is not by any means confined to the small trading classes, but prevails as well amongst our working classes. We have loan societies whose accommodations range from £3 to £10 or £15, which the working man too frequently avails himself of to enable him to expend upon excursion trips, and other extravagancies scarcely justified by his station in life. We have, too, modes of anticipating the incomes of the working classes even less legitimate than the legalised loan societies. During this very week we find recorded, in a Manchester paper, the existence, throughout a large portion of the manufacturing districts, of clubs, the parties engaged in which pay small weekly instalments, as low even as a shilling or sixpence, and gamble with the dice, or draw lots for the privilege of having the whole sum—say of forty shillings or five pounds, for which they are responsible—advanced on personal guarantee. Another festering sore in the body politic is the present amazing increase, especially in the manufacturing districts, of what in the metropolis is called the “tally system,” but is elsewhere better known as dealing with “Scotchmen,” or “weekly men.” It argues little in favour of the provident character of our manufacturing operatives, that thousands of hard-working and industrious families amongst them purchase the bulk of their clothing from these men, at prices ranging from 40 to 60 per cent above the fair value of the articles, not only to their own manifest injury, but also to that of the legitimate trader. These men are to be seen in every manufacturing town and village, yard-stick in hand, and parcels of patterns and collecting-books protruding from their capacious pockets, perambulating the small streets and courts inhabited by our working classes, too often to wring their gains from simple-minded wives, whose husbands are unconscious of the indebtedness incurred, until made aware of the fact by a summons from the county or some other petty court of law. Not above twelve months ago _one_ of these Scotchmen in a manufacturing borough in Lancashire had no fewer than fifty cases for hearing in a single fortnightly session of the County Court there; and it is not uncommon to find upwards of one-half of the cases tried at these courts, in the manufacturing districts, to consist of actions for debts incurred in the manner we have described. So largely has the number of this class of traders increased of late, that they have become a distinct _power_, and, in some of our boroughs, can determine the result of an election—in favour of Whig-Radicalism, by the by; for your travelling Scotch draper is invariably attached to “liberal” politics. In one borough in Lancashire with which we are acquainted, it is computed that they possess, amongst their own body, no less than eighty or ninety votes; and at the last two elections those votes decided the results of the contests.

Under such circumstances it would be most rash, at any time, to assert the existence of great prosperity, either of the retail traders or of our manufacturing operatives, merely from external appearances, or from the ordinary tests of employment and increased consumption of the necessaries of life. We know that at present there do exist all the external appearances of such prosperity; but we know also that there is a restlessness being manifested amongst those classes, which is incompatible with a perfect satisfaction with their real position. We have to bear in mind always, whilst speculating upon the state of the small traders in particular, that they form a class whose numbers are readily recruited during a period of actual or apparent prosperity. Little encouragement suffices to induce the well-to-do operative, disgusted with the arduous toil required from him in his legitimate sphere, to embark in the apparently more easy avocations of the small dealer; and since we have placed so large a share of the political power of the country in the hands of these classes, it is most important that we should not be misled as to their social condition, and the amount of prosperity which they are enjoying. We have taught them to believe that it is within the power of legislation alone to command that prosperity for them; we have taught the working classes, too, that it is in the power of legislation to bring about cheapness contemporaneously with highly remunerated labour; yet we see abundant elements at work, which point to dearness in prospect as the result. We see the prices of raw materials and produce rising in every foreign market as the result, in part at least, of an increase of the precious metals throughout the world. We see foreign enterprise and industry everywhere stimulated by increased monetary facilities afforded to the masses of the people, whilst such increased facilities at home never extend below the privileged classes, who are permitted to negotiate directly with the banker and the capitalist. We see the bulk of the transactions of the country, and especially the distribution of food and other necessaries, falling day by day more extensively into the hands of those classes who can avail themselves of cheap money; whilst all below them the very nature of our existing banking system drives into the hands of the usurious lender, unless they are contented to restrict their dealings to little beyond the supply of their daily wants. What must be the course of the great masses of our population, should their present doubtful prosperity altogether disappear; or should high prices and reduced profits press them further than at present towards the necessity of curtailing their enjoyment of material comforts? It is not difficult to perceive that a demand must arise for continual further reductions of taxation, and consequent reductions of the public expenditure. We have gone almost as far as we can go in dealing with those duties whose removal is followed by such an amount of increased consumption as will protect our customs’ revenue from exhaustion. The numerous small items the taxation of which was well-nigh unfelt, although, in the aggregate, it was productive, are being rapidly swept away; and there remain none for the financier to operate upon save the few large imposts, the removal of any one of which would be almost equivalent to national bankruptcy. If interference with these is denied, a demand must arise either for such a diminution of the public expenditure as is incompatible with the maintenance of the national honour and security, or for a decrease in the interest of the public debt. Mr Gladstone’s financial abortions have shown us, with tolerable distinctness, that, in the existing state of our monetary laws, a permanently reduced rate of interest is inconsistent with increased imports and an enlarged trade. Whilst the specie, which regulates the quantity of money which is permitted to circulate, is constantly liable to be drawn away to meet adverse balances of trade, such as we have now with almost every country of the globe, a reduction in the pressure of our indebtedness is impracticable, except by a stretch of power on the part of the legislature, which must for ever stamp us as an unprincipled people. With the important question of the currency, however, we repeat that we have no intention of meddling in this article. Our object has been simply to examine carefully the actual condition of our industrious classes, and to endeavour to trace that condition to its true causes; we leave to others to draw conclusions, and to point the way to a remedy, should further experience prove that a remedy is required.

LIVERPOOL, _13th August 1853_.

_Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._

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Footnote 1:

_History of Scotland from the Revolution, &c._ By JOHN HILL BURTON. 2 vols. London: 1853.

Footnote 2:

_Wanderungen durch London_, von Max Schlesinger. Two volumes. Berlin: Duncker. London: Williams and Norgate. 1853.

Footnote 3:

_Curiosities of Modern Shakesperian Criticism_. By J. O. HALLIWELL, Esq. 1853.

_Observations on some of the Manuscript Emendations of Shakespeare, and are they Copyright?_ By J. O. HALLIWELL, Esq. 1853.

_J. Payne Collier’s alte handschriftliche Emendationen zum Shakespeare gewurdigt von Dr Nicolaus Delius._ Bonn, 1853.

The original text of Shakespeare has obtained two stanch and able defenders in the persons of these two gentlemen. Mr Halliwell’s competency to deal with the text of our great poet, and with all that concerns him, is, we believe, all but universally acknowledged—the best proof of which is the confidence reposed in him by the subscribers to the magnificent edition now publishing under his auspices; a confidence which, we are convinced, he will not betray by any ill-judged deviations from the authentic readings. Dr Delius’s pamphlet contains a very acute dissection of the pretended evidence by which Mr Collier endeavours to support the pretended emendations of his MS. corrector. It is characterised by great soundness of judgment, and displays a critical knowledge of the English language altogether astonishing in a foreigner. He may be at fault in one or two small matters, but the whole tenor of his observations proves that he is highly competent to execute the task which, as we learn from his announcement, he has undertaken—the publication, namely, of an edition of the _English_ text of Shakespeare with _German_ notes. We look forward with much interest to the publication of this work, as affording further evidence of the strong hold which Shakespeare has taken on the minds of Germany, and as a further tribute of admiration, added to the many which they have already paid to the genius of our immortal countryman.

Footnote 4:

The German translators Tieck and Schlegel adopt the reading of the first folio, _tongue_, for “gown,” and translate,

“Warum soll hier mit _Wolfsgeheul_ ich stehen.”

Dr Delius concurs with his countrymen, and remarks that the boldness of Shakespeare’s constructions readily admits of our connecting the words “in this wolfish tongue” with the words “to beg.” Now, admirable as we believe Dr Delius’ English scholarship to be, he must permit us to say that this is a point which can be determined only by a native of this country, and that the construction which he proposes is not consistent with the idiom of our language. Even the German idiom requires _with_ (mit), and not _in_, a wolf’s cry. We cannot recommend him to introduce _tongue_ into his text of our poet.

Footnote 5:

_The Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs._ By CHARLES DARWIN, M.A., F.R.S., F.G.S. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. 1842.

_The Structure and Classification of Zoophytes._ By JAMES D. DANA, A.M. Philadelphia: Lea and Blanchard. 1846.

Footnote 6:

WILKES’S _United States Exploring Expedition_, vol. ii. p. 130, (ed. 1852.)

Footnote 7:

ELIS’S _Polynesian Researches_, vol. ii. p. 2.

Footnote 8:

_Kotzebue’s Voyage_, 1815–1818. Vol. iii. p. 333.

Footnote 9:

Mr DARWIN’S _Coral Reefs_, p. 142. The only supposed exception to this remarkable coincidence, at the time when Mr Darwin wrote, in 1842, was the volcano of Torres Strait, at the northern point of Australia, placed on the borders of an area of subsidence; but it has been since proved that this volcano has no existence. Sir CHARLES LYELL’S _Principles of Geology_. 8th edit. p. 767.

Footnote 10:

This expression, as applied to many of the coral polyps, must be taken in a somewhat qualified sense. Many of them are of a fleshy consistence.

Footnote 11:

A reduction of duty of 2s. on foreign has taken place during these periods.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last chapter. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.