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BLACKWOOD’S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCXCV.      SEPTEMBER, 1848.      Vol. LXIV.

CONTENTS.

EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET; AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.

To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed.

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PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.

BLACKWOOD’S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No. CCCXCV.      SEPTEMBER, 1848.      Vol. LXIV.

A REVIEW OF THE LAST SESSION.

There is perhaps no body of men confederated in her Majesty’s dominions who are less properly the subjects of envy than the members of the present Cabinet. A session, begun under circumstances of unexampled commercial pressure, continued amidst insurrection abroad and turbulence at home, and ending with an Irish rebellion, ought surely to have exhibited some specimens of extraordinary and judicious legislation. Slovenliness in high places, at no time decorous, is most undecent, dangerous, and unendurable, at a period when the whole world is drunk with the revolutionary elixir. France, that old irreclaimable bacchante, is staggering to and fro, madly bellicose, and threatening incendiarism in her cups. Germany, once thought too stolid to be roused, is hiccuping for national unity, and on the fair way of contributing largely to the overthrow of the equilibrium of power in Europe. The Irish symptoms have by no means surprised us. The insurrection there is the inevitable fruit of the measures and policy against which, for the last twenty years, we have entered our strong and unflinching protest. The shameful truckling of the Whigs to O’Connell and his scandalous followers; the unconstitutional fostering of the Roman Catholic Church; and the conciliation system, which, while it did gross injustice to the people of England and Scotland, contributed to confirm the spirit of improvidence and pauperism among the Irish, without in any way securing their gratitude,—have resulted in a rebellion, imbecile, indeed, and almost ludicrous in its issue, but not, on that account, less afflicting to the supporters of order and the crown.

More than once, too, we have been threatened at home by manifestations of the insurrectionary spirit. In so densely populated a country as this, it is impossible that commercial distress and slackness can exist for any length of time, without trying sorely the patience and the fortitude of the working classes. Such distress undoubtedly did prevail, towards the close of last year, in a most alarming degree; and throughout the whole spring there was a vast want of employment in the manufacturing districts. The completion of some of the great lines of railway, and in others the partial abandonment or suspension of the works, caused by the extreme tightness of the money market, also threw a great deal of unemployed labour on the public; and this evil was increased by the heterogeneous character of the masses. Irish immigration has increased to such an extent, that not only in all the towns of Britain, but almost in every village, especially on the western coast, there exists a Hibernian colony; unreclaimed by civilisation—uneducated as the brutes that perish—knowing nothing of religion, save as an idolatrous form, and professing rebellion as a principle. This class have always formed a nucleus for disaffection, and, but for the extreme reluctance of the native labourers to fraternise with those children of Esau, the results might ere now have been more serious than we altogether care to contemplate. As it was, the British demagogue was always sure of finding a ready partisan, confederate, and coadjutor in the western Celt; and we need hardly say that the Chartist leaders availed themselves to the full of that sympathy. We shall presently see how far this state of matters received the attention of the men in power.

In this critical position we were entitled to expect that the government would have shown itself fully adequate to the crisis—that the causes of distress, which lie at the root of turbulence and disaffection, would be probed with a firm and prudent hand—that every possible relief and assistance would be given to the home market—and that, above all, nothing should be done which might tend, in the remotest degree, to endanger the integrity of the empire. The welfare of Great Britain is a terrible trust in times like these, and the responsibility of those who have professed themselves ready to govern, and who, in fact, have rather claimed the government than received it, is proportionally great.

Let us then take a candid and impartial review of the proceedings which have characterised this session of Parliament, extending over a period more fertile in insurrection than any which the world has known. Let us examine how Lord John Russell and his colleagues have acquitted themselves in the discharge of their important functions. We shall be sparing neither of praise nor blame: glad, indeed, if we can find an opportunity of being lavish of the former, or, in case of neglect, of stumbling upon an honest excuse.

Our readers cannot have forgotten the circumstances under which this last session of Parliament commenced. The commercial world has not, for very many years, felt any thing like a corresponding crisis; and the change is most remarkable, when we reflect that the depression followed immediately upon a period of almost unexampled prosperity. Our opinion is still unchanged, as to the causes which led to this. We pointed out, in former articles, long before the pressure began, what must be the inevitable result of a wholesale departure from our older system, of the adoption of the free-trading economical views, and of the arbitrary contraction of the currency, as devised by Sir Robert Peel. Every word we then said has been verified to the letter; and, as we expected, the very contingencies which we suggested as likely to operate in producing this unfavourable state of matters, and which actually did subsequently occur, have been paraded, by the free-traders and extreme bullionists, as the causes of the whole disaster. It is of great importance that the public should understand this subject clearly; and, therefore, without repeating what we have elaborately attempted to demonstrate before, let us merely remark that the tendency of free trade, and of fettered currency combined, was to prostrate the whole commercial world, on the first occurrence of a bad season and a scarcity of food, by stimulating the exportation of gold, and at the same time by withdrawing its representative. In fact, Sir Robert Peel constructed his machinery so, that the result, in the event which we have instanced, could be calculated on with mathematical certainty. The realised wealth of Britain was rendered of no avail in this emergency, for the counters which represented it were amissing, and nothing else would be received in exchange. Hence arose that total prostration of credit, and consequent lack of employment, which was so lamentably felt towards the close of the year 1847.

So intolerable was the pressure that, after much delay and repeated refusals to interfere, the Whig ministers were compelled to bestir themselves, and to suspend the operation of the Banking Act, in order to save the country from actual convulsion. Parliament was summoned about the middle of November, more, perhaps, for the sake of obtaining a bill of indemnity for the suspension—a measure which, after all, did not lead to any infringement of the Act—than with the view of boldly facing the increasing difficulties of the country. Notwithstanding annual disappointment, every one waited for the speech from the throne with the most intense anxiety, trusting that at such a time some comforting glimpses for the future, some earnest ministerial schemes would be announced, likely to retrieve the commercial world from its embarrassment. These expectations were destined to receive an immediate check. The financial prose of the author of “Don Carlos” was as vague and unsatisfactory as his halting tragic verse. There was, of course, a decent show of regret for public calamity, but no vestige of an intention to interpose any remedial measure. In point of finance, the only intelligible topic contained in the speech was ominous of the repeal of the Navigation Laws. Sanitary improvements, the great Whig hobby, which they are constantly thrusting forward beneath the public nose, were also recommended. Ireland, then testifying the humane and Christian disposition of its inhabitants, by a series of the most cold-blooded and revolting murders, was recommended to the benevolence of the state. A treaty with the Republic of the Equator, touching the suppression of the slave-trade, was announced; and the Whigs looked forward “with confidence to the maintenance of the general peace of Europe.” A more paltry programme was never yet submitted to the public eye.

The ministerial move in November, and the suspension of the Banking Act, for however short a period, was in truth a remarkable circumstance. If the suspension was right, it must necessarily imply that Sir Robert Peel was utterly wrong in framing the measure as he did. We know that the Act is useless for control in times of prosperity, and that it pinches us by becoming operative under adverse seasons; and it was precisely when the pinch was felt that the Whigs were forced to suspend it. True—a great deal of the mischief had by that time been accomplished. Men, every whit as respectable as the late Premier, had been driven into the Gazette for the sheer want of temporary accommodation, and property sank in value as rapidly as the mercury before a storm. But the true nature of the Act had been felt and condemned by the public; and in no one instance do we ever recollect to have witnessed a greater unanimity of opinion, hostile to its endurance and principle, than prevailed, at least beyond the walls of the House of Commons. If the public were wrong in this impression, then it followed as a matter of course that the ministry were highly blameable for the suspension; that Peel’s machine, being a sound and salutary one, should have been left to do its work, and to crush down as many victims as it could possibly entangle in its wheels. But in truth, very few could be found to support such a proposition. If credit is to be altogether annihilated in this country, whether by Banking Acts like this, framed and forced upon us contrary to the experience and in face of the remonstrance of the mercantile classes, or by anarchy and mob rule, as has been the case in France, we must prepare to bid an everlasting farewell to our greatness. Credit, it is in vain to deny, has made the British nation. Credit may, like every thing else, be pushed too far; but even over-trading is a far less calamity than a restrictive system, which in a day can destroy the accumulated profits of years, for the first carries with it its own antidote and cure. Peel’s banking legislation, we do not hesitate to say, has been productive of more harm to this country in three years, than has ever occurred from any known cause within the same period of time; and the obstinacy with which he has clung to his delusion, the sophistry which he has invariably employed to shift the responsibility from his shoulders, and the manœuvring style of his defence, may be consistent with the character of the man, but are not worthy of the dignity of a British statesman.

In suspending the operation of the Banking Act, the Whigs tacitly admitted that, in their opinion, whether lately adopted or not, there was something fundamentally injurious and wrong with the measure. The subject was a very serious one. You may bungle sanitary bills, pass coercive laws, or tamper with the jurisprudence of the country, without doing more than a limited amount of evil. But the subject of the currency is so intimately and vitally connected with our whole commercial greatness, that it must be handled with the utmost precaution. A leak in a ship is not more dangerous than a flaw in a monetary statute; and, when once discovered, not a moment should be lost in repairing it.

Not one member of the present Cabinet was in any way competent for the task. It is most extraordinary, that the Whigs, after all their official experience, should exhibit such a singular incapacity in every matter which has the slightest connexion with finance. They do not seem to comprehend the subject at all; and if their private affairs were conducted in the same slovenly fashion as are those of the public when unfortunately committed to their guidance, we should very soon see the Gazette adorned with some elegant extracts from the Court Guide. The only respectable Chancellor of the Exchequer whom they ever produced was Mr Baring; and he, it is rumoured, was considered too scrupulous to be admitted to that post again. Besides this, his views upon the currency were known to be diametrically opposite to those entertained by Sir Robert Peel. Sir Charles Wood, the worst financier that ever disgraced the memory of Cocker, had committed himself before the suspension of the Act, in an especially ridiculous manner. At one time, this gentleman was quite jocund and hopeful, a firm believer in the existence of a plethora, and smiled at the idea of a crisis with a happy air of mingled indifference and satisfaction. Shortly afterwards, however, he took the alarm, attempted to eat in his own words—an operation which he performed with most indifferent grace,—and possibly became dimly conscious that a Chancellor of the Exchequer has more duties to perform than to sign the receipt for his salary. Sir Charles evidently was not the man to grapple with the difficulty; and besides this, he could not afford to offend Sir Robert Peel, or give a triumph to his political opponents, who had all along denounced the Banking Act as an experiment of a perilous nature. In this position, the Whigs adopted the safest course for themselves, if not for the country. They asked for a committee, both in the Lords and Commons, to consider the question of the currency, taking care, of course, to nominate members whose opinions were already known. We thoroughly agree with Mr Herries, that the inquiry was a work of supererogation. The subject has been already investigated in every possible way. Blue books have been issued from time to time, containing an enormous mass of deliberate evidence; and that evidence has been repeatedly analysed and dissected by writers of great ability and statistical knowledge on either side. The public mind was perfectly ripe for decision—indeed, for months the currency had formed almost the sole topic discussed by the press; and it was peculiarly desirable that we should no longer be left in a state of uncertainty, or exposed to the operation of another panic. But such an arrangement did not suit the Whigs. They were not prepared to come forward with an intelligible plan for remedying the evil which they had already admitted to exist.—Not secretly displeased, perhaps, at the general impression that the Tamworth Baronet had committed a gross and unpardonable blunder, they were unable to dispense with his support, and extremely unwilling to give him umbrage—and therefore they took refuge in the convenient scheme of committees. In vain did Mr Herries, in an able and statesmanlike speech, point out the danger of delay, and exhibit the true causes of the distress which had lately prevailed, and which was still weighing upon the country. In vain did he implore ministers to face the question manfully. His proposal that the House should proceed at once to the consideration of the Banking Act, with the view of suspending permanently its limitations, subject to a wholesome control, was lost by a majority of forty-one. After a most lengthened examination, the committees have issued their reports; and the result is another difference of opinion, which leaves the whole matter open to renewed discussion. The session has rolled away, and the Banking Act is left untouched.

We presume that the most confirmed free-trader within the four seas of Britain will at all events admit this fact, that not one of the glorious promises held out to us by the political economists and gentlemen of the Manchester school has as yet been realised. We can hardly expect that they will be candid enough to confess the fallacy of the views which they then so enthusiastically maintained; and we doubt not that, in any discussion, we should still hear some very ingenious explanations to account for the non-advent of the anticipated blessings. But the boldest of them will not deny that, in the mean time, all the fiscal changes have been followed by a decline in our prosperity, a falling-off in trade, and a consequent defalcation of the revenue. We have certainly not gained in employment, we have lost money; and the best proof of it is, the low ebb of the national revenue. Such being the case, it is no wonder if the budget or financial statement of the minister was expected with the most intense anxiety, and if, for the time, every other topic was merged in the consideration of this. Political history does not contain many episodes equal to that famous discussion—many instances of utter helplessness like that exhibited by the Premier.

We have already analysed the budget fully in another article,[^[1]] and it is not worth while now to recur to it for the purposes of exposure. The deficit was estimated at no less than three millions for the year; and this large sum was to be made up by the imposition of an augmented income-tax. Considering what had taken place on the occasion when Sir Robert Peel first proposed that discreditable and decidedly odious impost, the assurances that it was to be merely temporary in its endurance, and the specious pleas of necessity with which it was then fortified,—it is no matter of surprise that the ministerial plan should have been received with symptoms of marked disgust, even by those who usually accord their support to the measures of the present government. Mr Hume opined that the ministry were mad. Mr Osborne declared his belief that, had there been a regularly organised Opposition, such a financial statement would have been the death-warrant of any administration. Even the Manchester section of the free-traders held aloof from ministers, just as cowards might do from the support of a drowning man. For however vexatious the admission might be, they were bound in common gratitude to have recollected that the change from indirect to direct taxation was effected mainly at their instance, and to gratify their everlasting clamour. That change had resulted in a huge deficit of the revenue; and, it being admitted on all sides that a revenue must be raised—for we have not yet got the length of talking openly of the sponge—they, at all events, might have been expected to say something in favour of their friends, at a crisis of their own producing. But there is no creature on earth so utterly selfish and devoid of compunction, as your thorough-paced economical free-trader. Point merely in the direction of his pocket, and he instantly howls with terror. Five per cent income-tax was as obnoxious in the eyes of Cobden and Bright as in those of other men who acted upon sounder principles; and it is not uninstructive to remark the course which on this occasion the ex-members of the League thought fit to pursue. It had been long apparent to them, as it was to every man in the country, that the revenue of the year must prove insufficient to meet the expenditure. They knew that the unpalatable fact, when announced in Parliament, would inevitably lead to a discussion regarding the policy of past measures, and the wisdom of persisting in a course which hitherto had met with no reciprocity from foreign countries, but, on the contrary, had been used to increase the burden of our embarrassments. Such discussion was to be deprecated and avoided by every possible means; and the readiest way of effecting this seemed to be the suggestion of a plan whereby the expenditure might be lessened and brought down to the level of the revenue. This very desirable result was not so easy of accomplishment; but nevertheless Mr Cobden undertook the task. The product was worthy of the author. The wise, politic, and sagacious principle of the calico-printer was to effect a saving by the material reduction of our military and naval establishments, and the weakening of the national arm. We hope our readers have not forgotten, were it merely from the disgust they must have excited, the silly and egotistic remarks of this complacent personage touching his travels, his observations, and his mission as a peaceful regenerator. Free trade, which ought long ago to have made Great Britain rich, had, according to his experiences, already pacified the world. There was to be no more war—the French were the most affectionate and domesticated men upon the face of the earth—and he, Cobden, and his friend Cremieux, were interchanging congratulatory letters on the advent of the new millennium. In our March Number for the present year, we had the satisfaction of bestowing a slight castigation upon Cobden, to which we beg now to refer those gentlemen who were so wroth with us for presuming to question the dicta of the oracle of the West Riding. Within a few days after that article was penned, Europe was wrapped in insurrection, and Cobden’s correspondent a member of a revolutionary government! The French free-trader, Cremieux, was a consenting party to the decree which drove forth the British labourers from France, without warning and without compensation! The barricades of June have demonstrated the affectionate and domesticated character of the race whom Cobden delighteth to honour. If to cut, in cold blood, the throats of prisoners, to shoot down the messengers of peace in spite of their sacred calling, to mangle the bodies of the wounded, and these brothers and countrymen, under circumstances unheard-of, save perhaps in the tales of African atrocity—if these things constitute domestication, then by all means let us fall back upon a more erratic and natural state of society. How would we have stood at this moment, with regard to Ireland, save for the fact of our being able to overawe rebellion by the presence of an overwhelming military force? Did ever a man, professing to be an apostle and a prophet, find himself landed in such a ridiculous and ignominious posture?

It is strange that the reception which he met with in the House of Commons, upon the occasion of his first attack upon the army, did not induce Cobden to pause before committing himself to a second absurdity. But there are some men whose conceit is of such extravagant a development, that no experience, no failure, no argument, will induce them to part with one iota of a preconceived opinion. Such a person is Cobden. Unabashed by the result of his previous exhibitions, callous to shame, and impenetrable to ridicule, he again addressed the House on the subject of the navy estimates, for the purpose of demonstrating the propriety of an immediate reduction of the fleet. This was too much even for Lord John Russell, who for once took heart of grace, and administered a fair allowance of punishment to the arrogant and ignorant free-trader. But the truth is, Mr Cobden’s career is ended. The Times, once a warm admirer of this confident gentleman, has ceased to vouchsafe him its protection, as will be seen from the following extract of 11th August last:—

“What has he done? What have been his tactics? What is the sum and substance of the statesmanship to which all the world looked forward so anxiously? Simply this—a depreciation of our military and naval establishments, and an emulation of America. The first constitutes the whole gist and pith of the honourable member’s speeches; the latter, of his policy. England is to disband her fleets and armies, to give up her colonies, and to enter boldly on a course of Yankee statesmanship. We would not wrong the hon. gentleman. We refer to his speeches on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, as well as those delivered at the close of the last year. What do they amount to? ‘Retrench your expenditure; give up your ships; abolish the ordnance; send round embassies to every country and court of Europe; tell them you have disarmed; ask them to do the same; and then set to work, and tinker up your constitution on the model of the United States. Do away with open voting. Destroy the privilege of the suffrage; abolish the virtue of patriotic courage; give every man a vote, and make every man vote in secret. Then you will be rich and prosperous; your expenditure will at once be curtailed, and your commerce will be diffused by the amity of nations.’ This is the policy which is to save us from ruin, to pay our debt and confirm our strength. All that we can say is, that one part of it is well matched to the other; that both equally demonstrate the ability of the counsellor to advise, as his vaticinations last winter proved his ability to prophesy.”

And yet this is the person whom the Whigs lauded, and whom Sir Robert Peel elaborately eulogised for his sagacity!

By a somewhat curious coincidence, the budget was brought forward on the very week when the French revolution broke out. Mr Cobden’s proposal, therefore, met with no support; and it must have become evident, even to the free-traders, that under such a threatening aspect as the Continent presented, no sane man would agree to a reduction in our military force. Still that party continued inflexibly opposed to the ministerial measure for raising an adequate revenue, and, by doing so, we maintain that they were guilty of an act of political ingratitude. In this situation, ministers were fain to withdraw their proposal, and to continue the income-tax as formerly, for a period of three years, without any definite scheme of making up for the deficiency in the revenue.

In fact, the session has passed away without a budget at all. That which Lord John Russell tabled, has crumbled away like a thing of gossamer; and, so far as financial matters are concerned, we are left in the pleasant impression that we are getting into further debt, and have no distinct means of paying it. To exhibit the recklessness with which the Whigs regard all matters connected with revenue, it is sufficient to remark, that with three millions of deficit admitted, our rulers think this an advantageous and a proper time to sacrifice about fifty thousand pounds annually, the produce of duties upon imported copper ore.

Mr Osborne was right. No ministry, had there been a decent Opposition, could have stood such an exposure. We even go further; for we believe that—but for the French revolution, and the universal turbulence abroad, which rendered it absolutely necessary that this country should maintain a firm front, and exhibit no symptoms of internal weakness or discord—the present ministry could not have existed for another fortnight. As it is, we are in some respects glad that they have continued in office; because, though late, they have been called upon to act under circumstances which, in future, may give a new and improved tone to Whig political opinions.

Before quitting the budget, let us say a word or two regarding future financial prospects. It is no doubt possible that trade may revive—though, from the present aspect of European affairs, we are not inclined to be at all sanguine in our expectations. We cannot, it is quite clear, reduce our effective establishments; for no one can say what emergency may arise to make us, not mere spectators, but active partisans in a contest which we shall deeply and long deplore. Economy we may practise at home, and for once we are of Joseph’s mind. There are items in our civil and pension list clearly superfluous and undefensible, and we wish to see these removed, though with a just regard to vested interests and claims. We are no admirers of such antiquated offices as that of Hereditary Grand Falconer; and we think that Mr MacGregor’s inquiry, as to the heirs of the Duke of Schomberg, who for a century and a half have been billeted upon the country to the tune of three thousand a-year, deserved at least a courteous reply from so very determined an economist as the Premier formerly proclaimed himself. A doorkeeper may surely be maintained at a less annual expense than the income of a country gentleman; and in many departments even of government, we have certainly been over lavish of remuneration. But these retrenchments, though they may give satisfaction to the nation, can never free it from its embarrassments. The revenue has clearly sunk to a point when it must be augmented by some decided and effective measure; and it will well become us all to consider, even without reference to past disputes, from what quarter the supply is to come. If the decision, or at all events the expressed feeling, of the House of Commons can be taken as an index of the popular wish, the nation will not submit to an augmentation of the income-tax. No increased duties upon excise can be levied,—indeed the cry is general for the removal of those which exist. The window-tax—though it might be materially improved by a more equitable arrangement, and by rating great houses without any graduated scale—is decidedly unpopular. In fact, all direct taxation is of an obnoxious character—it is the fertile source of murmur and of discontent, and it never can be adjusted so as to render it palatable to the payer.

From what quarter, then, is it possible for us to recruit our revenue? How are we to provide for casualties, and for a possibly increased expenditure? That question must be solved in one way or the other, and that without lack of time. It will not do to go on from year to year with a continually increasing deficit, the arrears of which shall be passed to the capital of our national debt—we must raise money, and the only question is, how to do it.

Within the last six years, says Sir Charles Wood, the nation has remitted seven and a half millions of annual taxation: since the peace, says Lord John Russell, more than thirty-nine millions of annual taxes have been removed. Highly satisfactory this, no doubt—but what does it prove? Simply that we have pushed the abolition of indirect taxation too far. We have gone on, year after year, lowering tariffs, for the purpose of stimulating foreign trade. We have thereby unquestionably increased our imports, but we have failed in giving any thing like a corresponding buoyancy to our exports. Why we did this is not very difficult of comprehension, if we look attentively to the state of party which has subsisted for the last few years in this country.

Free-trade, in so far as it lessens the cost of production, is clearly the interest of the master-manufacturer who exports for the foreign market; but, we repeat, it is the interest of no one else in the community. Free-trade in certain articles,—that is, in raw material introduced to this country for the purpose of being manufactured, sold at home, or exported—is just and commendable. Free-trade in what are called the necessaries of life, such as corn and cattle, does not tend to the wealth of the country; but, for the present, we shall leave that subject in abeyance. Free-trade in luxuries and in manufactured goods, whenever these latter displace the home labourer in the home market, we hold to be utterly injurious, and we shall presently state our reasons.

The Manchester school have adopted, preached, and insisted upon free trade in all these branches. It was their interest to push the cotton trade to its utmost possible limits, and to undersell all competitors in every accessible market. Hence their favourite doctrine of cheapness, which in appearance is so plausible, but which actually is so fallacious, and the pertinacity with which they have continued to preach it up. Hence the League, in the formation of which they displayed such undoubted energy, and the immense sums which they lavished for the popular promulgation of their creed. To conciliate these men, swollen to a formidable number, and maintaining their opinions with extreme plausibility, and no ordinary share of talent, became an important object to the leaders who were then at the head of the two great parties of the state. It is in vain to deny that a large body of the middle classes were concerned in this movement, and, to gain their votes and support, the unholy race for power began.

Hence our legislation, whether under Peel or Russell, has been directed for the last six or seven years invariably to one point. The man who could boast of having removed the greatest amount of taxation was sure to be the popular favourite; and we all know in what manner, and by what means, Sir Robert Peel accomplished his share of the work. He first, on the assurance that it was to be merely temporary, obtained an income-tax, amply sufficient to redeem the financial deficit which was the legacy of his predecessors. He next proceeded to make that income-tax permanent, by paring at, and reducing the tariffs; and finally, in order that his rival might not have the start of him in popularity, he threw his party overboard, and consented to the abolition of the corn-laws.

But there is a point beyond which taxation cannot possibly be remitted; and that point Sir Robert Peel had reached before he retired from office. True, the effect of his measures had not yet become apparent, but they were foreseen by many, and perhaps not unsuspected by himself towards the close of his tenure of office. Further than as being consenting parties to those reckless sacrifices of revenue, it would be unfair to charge the Whigs with having brought us into our present perplexity. Sir Robert Peel is the real author of this, and he cannot escape the responsibility.

Now upon two points—viz., the introduction of raw material for manufacture, and of articles of food—we shall for the present forbear joining issue with the free-traders. But the third one, that of the admission of foreign manufactured goods at nearly nominal rates of duty, is far too important to be passed over, even at the risk of repetition.

The industry of this country is not confined to a few, but flows through a thousand channels. There are, however, about four great trades in which Britain can at present, owing to her mineral wealth, machinery, and capital, compete with decided advantage against any other country in the world. These are the cotton, the linen, the woollen, and the iron trade, the exports of which articles amount to rather more than TWO-THIRDS of the whole exports of the United Kingdom, or in round numbers from thirty-three to thirty-five millions annually. It is to the unceasing agitation of men connected with these trades that we owe the erection of the League, and the progress of free trade which has brought us to so low a condition.

It is no matter of surprise that the corn-laws were obnoxious to such persons. With the agricultural interest they had no natural sympathy; and being always able to command the monopoly of the home market, their invariable effort has been to stimulate trade abroad to the very utmost of their power. High wages interfered with their profits; and in order to command the labour market, they formed their famous scheme for reducing the price of food, by dealing a blow to agriculture at home, and opening the ports to the admission of foreign corn. This cry was to a certain degree popular, especially amongst those who were not connected with their works; for the more intelligent of the operatives, to their credit be it said, very early detected the selfishness of the whole manœuvre, and saw, that with the price of food wages also would inevitably decline. Foreign corn, however, was not enough for the appetite of those grasping monopolists. They looked with envy on the smaller non-exporting trades, who constituted a great portion of the population, and who were defended in the home market, their only field, by a reasonable scale of duties. It presently occurred to them, that if, by any means this scale could be broken down, and the market inundated with foreign manufactures, they might be enabled to export a larger quantity of their own fabrics, reduce the price of articles which they were personally inclined to consume, and finally reap another benefit by cheapening labour—that is, by forcing a new class, through want of employment, to compete with their former operatives. These we know to have been the secret views of the League, and to these ends, for several years past, they have bent the whole of their energies. How they have succeeded, let the present state of the labour market tell. The tariffs of 1846 were expressly framed in their favour. They have done half of the anticipated work; for by the admission of foreign manufactures into this country at a reduced rate of duty, they have thrown many thousands of industrious handicraftsmen into the streets. The small shopkeeper has been reduced from an employer into a mere retailer, and disaffection has been engendered through the pressure of absolute misery.

This may seem a highly-coloured picture; but if any man of intelligence will take the trouble to make himself acquainted with the feelings, and to listen to the individual histories of persons of the working-class, he will find it to be strictly true. Four-fifths of the men who were in attendance at the late Chartist meetings belonged in 1845 to the non-exporting trades, were then in full employment, and probably as loyal as any subjects in the kingdom. So, indeed, we believe they are still, in so far as loyalty to the crown is concerned; for, thank God! Republicanism has not taken any root in the empire. But they are utterly discontented with the government, and furious at the apathy with which, they think, their sufferings are regarded. They find that the repeal of the corn-laws has done absolutely nothing in their favour. They find that the lowered tariffs have opened a sluice-gate through which articles of foreign manufacture have rushed in to swamp them; and they gloomily, and even savagely, assert, that this state of things is the result of a combination of the rich against the poor. So it is: but from that combination the aristocracy and gentlemen of England stand apart. The headquarters of the grinding-society are at Manchester, Liverpool, and Sheffield; the machinery it uses are the arms of the League; the master-spirits of the confederacy are Cobden, Wilson, and Bright.

A very pregnant instance of the sympathy which is felt by the free-traders and political economists for the suffering of the lower orders, occurred during a debate towards the beginning of May last. We specially notice the fact, because it proves that, however two successive ministers may have forgot their duty to the people, there exists, in a higher quarter still, the deepest commiseration for their distress, and an earnest desire to alleviate it in every possible manner. It appears from official documents that, during the first three months of the present year, there were entered for home consumption, at the port of London alone, foreign silk goods worth £400,000, equal to the employment of 31,000 weavers; lace and needlework worth £40,000, or sufficient to displace the produce of 4000 workwomen and sempstresses; and 7000 dozen of boot and shoe fronts, enough to keep 1200 cordwainers in full employment. So near as we can calculate, the duty payable upon those articles, under the tariff of 1845, would have amounted to £88,150: at present it is not more than £65,575, thus entailing a primary loss of £22,575 to the revenue. Such an influx of goods, at a peculiarly unprofitable season, was tantamount to displacing the labour of 36,200 persons, who were to be thrown upon the public charity, without any other resource. A short time after these facts became known, an order was issued from the Lord Chamberlain’s office, containing her Majesty’s commands to the ladies of England, that in attending court they should appear attired in dresses exclusively the production of native industry. Yes! our gracious Queen, whose heart is unchilled by the cold dogmas of political economy, felt like a woman and a sovereign, and resolved, on her part at least, to rescue from famine and misery so many thousands of her poorer subjects. It is most gratifying to know that this exercise of the royal care and benevolence has met with its best reward, for in the midst of all the distress which has unfortunately prevailed, the class for whose benefit those timely orders were issued have been kept in employment and food: the example set from the throne has been widely and generously followed. But will it be believed, that this act of mercy gave huge umbrage to the free-traders, and was fiercely commented on in their journals as a gross infringement of the principles of enlightened government? Therefore, in the eyes of the Leaguers, it seems a crime to interfere for the support of the British workman,—and unjustifiable interference with Providence to give work to the labouring poor!

But this is not all. Lord John Russell, on being asked in the House of Commons whether he had any share in suggesting this philanthropic action, or whether the sole credit of it appertained to his royal mistress, was not slow in uttering his disclaimer. “He had not advised the crown in the matter,—he could only say that the order had issued from the Chamberlain’s office.” After a vain attempt to show that no extra quantity of goods had been imported, but that the apparent increase arose solely from the cessation of smuggling, he proceeded to remark:—“But if more goods are now entered, and thereby a particular class do suffer inconvenience or distress, yet these entries must stimulate the production and exportation of the classes of goods for which the imports are exchanged.” There spoke the convert to the League—the truckler to Cobden and Co.! There, from the lips of a British minister, fell the most un-British, the most unpatriotic doctrine that ever yet was enunciated! Said we not truly that the whole object of free trade is to put down and exterminate the non-exporting trades, for the exclusive benefit of the few monster monopolies? The Premier concluded an ungracious, halting, and discreditable speech with the somewhat unnecessary announcement that, under all circumstances, he thought he should be the last person to advise her Majesty to make an alteration in the commercial policy which of late years had been pursued.

We need hardly remark that, in the present instance, the importation of these foreign goods could in no way “stimulate the production or exportation” of any kind of British manufacture whatever. The articles in question were sent from France, at a time when every thing was unsaleable, and were sold in London for hard cash, at a heavy discount. Even Cobden need not have grudged this little encouragement to Spitalfields and Bethnal Green. He did not sell a yard of calico the less. Gold, and not shirting, was what the French wanted, what they bargained for, and what they received. But let us see a little more of the sympathy of the Leaguers for the poor, and respect for the sovereign, who surely might be left, in matters of this kind, to exercise some discretion of her own.

Colonel Thompson, representing an exporting constituency, was furious at the alleged interference. “He would ask whether there was any charity, any humanity, any justice, any policy, any common-sense in representing hostility to one portion of the manufacturing classes of the country, to come from a quarter of which he was sure no one in that House wished to speak otherwise than with feelings of the utmost affection and reverence?” We are not sure that we quite understand this outburst of the gallant Colonel, which we copy verbatim from the columns of the Spectator, but, as he talks about charity and humanity with reference to his waistcoat and pantaloon exporting constituency of Bradford, we take him to mean that that favoured place should flourish, and Spitalfields utterly disappear. This is pure Leaguer’s doctrine, distinctly redolent of the Bastile!

Mr John Bright was also true to his order. The partisan of peace opined that “there was no difference between driving out workmen, and keeping out their work: though no order had been issued to exclude foreign work, yet the effect of the order really given is, that French silks, which would have been consumed, will not be used, and English taken instead. It should be known, that from the late convulsions, the contingent depression of trade, and the low price of French silks in France, very large quantities of them have been purchased and brought to this country. The announcement in question might therefore entail great loss on large capitalists, and ruin on many of smaller means. The kindness to the Spitalfields weavers would then be done only at a cost of loss and injury to other classes.” Quite right, Friend Bright! the first persons to be guarded are your speculators and your capitalists. The poor operative, who is not in your line, may starve for any thing you care. There is a protective spirit about this, which absolutely charms us. We wonder that Mr Bright did not on a former occasion foresee that the repeal of the corn-laws might entail great loss on large proprietors, and ruin on many of smaller means!

Sir William Molesworth considered that “it was a silly and foolish order; and he was informed, on the best authority, that there was not the slightest chance of its being obeyed.” We leave this remark of Molesworth without any comment, merely asking his authority for holding that, to assist in feeding the hungry, and maintaining our poorer countrymen by the exercise of their own industry, is a silly and a foolish act; and requesting him to consider how far his chivalrous title is consistent with such language, when applied to an order emanating directly from his sovereign.

This little episode is very instructive, as elucidating the views of the free-traders. The great exporting trades have combined to crush and annihilate the small handicrafts, and this they are rapidly doing through the operation of these lowered tariffs. If direct taxation were to be introduced, and the custom-house virtually abolished, in so far as regards articles of foreign manufacture, the thing would be done at once—for no one would wear clumsy English boots when he could get French ones at a lower price; or British instead of Parisian gloves; or silk from Spitalfields rather than the less costly fabric of Lyons. The more honest of the free-traders make no scruple of announcing their views. They admit that the realisation of their maxim, to sell in the dearest and buy in the cheapest market, implies the ruin of every non-exporting trade, and they seem absolutely resolved to push their theory to the utmost. At present Sir Robert Peel has managed it so, that, without being absolutely annihilated, the poorer classes are ground down to the lowest point. We ask the shopkeepers, artisans, and smaller manufacturers, who have no connexion with the foreign market, whether this is not truly the case,—and if so, whether they are inclined to allow this cruel, selfish, and inhuman system to be carried any further—nay, whether they will not at once resolve to make determined head against it? But for the obstinate blindness of the political economists, we would appeal to that dearest of all considerations, their own safety. Do they really think it possible, even were it politic, to drive the whole operative industry of Britain into the compass of a few exporting trades. Can they make millions of men change their habits of a sudden, and walk from the country towns and villages,—wherein, before Sir Robert Peel introduced the foreigner to swamp them, they had supported themselves by the exercise of their craft,—to the factory or the mine, or the furnace, or the printing work, there to spend the remainder of their existence in twisting, digging, smelting, and stamping, for the benefit of Cobden and his confederates? The idea is absolute madness. Already we see the effects of false and unpatriotic legislation, in Chartist meetings and processions, in agitations for universal suffrage, in crime three-fold increased, and in augmented poor-rates. What are considerations of sanatory reform or of public instruction compared to these? Will men thank you for soap and tracts, even should these articles be gratuitous, if you take their labour away from them, and legislate for one class alone, as has been the case of late years? Can you expect to make them loyal and peaceable, whilst you deny them the means of obtaining a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s labour—whilst you not only encourage, but convert into an actual fact the idea that a large portion of the poor are oppressed, and drive them to seek a remedy in attempts to procure a more popular representation? Free trade has been the great incentive to Chartism, and, unless men return speedily to their senses, it may chance to be the terrible promoter of revolution.

But what is to be the real amount of the deficit? No man living can tell. Lord John Russell estimated it at about three millions, and subsequently Sir Charles Wood announced that, by sundry savings and sales of old stores—which latter source of revenue very much resembles the case of a gentleman parting with his body clothes to make up for his annual expenditure—it might be reduced to a million and a half. Since then we have received the official accounts of the trade of the kingdom for the six months ending 5th July 1848; and we very much fear, from a perusal of these, that the Chancellor of the Exchequer has understated his difficulties. Our exports, for the sake of which every other interest has been sacrificed, have fallen off to an alarming extent. During the corresponding six months of last year the declared value of our exports was £25,395,243: the whole amount for this period is £21,571,939, or very nearly FOUR MILLIONS less on the half year! Here is another staggering instance of the utter futility of free trade. The decrease of export for the year 1846, as compared with 1845, was about two millions—and now it is going on at the rate of four millions for half the time! Was there ever a more pregnant proof of the impossibility of forcing markets?

Looking to the imports, we find some very curious results. Lord John Russell took great credit for the increased consumption of sugar consequent on his West Indian experiments, which we shall presently have occasion to notice more minutely; and predicted a still further consumption and increase to the revenue. Let us see how that matter stands. The following is the total of sugar imported to this country for the first six months of the last three years respectively.

So that we are absolutely importing less sugar in 1848 than we did in 1846, before Lord John Russell and his sapient colleagues chose to give the coup de grace to the colonists! So much for increased revenue from that source.

In the articles of raw material for manufacture there is a considerable increase; and, should money be obtainable at easy rates throughout the coming winter, this may be a source of real congratulation. But from recent symptoms, and the insanity of ministers in refusing to face the difficulties of the Bank Restriction Acts, we very much dread another recurrence of tightness, in which case industry must inevitably be paralysed as before. It is, however, comforting to know that we have a stock of raw material in hand, and that our condition in that respect has improved since last year, when the warehouses were nearly drained. The aggregate amount of cotton, wool, flax, hemp, and silk which have been imported for the last six months is in the ratio of 28,811,825, to 27,372,502 for the same period in 1847.

But the influx of foreign manufactures is the most singular feature of all; and we do entreat the most serious consideration of our readers to this very pressing point. What we have already said regarding the annihilation of the small trades in this country, by the total withdrawal of protection, receives the amplest confirmation from these official tables; and, if we are wise, something must be done, with the least possible delay, to remedy the evils which have been entailed upon us, through our blind submission to the pernicious doctrines of the free-traders. Do honourable members really believe, that by agitating the ballot, or bringing forward schemes for extended suffrage, they will give work to the unemployed, or put bread in the mouths of the starving? If, instead of attempting to gain a little transient popularity by advocating organic changes, they would seriously address themselves to the task of revising the tariffs, and so encouraging the home market, they would be of real use to the country at this momentous time. For momentous it is most certainly. The discovery of a deliberate plan for general incendiarism in Liverpool, the mobs in Glasgow, and the disturbances at Bradford, are all symptoms of disaffection, and all proceed from one cause—from the sacrifice of native industry at the shrine of the Moloch of free trade. Even now, while we are writing, intelligence has arrived of the arrest of armed Chartists in London and in Manchester; assassination has begun at Ashton, and every post brings in tidings of some new commotion. Is this a time for Parliament to separate without any remedial measure? Is this a time to allow our markets to be inundated with foreign produce; each fresh cargo displacing our own industry, and further adding to our embarrassment, by hastening on another monetary crisis by the exportation of bullion in exchange? This is the work commenced by Peel, and consummated by the incapable Whigs. God knows how it will end, if wiser, more unselfish, and more patriotic men are not speedily summoned to take the lead in her Majesty’s councils.

No account is given, as in former years, of the amount of foreign linen and woollen manufactures imported, or of several other important branches of trade upon which Sir Robert Peel abolished the duty. Why this omission has taken place we do not know, unless it be for the worst of all reasons, that the results were too startling for disclosure. But we shall take the statistics of the silk manufactured trade alone, from which it will be seen that, in two years after the relaxation of the duties, we have doubled our imports, thereby throwing immense numbers of our own operatives out of employment.

Now if, as it is fair to suppose, the same increase, or even half of it, has taken place in the importation of other articles upon which the duties were removed, but which have been quietly withdrawn from the official tables; these statistics are enough to condemn free trade before any tribunal in the world. Mark how the matter stands. Here is a doubled importation of foreign manufactured goods. One half at least of these goods have come in to displace your home manufacture. The other half would have come in as formerly to supply the rich, who would have had to pay a high duty for the gratification of their fancy. That duty, where reduced, is now lost to the revenue. Who is the gainer, then? No one, save the rich consumer; whilst, on the other hand, the revenue has suffered, and home industry has received a prostrating blow. But—say men of the Cobden school—though the silk weaver, and embroiderer, and milliner, and plaiter, and shoemaker, and tailor, may have suffered, the country is no loser, because WE export goods in return for the articles of import. Do you, gentlemen? Let us turn to the export tables, and see how your account stands. Recollect, you have undertaken to show us a corresponding export of your goods to meet the influx of foreign manufactures. Unless you can do this, your case is utterly worthless, and you stand as detected impostors.

The result is a loss on these articles alone of THREE MILLIONS in six months, and we are to set that against doubled imports, free of duty, and displacing British employment! Here are the glorious effects of Sir Robert’s commercial legislation!

What, then, has gone out to meet the import which is rapidly promoting Chartism among us, by impoverishing the poorer classes? Just what we predicted long ago—Gold; the idol without which men must starve, but which free trade periodically sweeps from out our grasp. The lowered tariffs have operated peculiarly unfavourably at the present crisis—not perhaps so much in the branch of silk manufactures as in others; for it is remarkable that the increase of import in 1847, over that of 1846, is quite as large as the increase of the present over the former year; and had Lord John Russell been alive to the duties of his situation, or capable of comprehending the effects which a glut of foreign goods must produce on the home market, he ought instantly to have brought in a bill augmenting the customs duties, and hurried it through Parliament without a moment’s unnecessary delay. The madness of encouraging increased imports, whilst exports are falling, is utterly inconceivable to any who have not eaten and drunk with Cobden; and it is quite possible that some who have been admitted to that precious privilege, may agree with us if they will take the trouble to consider the foregoing tables. We are not the only sufferers. America is beginning to understand that increased imports are by no means decisive symptoms of a healthy commercial state; and the following extract from Transatlantic correspondence, which we copy from the money article in the Sun newspaper of 16th August last, is pregnant with meaning in the present posture of affairs.

“The whole of Europe is in a terrible condition, and our only hope is, that Great Britain may escape the blast which has swept from one end of the Continent to the other with such devastating effect. If England escape, we shall continue to find extensive markets for our products, and our prosperity will be partially preserved. Our markets on the Continent have almost become extinct, so that the worst in that particular has already been realised; but, every week or month, consumption in that section of the world is restricted or limited—so much the more injurious must be the revolution causing such a state of things. With the exception of Great Britain, our European export trade has been literally annihilated; but unfortunately, our import trade with these countries has not met with a similar fate, but on the contrary, has rather increased than otherwise. Importers and speculators in this country have taken advantage of the financial embarrassments growing out of the Revolution, which the manufacturers of France and Europe generally have laboured under, and have purchased of them for cash, goods at one half their cost, and have filled our markets. A portion of the specie which has been shipped from this port within the last four months went abroad for this purpose; and while our exports had become reduced to the lowest limit, and exchange drawn upon previous shipments of produce was coming back protested, millions of dollars of gold and silver were going forward to purchase goods which could not be obtained on the usual credit. In this way, our whole foreign trade has become deranged, and we have thus far borne the brunt of the commercial revulsions and political revolutions in Europe.”

What is to be said of a system which swamps our home market, whilst at the same time it promotes a drain of gold? What is to be said of the system which makes a drain of gold almost tantamount to national bankruptcy?

Having hitherto dealt with the subjects of the currency and finance, let us now glance for a moment at the new legislation for our colonies. We need not repeat the tale of the disasters into which the West Indies have been plunged, or the ruin which has befallen many of our own most respectable citizens, who, to their misfortune, had embarked their capital and fortunes in sugar-growing estates, trusting to British faith and protection for at least an adequate return. The veriest zealot could not have wished to have seen the crime of slavery more bitterly avenged; but in what a manner! Great Britain, after having made a sacrifice of twenty millions to emancipate the slave population in her own colonies,—a sacrifice to her, though not an adequate compensation to the planters,—after having declared to the whole world her determination no longer to participate in the profits of forced labour,—after having made treaties, and equipped armaments for the suppression of the slave-trade,—suddenly changed her policy, admitted slave-grown sugar from foreign states, first, at a high, and, latterly, at so low a duty, that her own colonies, already impoverished, could no longer afford to defray the cost of production. Here, again, the principle of free trade has been triumphant and ruinous; here, again, the exporting trades have carried their point, not only against the interests of the colonists, but against those of benevolence and Christianity. The cause of the Blacks has been abandoned for the tempting bribe of cheap sugars, of an augmented demand for cottons and blankets to supply the gangs of Cuba, and of machinery for Brazil, to enable the planter more utterly to prostrate Jamaica.

In February last we reviewed with great care all the evidence which we could collect regarding the West Indian interest. The conclusion to which we arrived was contained in the following paragraph:—“And what is it that our colonists ask? What is the extravagant proposal which we are prepared to reject at the cost of the loss of our most fertile possessions, and of nearly two hundred millions of British capital? Simply this, that in the meantime such a distinctive duty should be enforced as will allow them to compete on terms of equality with the slave-growing states. Let this alone be granted, and they have no wish to interfere with any other fiscal regulation. And what would be the amount of differential duty required? Not more, as we apprehend, than ten shillings the hundredweight.” Having hazarded this statement so early, it was certainly gratifying to find that an impartial committee of the House of Commons, reporting four months later, had, after a full investigation of the whole case,—and of course with official documents before them, the correctness of which could not admit of a doubt,—arrived at precisely the same result. The proposition for a differential duty of ten shillings, which was finally agreed to by the committee, was actually made by a member whose general opinions are understood to lean towards the side of free trade,—we mean Sir Thomas B. Birch, one of the representatives for Liverpool.

This resolution of course implied a direct condemnation of the Whig Act of 1846, which the West Indians bitterly complained of as a flagrant breach of faith, and as having put the coping-stone on their misfortunes. It was the resolution of an independent and intelligent parliamentary committee, founded upon a mass of evidence derived from every quarter; and in a matter of this sort, wherein so vast an interest as that of our most valuable colonies was concerned, it might have been expected that the report would be treated with deference, even though it might in some degree impugn the sagacity of a prime minister, by exposing the results of his former reckless legislation. Such was not the case. Had the seven wise men of Greece sate upon that committee, their report would have been utterly indifferent to Lord John, who immediately came forward with a counter-scheme, which had not even the merit of consistency to give it colour. He proposed a new sliding-scale of duties, the result of which will be, that next year the colonists will have a protection against the slave-owners of seven shillings in the article of clayed, and five-and-sixpence in that of muscovado sugar,—the boon to taper away annually, until, in 1854, the protective duty will be reduced to three shillings on the one article, and two shillings upon the other. This is the doom of the West Indies,—and we expect nothing less than an immediate stoppage of the supplies for the maintenance of the colonial governments. Robbed as they have been, ruined as they are, and all through a course of most reckless and unprovoked legislation, it is in vain to hope that any further capital will be embarked in the cultivation of these islands. For the benefit of economists at home, and the clamourers for cheap sugar, it may be as well to record that this new sliding-scale is to be accompanied with a loan of £500,000, in addition to £160,000 already guaranteed this session, for the purposes of promoting immigration, and that at a period when the annual deficit was originally calculated at three millions! The amendment of Sir John Pakington, founded upon the resolutions of the committee, was negatived in a full house by the small majority of fifteen.

This has been by far the most important debate of the session; and at one time it was confidently expected that ministers would have been defeated. Sir Robert Peel, however, came to their rescue at the last stage. Oleaginous and plausible as ever, the wily baronet began his speech by deploring the misfortunes of the West Indians, repudiating mere pecuniary considerations, and calling to mind old struggles, in which these colonies had stood by the side of the mother country. This sympathetic introduction boded little mercy for the parties it seemed to favour. Sir Robert had acquiesced in the Act of 1846, and it was now rather difficult to back out from that position. But soothing measures might be adopted, the salaries of governors defrayed by the mother country, and perhaps, if, after due consideration, it should be found expedient to remove the blockading squadron from the coast of Africa, part of the sums so saved might be devoted to colonial purposes. Then came a discourse upon the merits of irrigation, which would have done credit to a lecturer in an agricultural society. Finally, Sir Robert rested his future hopes for the Indies upon other, and what appear to us peculiarly objectionable considerations. He has no confidence in the tranquillity of Cuba and Brazil, and he hints at an insurrection of the slaves being probable, if emancipation is not granted. We shall not comment more than lightly upon the decency of such a hint. Desirable as emancipation may be, it is, to say the least, questionable whether it would be cheaply bought by so terrible a catastrophe as a general rising of the black barbarian population against the whites; and in the event of such a misfortune occurring either in the above slave colonies or in the United States, it is extremely problematical whether our own dearly bought emancipation would effectually prevent the contagion from spreading to the free colonies. But we will tell Sir Robert a fact of which he ought to be fully cognisant. The greatest enemies and obstacles to emancipation, in the Spanish and South American States, have been himself and his free-trading allies. It is well known to many here, and notorious in the West Indies, that at the very time when the ill-advised Act permitting slave-grown sugar to be introduced into this country was produced, negotiations were actually pending in Cuba for the immediate emancipation of the slaves. The results of that Act were the instant abandonment of such an idea, the withdrawal of the slaves from the coffee plantations to the sugar-fields, double work rigorously enforced, and an enormously increased importation of human beings from the coast of Africa. With such a bonus held out to the Cuban planter, such a huge increase of consumption in this country as Lord John Russell gloatingly contemplates, it would be utter insanity to expect that emancipation can take place through any other means than blood, rapine, plunder, and incendiarism. Sir Robert and the free-traders have effectually precluded any milder method. Had they been true to the principles professed by this country at the time of our own emancipation, there is every human reason to believe that by this time Cuba would have been a free colony. Had that event taken place, slavery, and of course the slave-trade, would have received its death-blow. But now when we have given, and continue to give, a direct premium to the abhorred system, when we have shown that we love its produce so much, as to hold the welfare of our own colonies as nothing in comparison, it is mere Jesuitry to cant about the probability of voluntary freedom. This is the worst and most indefensible argument, if, indeed, it can be brought within the category of arguments, which has yet been advanced from any quarter in support of the false legislation and determined opposition of ministers to the just claims of the colonists.

In the course of the debate a singular discussion arose, which tends to throw some light upon the management of the Colonial Office. A most important despatch upon the state of Jamaica had been received from Governor Grey, and this was withheld from the select committee then sitting, although Mr Hawes, the Under-secretary for the Colonies, was directly questioned as to its existence. We do not wish to enter into the details of this matter, or to cast any imputation upon the probity of Mr Hawes, who, in explanation, was fain to take shelter under the plea of a mistake. But the circumstance certainly did look awkward, and the doubts, not only of the House but of the country, were far from being removed by the extreme acrimony displayed by the Premier, in his injudicious defence of his subordinate. Never in our recollection has a Prime Minister shown so remarkable a want of temper and of courtesy to a political opponent, as was exhibited by Lord John Russell in his reply to Lord George Bentinck. We should be glad, for the sake of the utterer, that the speech could be erased from the pages of Hansard, even were we to lose, at the same time, the brilliant and withering reply which it elicited from Mr D’Israeli. A suppression certainly had occurred, whether through mistake or otherwise; and the matter was thought so serious that Earl Grey volunteered an explanation in the Upper House. He had better have let it alone. New charges of suppression were preferred; and finally Earl Grey admitted that, on one occasion at least, he had quoted passages from a Jamaica memorial in support of his argument, totally and purposely omitting to read other sentences, which gave a different construction to the meaning intended to be conveyed! This is popularly said to be the method adopted by a certain personage, who shall be nameless, whenever he has occasion to quote Scripture, and yet it is practised and defended by a high official functionary! We copy the remarks of our contemporary the Spectator, as very apposite on this occasion.

“The personal dispute about the conduct of Lord Grey and Mr Hawes, and the strictures of Lord George Bentinck, which began on Friday last, have usurped a large share of the week’s debates; not altogether to so little purpose as most personal squabbles, since it throws considerable light on the administration of colonial affairs. The general impression, when all sides have had their say, is, that Mr Hawes and Lord Grey did not intend to cheat Lord George Bentinck’s committee by the deliberate suppression of evidence; but the very statements made by ministers, in defence, unveil reprehensible practices. It seems that the routine of the Colonial Office is such as to preclude any security against ‘mistakes’ so grave as the withholding of most important despatches. And Lord Grey claims, as an admitted official privilege, to pick out bits of evidence in his exclusive possession, that make for a particular view, although those bits may be torn from a context that should perfectly refute that particular view! In effect, he upholds the doctrine that a government is not bound to lay before parliament all the information that reaches the departments, even though that information be not of a secret kind, but may select such parts as go to bolster up the preconceived crotchets of the minister for the time being. In this case, Lord Grey had preconceived crotchets hostile to the West Indian colonies, whom he treated as if he were the Attorney-General prosecuting a state criminal. He has carried beyond its usual bounds the spirit of the Anti-Colonial Office, in Downing Street. With this spirit of animosity the Secretary for the Colonies coupled the most singular exhibition of personal trifling, and self-worship. He appealed to the name of his father, as a reason for not accusing himself! and pointed to the ‘awful warning across the Channel,’ as a reason for not preferring charges calculated to weaken English statesmen. ‘Don’t talk of inefficiency or dishonesty,’ cries he—‘it is dangerous; for such talk has upset governments abroad.’ Yes, shaky and dishonest governments; but what is Lord Grey afraid of?”

As for the sugar duties, we do not by any means believe that this is a final settlement of the question. If free trade, indeed, should continue to progress, there is not much hope for the colonists; but, to the observant eye, there are unmistakeable symptoms of reaction apparent in this country, and a very general sympathy for the case of the West Indians. Our greatest fear is, that irretrievable mischief will be wrought before there is an opportunity of applying a remedy. It seems cruel mockery, after all that has happened, to exhort the planters to persevere, and to prevent those valuable islands from lapsing into a state of wilderness: and yet there seems no alternative between such perseverance and abandonment. This only we can say, that should the commercial principles, which we have advocated throughout, be again recognised and adopted—should true and not hollow Conservatism once more triumph over Whig effrontery and weakness, this mighty grievance will assuredly be the earliest redressed.

Referring again to the speech from the throne as the text for the parliamentary campaign, we find the Navigation Laws specially marked out either for modification or repeal. This subject having been fully dealt with in our July Number, we offer no further remarks upon the policy which dictated such a plan; indeed, no remarks are necessary, for since then the measure has been postponed. This is a sorry result for ministers; for although they plead, in justification, that other important business had prevented them from forcing on the consideration of this very serious question, their protestations do not seem to satisfy the gentlemen who are most clamorous against the shipping interest of Britain. It has been more than hinted in certain quarters, that this postponement is a small stroke of Whig policy or prudence, for the purpose of keeping alive as long as possible a theme of dissension among the Conservatives. We offer no opinion as to this conjecture, which may be substantially true or not. Certain it is that the proposal for the repeal of those laws has been encountered, outside of the House of Commons, with a storm of disapprobation; and that, if the feeling of the public, as opposed to the interests of the exporters, has any weight with the legislature, the ministerial bill will be strangled before it can receive the royal assent. So great was the anxiety displayed, that on the day after it became known in Glasgow that the bill was not to be pushed forward this session, every vessel in the Clyde was decorated with flags, in token of thankfulness for the respite. We hope that every advantage will be taken in the interval to force upon the attention of parliament the resolution of the well-affected people of this country, to maintain intact that law which has been the source of our naval supremacy, and which was declared, by no less an authority than Adam Smith, to be as wise as if it had been dictated by the most deliberate wisdom.

A considerable number of minor bills have been quietly allowed to drop. This is not matter of lamentation, for, as far as we could comprehend the principle of most of them, they were utterly worthless and uncalled for. The Bill for the Removal of the Jewish Disabilities was, we rejoice to say, thrown out in the House of Lords, the peers being of opinion that the British Legislature should continue a Christian assembly. Lord John, in the plenitude of his zeal for the Sanhedrim, gave notice of a motion for altering the form of the oaths required to be taken by each member of Parliament at his admission, and so introducing the Jew by a convenient little postern. But somehow or other, as the session progressed, the ardour of the Premier cooled, and Baron Rothschild is at present left with as little chance of adorning the benches of St Stephens as ever. Mr Joseph Hume and his party have got up a radical alliance, for the extension of the suffrage and various other organic schemes, and it was understood that Sir Joshua Walmsley was to have the honour of leading the movement. Unfortunately, however, before the day of debate had arrived, Sir Joshua had been unseated in consequence of certain acts of bribery which had taken place in connexion with the borough of Leicester, so that the purists had to march to battle under the chieftainship of the veteran of Montrose. They were beaten hollow: but at a later period of the session, the carelessness of ministers gave a temporary triumph to the same parties, resolutions in favour of the ballot having been passed by a small majority. This vote is of no importance whatever, save in so far as it demonstrates the utter helplessness of the Whigs when left to their own resources.

Whilst upon the subject of shelving, let us remark that the Scottish Registration and Marriage Bills have shared a similar fate. Of this we are devoutly glad. Not a single petition has been presented in their favour; and though no doubt the registration of births, and a stricter law of marriage, may be desirable, we think it might be quite possible to accomplish both objects, without creating a new and expensive staff of functionaries, or holding forth a prospect of entire immunity to seduction. Possibly at a later period we may take an opportunity of examining these postponed measures in detail.

Two more questions remain, and then the history of the session is ended. They are of vast importance—Ireland, and our foreign policy.

The opening of the session found Ireland in a state of agrarian outrage. Agitation was doing its work, and murder was rife on every hand. Foremost in stirring up the people, most determined in hounding them on, were the Roman Catholic priesthood; and we trust that this fact will not be forgotten by those who are now meditating to buy their silence. Individuals were openly denounced from the altar, and next day shot down by the assassin. The most seditious language was used by these cassocked traitors towards the British government; and even the higher dignitaries of their church sought to stimulate the passions of the populace by the most barefaced and impudent misrepresentation. Hear Archdeacon Laffan at Cashel, upon a Sunday, surrounded by some fifteen thousand of the peasantry, and backed by that notable worthy, Mr John O’Connell, and three other members of Parliament—“The Saxon scoundrel, with his bellyful of Irish meat, could very well afford to call his poor, honest, starving fellow-countrymen savages and assassins; but if in the victualling department John Bull suffered one-fifth of the privations to which the Tipperary men were subject, if he had courage enough, he would stand upon one side, and shoot the first man he could meet with a decent coat on his back—(Cheers.) But the Saxon had not courage to do any thing like a man; he growls out like a hungry tiger!” At the time when this expositor of the Christian doctrine was raving to his miserable flock, the following was the condition of the Established clergy. One of them, writing from King’s County, described his position—“For nearly twenty years I have been a minister of the Established Church; and during that time I have had nothing whatever to do with tithes, for my benefice is a chapelry of £90 a-year, and is paid partly out of land set apart for the purpose, and partly by the ecclesiastical commissioners of Ireland, from a fund bequeathed to small livings by Primate Boulter.” He had devoted much attention to the employment of the poor; had never shown favour or partiality to any one sect; had lived simply, and attended to his duties; had never brought an ejectment, or taken any other law proceedings, against a tenant. “What, then,” continued he, “was my surprise and horror to find an assassin lying in wait for me for three successive days; and—for this is still more horrifying—that most of the people of the neighbourhood where I live have been so far from expressing joy at the escape I have made, that they show evident disappointment at my not being shot!”

We have often marvelled what must be the impression of foreigners after reading such speeches as are usually delivered at an Irish assembly, by men who cannot plead utter ignorance in extenuation of the language they employ. They must, we presume, imagine that “the Saxon” has taken forcible possession of the whole of Ireland; that the natives are no better than serfs—unprotected by any laws, and liable to be beaten, plundered, and massacred at the pleasure of the invaders; that, on the approach of each harvest, hordes of the Saxons repair to the fertile fields of the Celt, reap them with a sickle in the one hand and a musket in the other, and then carry off the produce, without leaving a single doit in reparation. He would imagine that the women are forced, the men defrauded, and the houses pillaged at pleasure; that the Roman Catholics are hunted down like wild beasts, by armies of bloodthirsty Protestants; that the exercise of their faith is denied them; and that they are allowed no voice whatever in the national representation. Some such conception as this he must form from the harangues which have constituted the staple of Conciliation Hall for more years than we care to reckon. But what would be his amazement were he told that Ireland is governed by precisely the same laws as the sister country; that property is equally protected, and life endangered only by the brutality of the Celtic assassin; that Ireland is specially exempted from several of the taxes which press most heavily upon the industrious classes of Great Britain; that on the last occasion of famine, upwards of nine millions of public, and a vast amount of private money, was given for the support of her poor; that Roman Catholic colleges have been munificently endowed; that Ireland has her full share of representation in the imperial Parliament, and that upwards of one half of the time of the House of Commons is occupied with measures tending to the amelioration of the Irish people! If he were told all this—and it is no more than the naked truth—what would be his astonishment? And yet so it is. Ireland has persisted, and is persisting, in her course of sedition without a grievance, of murder without provocation, of black and brutal ingratitude without even the shadow of an excuse!

It is impossible to find language too strong to characterise the guilt of the individuals, lay or clerical, who have spent the better part of their mean and mischievous existence in misleading their rude and ignorant fellow-countrymen. They are the moral nuisances who have always stood in the way of Ireland’s progression and happiness. But for them, there would have been no absenteeism, no heart-burning between the landlord and the tenant. The people would gradually have learned habits of industry and providence, and instead of whooping through the country like maniacs, shouting and yelling for repeal, which if granted, would make an utter hell of Ireland, they would be tilling the ground, or usefully employed in the development of that capital which no one dare hazard at present in their mad and turbulent districts. For all these things we do not blame, but execrate O’Connell and his tribe. The grasping selfishness of that family has for the last few years been the greatest curse to Ireland; and the crimes of other and inferior agitators shrink into insignificance, compared with the moral turpitude of the men who have deliberately fattened upon their country’s ruin.

Mr John O’Connell, having previously declared his intention of dying on the floor of the House of Commons rather than permit the passing of a Coercion Bill to restrain his countrymen from murder, did in effect make his appearance in St Stephens, but by no means with a suicidal intention. One of his earliest speeches is worth preserving, as it exhibits, in a most extraordinary degree, the hereditary power of mendicancy. “If they had a reverence for human life, let them extend it to the people of Ireland. Give money. He asked for money. He heard the laughter of honourable gentlemen; but he could tell them that they ought to give money, and that it was their duty to do so. Charge them for the money if they liked, but at all events let them save the lives of the people. He did not expect to be met otherwise than with laughter; and he was bound to say that he never saw in that House one single real thought for the interest of Ireland. (Great laughter.) He begged to say, that he had made that remark hastily and hotly, but now he repeated it deliberately and coolly. Whenever the interests of Ireland came into competition with those of England, they were invariably sacrificed. And if he did ask money, had he not a right to do so? In a few nights a motion would come on, and then he would prove that they owed it!” No man certainly ever did more credit to his profession. Brought up under the most able instructor of his age in the art of begging, John O’Connell exhibited on this occasion talents of the highest order, which would have made his fortune on the highway, unless some stray traveller should have mistaken the intentions of the suppliant, and been over ready with his pistol to prevent an anticipated robbery. The vile ingratitude of this man is almost equal to his audacity. Great Britain, without the slightest hope of any return, had impoverished herself for the support of the Irish, and yet here was the whole acknowledgment! Even on the score of policy it would have been wiser for Mr O’Connell to have mitigated his tone.

The Irish Crime and Outrage Bill was introduced by ministers at an early stage of the session, with the general concurrence of all parties. No one could doubt that it was especially needed, but few were sanguine that it would suffice to cure the spirit of disaffection which was abroad. In fact, Irish agitation has been allowed to proceed to such a point, that the evil is utterly incurable. What chance is there of putting a stop to physical force demonstrations, or, in other words, to open rebellion, whilst another gang of demagogues is permitted to preach sedition under the guise of moral force, and to fill the minds of their deluded victims with every species of misrepresentation and wild hostility to Great Britain? Our system of government towards Ireland has been timid and weak, and we are now paying the penalty. Our charities have been given with far too liberal a hand. Ireland has but had to ask, in order to be relieved by the public money: and this process has been so often repeated, that what at first was an extraordinary boon, is now considered in the light of an indefeasible claim. The Irish peasant will not work, will do nothing to better his own position, because he believes that, in his hour of need, he will be supported by British alms. We wish we could believe that this scandalous and sordid spirit was confined to the peasantry alone. It is not so. A general scramble takes place on each fresh issue of bounty, and rich and poor, high and low, among the repealers, press clamorously forward for their share. Never was money more absurdly, more mischievously misapplied, than the great government grants on occasion of the famine. Had the proposals of Lord George Bentinck been agreed to, and the money given by way of loan for construction of the Irish railroads, not only would the government have held some security for repayment, or, at all events, a vested interest in the works, but a useful improvement would have been effected in the heart of the country, and a new element of civilisation introduced. But the scheme was rejected, for no other reason, we believe, than because it was suggested by a political opponent, and the millions granted by Britain have been squandered in making good roads bad, in trenching mosses, draining waste lands, and what not. The expenditure has been lost to this country, and has not had the effect of awakening the slightest spark of gratitude or respect for the quarter whence it came. Ireland must be disabused on one point. These grants are not annual, and cannot be continued. The time has come when Ireland must be put upon precisely the same footing of taxation with the sister kingdoms—she must be forced to forego pauperism, and in future to rely on her industry, and on her own resources. Ireland is at least four times as fertile in soil as Scotland, and there can be no reason whatever why she should be exempt from burdens which apply to the latter, and moreover, like a sturdy beggar, be for ever vociferous for relief.

The Crime and Outrage Bill in some degree fulfilled its purpose; for open murder and assassination, if not extinguished, were somewhat diminished throughout the winter. Still the work of sedition progressed. Old and Young Ireland, ruffians both, were at loggerheads—the older section finding a profit in the shape of the weekly rent, the younger and more conscientious one thirsting for the hour when the dogs of rebellion might be let loose. The French revolution found Ireland in this state, and no doubt aided to precipitate the crisis. The visions of mere repeal gradually faded before the more brilliant and daring aspiration of an Irish republic! France would probably sympathise with Erin; and a deputation was sent over to wait upon Lamartine, then in the zenith of his popularity, for the double purpose of ascertaining the chances of assistance, and of taking a flying lesson in the art of constructing barricades. But the members of the French Provisional Government showed no alacrity in recognising the Irish patriots, and distinctly refused to interfere. Then it became apparent, that if the Irish party were determined to rebel, they must do so without foreign aid and intervention; and on their own ground, and with their own weapons, be prepared to cope with the Saxon.

It is but fair, in justice to the unfortunate men who, since that time, have suffered for their almost incredible folly, to state that others, too crafty or pusillanimous to approach within grasp of the law, were at least equally guilty in promoting agitation after revolution had been triumphant in France. John O’Connell thus wrote from Paris a few days after Louis Philippe had been driven from his throne:—“Speak out, people of Ireland! Speak from every city—every valley—every hill—every plain! The time is come! The hour has arrived when it is our instant right! when it is England’s directest and most imperative interest that we should manage our own affairs in our own Parliament at home!” It matters not, in a moral point of view, though it might be convenient for sheltering purposes, that this note of sedition was accompanied with advice to abstain from crime and bloodshed. Such advice goes for nothing with the million, as O’Connell well knows; and, furthermore, he knows this, that of all the phantoms ever conjured up by designing rogues and mountebanks, this one of Irish repeal is the most unlikely of realisation. What, then, did the man mean by these words, “The time is come!” save to stir up the people to some demonstration, the issue of which must have been massacre and bloodshed?

We need hardly allude to the effect of those appeals upon the more hot-headed and determined of the confederates. They no longer preserved even the semblance of loyalty, but, with a daring wholly unexampled, gloried in the name of traitors. At public meetings they recommended the immediate arming of the people—descanted, in terms of gloating fondness, upon that “queen of weapons” the pike—and the only point of hesitation was the precise period of the rising—whether it ought to take place immediately, or be postponed “until French steamers were letting off their steam in Falmouth and Portsmouth.” John Mitchell, in the United Irishman, and his coadjutors in the Nation, seconded these views in a series of the most inflammatory and villanous articles. They propounded deliberate plans for barricading the streets of Dublin; displayed the most hellish ingenuity in devising implements to be used against the troops; attempted to persuade their dupes, that, in the event of a rising, the army would be found on their side; and, in short, set every law, human and divine, at defiance. At this crisis, ministers failed to act with that decision which was clearly their duty. They should at once have suspended the Habeas Corpus Act, and arrested the whole of the leading agitators. Such a course would have struck terror into the insurgents, before, emboldened by impunity, and relying upon the want of unanimity almost sure to prevail among Irish juries, they had dragged other misled individuals into a participation of their guilt.

March, and a portion of April, passed away before ministers took courage to introduce the Crown and Government Security Bill, under which Mitchell was ultimately convicted. In the discussions which took place, Lord John Russell was evidently sorely hampered by the opinions which he had expressed when in opposition, and the manifest discrepancy of his measures with the principles of the Whiggish creed. He showed a disposition to truckle, when he came to that portion of the bill which declared that open and advised speaking, of treasonable nature, should henceforward be treated as felony, and took it merely as a temporary provision. A bolder front, at such a time, would better have become a British statesman.

Smith O’Brien and Meagher, two of the most daring leaders of the faction, were tried at Dublin in the month of May, and escaped, the jury being in neither case unanimous. These trials may be memorable in the history of the jurisprudence of Ireland, for they distinctly prove that the present system of trial is utterly unsuited for that country. Nothing could be clearer than the evidence against both parties. O’Brien had recommended the formation of an Irish brigade in the United States. Meagher’s recommendation was “up with the barricades, and invoke the god of battles.” Yet in the face of this, the jury could not agree upon their verdict. Mitchell was the first person convicted under the new Act. On the 27th of May, he was found guilty, and sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation.

No effort whatever was made, on the part of the populace, to rescue this misguided man. He had proclaimed himself a felon, and he was sent forth to undergo the punishment of his crime. But this example, stringent as it was, had no effect whatever in repressing the spirit of treason. The arming went on rapidly as before, or rather in an augmented ratio. Cargoes of muskets, and other fire-arms, were openly shipped for Dublin, and exposed for sale; their destination and use were openly admitted, and yet ministers did not seem to consider it their duty to interfere! The newspaper war continued. Fresh journals sprang up to replace the United Irishman, and the favourite doctrines of Mitchell were enforced with a ferocity and earnestness almost equal to his own. Clubs, after the fashion of those in Paris, were organised throughout the country: drilling began, and at length rebellion assumed a tangible shape, the confederate forces having been reviewed by Smith O’Brien at Cork. On the 21st of July, Dublin was proclaimed by the Lord Lieutenant; and immediately thereafter, and not a moment too soon, ministry were compelled to suspend the Habeas Corpus Act in Ireland.

As we are not writing a history of this most abortive rebellion, we need not follow its leaders throughout their ignominious, and even cowardly career. That a bubble, deemed so gigantic, should have burst with so miraculously small an explosion, may hereafter be a source of wonder to the chronicler; at present our only feeling should be gratitude to the Almighty that this affair has as yet been accompanied with so little loss of human life. So far, it is well; but it would be absolute madness to suppose that the spirit of rebellion has been extinguished. The Irish people have been guilty of a great crime. A large portion of them are, without any doubt, rebels in their hearts; and they must submit to be treated as such, until we are satisfied that their stubborn disposition is removed. Great credit, it seems, is now given in certain quarters to the Roman Catholic clergy, for the part they took in suppressing the late disturbances; and we anticipate an immediate burst of laudation, and perhaps a promise of reward, in return for their disinterested exertions. If to foster rebellion in every possible manner, whilst there is the least chance of its success, and to preach it down from the very moment when the cause appears obviously desperate, be an acceptable course, we freely admit the claims of the priesthood to the heartfelt gratitude of Britain: upon no other ground whatever can we see a reason for their recognition. Let any man consider seriously and impartially the history and proceedings in Ireland for the last six months, and he cannot fail, we think, to arrive at the conclusion, that clerical connivance is visible in every scene of the drama. Smith O’Brien and Mitchell, being both of them Protestants, may have raised the banner too early, and may have been sacrificed with little scruple; but we repeat, that we have no faith in that interference which comes so very late, and which, without any hyperbole, may be said to have been forced at the point of the bayonet.

As regards ministers, we think their later measures have been taken with a fair regard for the interests of the imperial crown. Much they might have done earlier; but, on the whole, we are not inclined to quarrel with their conduct. Lord John Russell, in the course of late events, has received a more wholesome lesson in the practical science of legislation than was ever vouchsafed him before. His Lordship’s eyes are now, we hope, opened to the fallacy of some of the cherished Whig propositions. He has learned that there are times when a government must have recourse to extraordinary measures, if it is sincere in its wish to maintain the integrity of the crown and the constitution: and that although the liberty of the subject, and the freedom of the press, are undoubtedly most excellent things, and capital toasts at Whig propaganda banquets, neither of them can be allowed to go so far as to achieve a violent revolution. If some slight tinge should be apparent on the cheek of the Premier as he reviews his past career, and reflects on the inconsistency of his former speeches with his present more energetic conduct, we are willing to attribute the blush to the most amiable, and certainly the most honourable of possible motives—the acknowledgment of a cherished error.

But while we accord with satisfaction this meed of praise to ministers, it is impossible to forget that the Whig party, by playing into the hands of O’Connell and his followers, have given a pernicious incentive to the agitation which has ended in the late revolt. There has been far too much coquetting and trafficking with the repealers,—far too little consideration shown for the really loyal and peaceable portion of the Irish people. Is it possible to expect that any credence will be given to the idea that the Whigs are sincere and determined in their opposition to the repeal doctrines, when a high official functionary like Sir William Somerville, Chief Secretary of State for Ireland, is found subscribing to the fund raised for defending the return of Mr Reynolds, the member for Dublin? Is it, we say, decent that a man in the position of the honourable baronet should be allowed to identify not only himself, but the government to which he belongs, with a party so diametrically opposed to the best interests of the British empire? If the Whigs are determined to put down agitation in Ireland—and put down it must be, at whatever cost—let them show their sincerity by dropping all connexion with the agitators. These are not times for truckling—least of all for party purposes and pretension.

If there is an immediate return to the old system of conciliation—if that unhappy country is to be left under the impression that Britain is bound to support her, we may look for another projected rebellion at no very distant period. Ireland must be taught to depend thoroughly upon herself. The wages of idleness must no longer be given her under any circumstances whatever. We are satisfied that the social misery of Ireland proceeds mainly from the injudicious system of eleemosynary support, to which she has been so long accustomed; for nowhere else in the known world is there a land so rich in resources, with a population so utterly improvident. An end also must be put, by the strong arm of power, to agitation of every kind. Jury trial requires remodelment; and we hope that the very first Irish measure which is introduced, will be one for assimilating the system of jury trial in criminal cases there with that which has worked so well and satisfactorily in Scotland. Let fifteen men be impanelled, and let the opinion of the majority be the verdict. This would effectually prevent those allegations about packing, which do certainly detract from the moral weight of such convictions as that of Mitchell: it would strengthen the hands of justice, and be especially useful as a further preventive of crime. The weal or the continued misery of Ireland will depend very much upon the character and complexion of the measures which may be introduced during the next session of Parliament.

The progress of the revolutions abroad has been any thing but peaceful. On the Continent, the treaty of Vienna has become a dead letter—a mere antiquated sheet of parchment, hardly to be appealed to by any of the conflicting powers. War has broken out in more than one point; and though, during the last month, there has been some prospect of compromise, it is in vain to hope that Europe will immediately subside into its former tranquillity. Hitherto, whatever may be said regarding the internal economy of France, that country has manifested no aggressive spirit. Paris, the centre-point of the volcanic eruption, has kept, and may keep for some time, the soldiery in full employment; and we are sincerely of opinion that General Cavaignac, now at the head of affairs in France, has no personal disposition to undertake a war of conquest. But the position of Germany is very peculiar, and her affairs so complicated, that we may justly feel alarm as to the issue.

We shall say little of the experiment, so rashly undertaken by a number of untried constitution craftsmen, for welding together into one indissoluble mass the political existence of the different Teutonic tribes. It is a project which, at first sight, may appear sufficiently imposing; but when we examine it more closely, it seems fraught with insuperable difficulties. To constitute a Regent for all Germany, in whose hands is to be lodged the sovereign administration of affairs, is in fact to dethrone and mediatise the whole of the reigning potentates. It may be freely conceded that a number of the smaller states might be absorbed, and their names removed from the map of Europe, without causing any disturbance of the balance of power; but, with regard to the larger ones, the case is very different. Will Austria, Prussia, Bavaria, and Saxony, submit to surrender their independence? Will the kings allow themselves to be stripped of their authority—of the power to make laws, to proclaim war and peace, and to levy and command their own armies? We do not believe it. Austria may not object at this peculiar juncture, both because she is deeply engaged in war for the recovery of Lombardy, and because the present Regent is a prince of her imperial family. Prussia can hardly be the first to dissent, because her monarch had the credit of originating the idea of German unity, under the illusion that he would be nominated as the head. But unity is not popular in Prussia, any more than it is in Bavaria, and the moment is fast approaching when this bubble also must explode. We might look upon the whole experiment with feelings of pure curiosity, were it not that incipient unity has been signalised by an act of the most flagrant aggression. We allude to the occupation of Schleswig-Holstein by the Germans.

Denmark is one of those small states in which the nationality is of the most invincible kind. Circumscribed in territorial space, the Danish people are possessed of a courage and energy which for centuries has continued undiminished; and the more powerful northern states are bound, if not by treaty, at least by the strongest ties of policy and relationship, to assist their gallant neighbours in maintaining their original position. Russia and Sweden have already declared themselves open allies of Denmark, and resolute to maintain her against the forces of Germany. The disposition of England, and, we are glad to say, of France also, tends towards the same point; and such being the case, we have great hopes that the Germans will not be mad enough to persevere in their unjustifiable course. A war in the north of Europe, in which so many great nations would be engaged, must be a hideous calamity; and Germany, if wise, should be the last country to provoke it. But, as if to complicate matters, the parliament at Frankfort have manifested an intention of embroiling themselves with Holland for one of the ceded duchies.

It is no purpose of ours to speculate upon events, and therefore we leave the Danish question without further comment. It will be extremely gratifying if, after all the demonstration which has been made, and the actual collision between the Danes and the Germans, peace can be re-established without having recourse to the armed interference of a northern confederation; and it would be still more gratifying if this desirable result should be the effect of British mediation. But, looking to the south of Europe, we cannot approve of the policy which Great Britain has since pursued, or the attitude which Lord Palmerston has chosen to assume towards a friendly foreign power.

Our readers will not have forgotten the surprise and suspicion which was excited, about a year ago, by the absence of a cabinet minister, who was understood to be perambulating Italy with a sort of roving commission. The intention may have been friendly, but the fact was both unusual and degrading, and gave rise at the time to a multitude of unpleasant suspicions. Whether Lord Minto travelled in the capacity of constitution-maker for Italy we know not; but if so, as has more than once been broadly alleged, his attempts have been utter failures. We hope it was not by his advice that Charles Albert has done his best to light up the flames of general war by that ungenerous attack upon Austria, which has ended so disastrously for himself. Baffled on every hand—after having sacrificed his army, and squandered his treasure—the King of Sardinia has been driven back into his own country, amidst the execrations of those whom he professedly came to emancipate, and without a hope left of gaining the diadem for which he had perilled so much. The papal constitution at Rome has by no means fulfilled the hopes of the liberal advocates. Pius, lately so popular, is trembling in the Vatican, and the inhabitants of the Eternal City are in as much terror as if Attila were again at its gates. We repeat that we do not know how much share British councils may have had in promoting these untoward events; but this we know, that it would have been far better if Lord Minto had remained at home. For, in the matter of Naples at least, we have chosen to take a direct part, which throws suspicion upon the tendency of our whole negotiations with the Peninsula.

Sicily has chosen to cast off its allegiance to the crown of Naples, and to elect a sovereign of its own. This is strictly a domestic contest, and one in which we had no title whatever to interfere. But mark what has taken place. No sooner was Naples—a country which has also felt the revolutionary shock—quieted by the granting of a constitution, than King Ferdinand, desirous of quelling rebellion in Sicily, is intimidated from sending his squadron for that purpose, by the appearance of a British fleet off his own territory. Against this unjustifiable demonstration the King of Naples has protested, declaring that he will hold any armed interference between himself and his subjects as tantamount to a declaration of war on the part of the British government. Lord Stanley—whose conduct throughout the session, on all questions connected with foreign or colonial affairs, has been pre-eminently distinguished for temperance, rectitude, and ability, and who has exhibited, in a remarkable degree, every qualification requisite for the leader of a great and national party—brought the whole subject before the consideration of the House of Lords: but the explanations given by Lord Lansdowne are not calculated to improve our character for good faith, whilst they may afford a ready apology to other states for any act of aggression whatever. Also, at a later period of the session, Mr D’Israeli, in one of those brilliant speeches for which he is unrivalled, again demanded explanation from the Foreign Secretary, and took occasion to comment, with sarcastic felicity, on the Minto pilgrimage to Rome. We shall presently allude to the reply which Lord Palmerston thought proper to make.

The facts of the case, as admitted by Lord Lansdowne, are shortly these:—Britain was never asked to mediate formally between the conflicting parties. The Sicilians stood in the position of rebels, victorious perhaps on their own soil, but not, on that account, released from an allegiance which had been formally recognised by Europe. They proceeded, as all insurgents do, to debate upon some form of government; and at this point, it seems, the Foreign Office thought fit to use its influence. Lord Palmerston became a party to the discussions of the revolted Sicilians, to the extent at least of advising them to select a monarchical instead of a republican form of government; with an assurance that, in that event, Britain would recognise the prince who might be elected by the people.

This is neither more nor less than a recognition of the right of revolt; and we should like to know upon what principle of the law of nations it can be defended. It is one thing to acknowledge the right of a nation to change the character of its institutions,—as for example, in the case of France, which from a monarchy has become a republic. Were we to undergo the same organic change, France, doubtless, would recognise us, and continue the same relations with us under the altered form of government. But what if France had chosen to espouse the cause of the Irish confederates? What if—supposing our troops had been defeated by a general rising, and Smith O’Brien had been proclaimed not only King of Munster, but of Ireland—General Cavaignac should have assured the rebels, that he would recognise the descendant of Brian Boru as the prince elected by the people? Would not that negotiation, that assurance, be treated by England as an open declaration of hostility,—an interference which no circumstances could palliate, and for which no explanation could suffice? We apprehend there can be no difficulty in answering the question, and yet our position with regard to Naples was precisely similar.

No official recognition of the independence of Sicily has as yet taken place. Her Britannic Majesty has accredited no ambassador to that court, nor does she know any thing more of the King of Sicily than her royal predecessor did of Theodore King of Corsica. In all Sicilian matters, as yet, this country nominally recognises the supremacy of King Ferdinand, who has in no way incurred a forfeiture. Yet at the very moment when that potentate has completed his preparations for coercing his rebel subjects, a British fleet appears off his shores, and no explanation has been vouchsafed of the reasons which have brought it there.

In answer to Lord Malmesbury, who reiterated the question originally put by Lord Stanley, “Is the fleet of Admiral Parker to interfere with any expedition which his Neapolitan Majesty may send against his subjects in Sicily?” Lord Lansdowne distinctly refused explanation. So did Lord Palmerston in answer to Mr D’Israeli; and he further added, “that it is not the practice of the government of this country to announce to parliament what the intentions of the government are.” All that we shall say upon that point is, that, even during the present session of parliament, ministers have more than once been particularly eager to parade their intentions, without even the formality of a question. Such answers are very apt to make distrustful people recollect that Naples is but a small state, and not so formidable as some others which have led the van of revolution. But even supposing that the Whig government are not prepared to go the length of violating treaties, and breaking alliances by a direct and forcible interference, this concealment is peculiarly unwise at a moment when neutrality is of the last importance. Apart from this question of Sicilian interference, no one wants to know why Admiral Parker’s fleet is there. It is not alone Lord Stanley or Mr D’Israeli whose curiosity requires to be gratified. The King of Naples believes this armament is sent with intentions hostile to him, and he has a right to know whether Britain proposes to throw an impediment betwixt him and his revolted dominions. Are ministers aware of the effect which such ambiguous answers may have upon the future policy of France? General Oudinot, we know, is at the head of a large army on the southern frontier of France, and Charles Albert has notoriously solicited assistance from that quarter. What if the French, drawing their own deduction from the fact of the fleet being there, and all explanation refused, should choose to assume that we have exceeded the bounds of neutrality, and are now coercing the King of Naples?—what if they should march an army to the support of the Piedmontese, again make Lombardy a field of battle, and throw all Europe into irretrievable confusion, by engaging in hostilities with Austria? Is that contingency so remote that we can afford to indulge in mysteries, and peril the fair fame of England’s open dealing for a paltry Palmerston intrigue?

If we contemplate seriously the whole course of our foreign policy, in so far as regards Italy, we cannot fail to be impressed with the idea that the Whigs have given undue countenance to the late insurrectionary movements. Great Britain might have come forward honourably at the commencement of the Lombardy campaign to stop the effusion of blood and the horrors of war, by the offer of a timely mediation; but no such step was taken. On the contrary, our Cabinet remained quiescent and looked on approvingly, so long as success appeared to favour the Sardinian arms: it is only after the invader has been beaten back, and driven within the frontiers of his own kingdom—after Austria has redeemed by force all her Lombard territory, that Lord Palmerston, and his new ally Cavaignac, have thought fit to tender their good offices. We may safely ask—what good purpose can be achieved by this very late intervention? Who are the parties whose quarrel is to be taken up? Mr D’Israeli put the matter well when he asked,—First, what was to be the principle of this mediation; secondly, what was to be the motive of the mediation; and thirdly, what was the end proposed to be attained by the mediation? The motive, we are assured, is the preservation of peace, and we fully subscribe to its importance; but on all other matters we are left as thoroughly in the dark as ever. Really this mystery is, to say the least of it, tantalising; and we would fain know whether Austria is the party who has taken the initiative, in securing the advice of two peace-makers like Palmerston and Cavaignac. Austria has recovered the possessions guaranteed her by the faith of the leading states of Europe, has put down insurrection, and driven back in rout and terror the invading Sardinian over his own frontier. There remains no body of her revolted subjects in a position to ask for mediation. As for Charles Albert, he is not, we presume, either King of Italy or Lord of Lombardy, neither have we heard of any other claim, save that of sympathy, which could entitle him to enter into the contest. Personally he had no wrong to avenge; but having chosen to espouse the cause of the rebels, and to encounter the risks of war, he is surely not entitled, especially after defeat, to insist upon any conditions. If Austria shall choose, of her own free will and accord, to cede possession of Lombardy, it will be a mere act of grace, which cannot be demanded from her by any state in Europe. But she is clearly entitled to dictate, and not to receive conditions; and any interference with her guaranteed and fully recovered rights, either on the part of England or of France, would be tantamount to a declaration of war.

From first to last, therefore, we condemn the course which has been pursued by the British foreign minister with reference to the affairs of Italy, as undignified, unconstitutional, and mischievous. It has naturally lowered the estimate of our character in the eyes of the Italian people, whose own fondness for intrigue does not prevent them from despising that system, when pursued on the part of a strong and powerful nation. Minto jobbing has proved an utter failure. It may not indeed have been unproductive in results, for it has materially stimulated sedition, but certainly it has not tended to the preservation of peace, or the consolidation of government in Italy.

Lord Palmerston has not been happy for the present year in his foreign relations. Some gratuitous advice to Spain, which he no doubt tendered with the best possible intentions, was ignominiously returned upon his hand; and this affront was followed up by another still more serious, for our ambassador at Madrid was dismissed. Such are the results of constant meddling with the institutions of foreign states, or prying into their domestic arrangements, and of everlastingly tendering unsolicited and unpalatable advice. We do Lord Palmerston the justice to believe, that he is the last man in the world who would brook such conduct at the hands of others. Why then will he persist in acting the part of Mentor to all the states of Europe, at the risk of attracting insult to himself, and of materially endangering the character and position of his country?

Whether we regard the conduct of the present ministry at home or abroad, in domestic or in foreign relations, we find little to praise, and much which we must conscientiously condemn. Late events do not seem to have conveyed to them any important lesson. Diminished exports, want of reciprocity, and the disorganisation of affairs on the Continent, have effected as yet no change in their commercial policy. They are still determined to persevere in the course which they have unfortunately adopted, and to neglect the home and colonial markets for the desperate chance of pushing exportation further. By delaying to make any provision for the relaxation of the odious Bank Restriction Acts—by placing upon the committee of the House of Commons men whose financial reputation depended upon the maintenance of these measures—they have again exposed the country to a recurrence of that crisis which, in November last, was so near a fatal termination. Who shall answer for it that a fresh drain of bullion will not take place this autumn? If the harvest shall prove deficient, such undoubtedly may be the case, and the mercantile world will be left without the means of accommodation at the moment of its utmost need.

When we look at the long period of tranquillity which this country has enjoyed since the peace—when we reflect upon the extension of trade, the increase of our colonies, the apparent accumulation of wealth at home, the development of industry, and the enormous social improvements which have resulted from the progress of science—it seems almost miraculous that any combination of circumstances should so rapidly have involved us in financial embarrassments. Those embarrassments are marked by the price of money and its fluctuations, by the difficulty of accommodation, by the unprecedented decline in the value of every kind of property, by the amount of unemployed labour in the market, and by the long list of bankruptcies. We ask for an explanation of these phenomena, and we are referred to a failure of the potato crop! The political economists will not acknowledge the share they have had in the production of such lamentable results—but, fortunately, they cannot alter dates; and one thing at least is incontestible, that the commencement of the period of decline corresponds exactly with that of Sir Robert Peel’s fiscal and currency measures. It may have been that we were previously in danger from the want of these, but the country neither knew nor felt it. The change was made, and since then our prospects have been dark and gloomy.

Parliament has utterly failed, during last session, to suggest any remedy for the general distress. It must fail so to do, until it is called together under the auspices of a Cabinet imbued with patriotic principles, aware of the responsibility of their situation, and thoroughly resolved to release themselves from the trammels of a system which has fraud and selfishness for its foundation, and which seeks to aggrandise a few at the sacrifice of the industrious many. May Heaven grant that such men may speedily be called to the supreme councils of the nation, and that this may be the last session, the futilities of which it is our duty to record, under the imbecile and slovenly administration of the Whigs!

TO A CAGED SKYLARK, REGENT’S CIRCUS, PICCADILLY.

BY B. SIMMONS.

The city’s stony roar around!

The city’s stifling air!

The London May’s distracting sound,

And dust, and heat, and glare!

She sings to-night who puts to shame

Her fabled sisters’ syren-fame;

And, swarming through one mighty street,

From all opposing points they meet;

And hurrying, whirling, madd’ning on,

The crashing wheels and battling crowd

Are coming still, and still are gone—

The Thunder and the Cloud.

But the gush of faint odours

From apple-tree blooms—

The dew-fall by starlight

In green mossy glooms—

The sob of low breezes

Through hill-lifted pines

Looking miles o’er lone moorlands

While evening declines—

The dying away

Of far bleats at the shealing,

The hum of the night-fly

Where streamlets are stealing—

All are floating, this moment, or mournfully heard,

(Distinct as lutes mid trumpets) round thy cage, heart-breaking Bird!

They heed, nor hear—that seething mass—

But storm and brawl and burst along,

Porter and Peer—the City class—

And high-born Beauty shrined in glass—

The pale Mechanic and his lass—

Thick as the scythe-awaiting grass,

In one discordant throng.

While, loud with many a clanging bell,

Some annual joy the steeples tell,

And waggons’ groan and drivers’ yell

The loud hubbub and riot swell;

Yet still the stunn’d ear drinks, through all, that liquid song.

And far sinks the tumult,

And takes the soft moan

Of billows that shoreward

Are lapsingly thrown,

When the stars o’er the light-house

Set faintly and few,

And the waves’ level blackness

Is trembling to blue.

Wing’d Darling of Sunrise!

How oft at that hour,

Where the grassy lea lovingly

Tufted thy bower,

Thy friends the meek cowslips

Still folded in sleep,

Didst thou burst, and meet Morning

Half way from the deep,

And circle and soar

Till thy small rosy wing

Seem’d a sparkle the far-coming

Splendour might fling!

How lavishly then

On the night-hidden hill

Didst thou rain down thy carol

Deliciously shrill—

Still mounting to Heaven,

As thou didst rejoice

To be nearer the Angels,

Since nearest in voice!

And thy wild liquid warbling,

Sweet Thing! after all,

Leaves thee thus aching-breasted,

A captive and thrall.

For the thymy dell’s freshness and free dewy cloud

A barr’d nook in this furnace-heat and suffocating crowd.

No pause even here to list thy lay;

The human ferment working

Must on with unresisted sway

In bubbling thousands swept away,

Nor near thy cage be left ONE HERMIT-HEARER lurking.

Twin minstrels were ye

Once in sunshine and shade

With thy hymns to the Love-star,

His rhymes to the Maid.

How sweet was it then,

As he linger’d at noon

Beneath trees dropping diamonds

In shower-freshen’d June,

Beloved of the Rainbow!

To mark thee on high,

Where violet and amber

Were arching the sky;

And to deem thou wert singing

Of comfort to him—

Of some Bow yet to brighten

His destiny dim!

From thy Cloud and his Dream

Long the glory is gone,

And the dungeon remains

To each desolate one:

And as vainly as thine would his spirit up-spring,

Beating against his prison-bar with faint and baffled wing.

SONNET.—TO DENMARK.

Again the trumpet-blast of war is blown:

Again the cannon booms along the sea.

Now, may the God of Battles stand by thee,

True-hearted Denmark! struggling for thine own,

For right, and loyalty, and King, and throne,

Against the weight of frantic Germany!

Old Honour is not dead whilst thou art free—

Oh be thou faithful to thy past renown!

May the great spirit of thy heroes dead

Be as a bulwark to thine ancient shore:

And, midst the surge of battle rolling red,

Still be thy banner foremost as of yore;

Prouder than when it waved, to winds outspread,

On the broad bastion-keep of Elsinore!

LIFE IN THE “FAR WEST.”

PART IV.

We have said that La Bonté was a philosopher: he took the streaks of ill luck which checkered his mountain life in a vein of perfect carelessness, if not of stoical indifference. Nothing ruffled his danger-steeled equanimity of temper; no sudden emotion disturbed his mind. We have seen how wives were torn from him without eliciting a groan or grumble, (but such contretemps, it may be said, can scarcely find a place in the category of ills;) how the loss of mules and mustangs, harried by horse-stealing Indians, left him in the ne-plus-ultra of mountain misery—“afoot;” how packs and peltries, the hard-earned “beaver” of his perilous hunts, were “raised” at one fell swoop by freebooting bands of savages. Hunger and thirst, we know, were commonplace sensations to the mountaineer. His storm-hardened flesh scarce felt the pinging wounds of arrow-point or bullet; and when in the midst of Indian fight, it is not probable that any tender qualms of feeling would allay the itching of his fingers for his enemy’s scalp-lock, nor would any remains of civilised fastidiousness prevent his burying his knife again and again in the life-blood of an Indian savage.

Still, in one dark corner of his heart, there shone at intervals a faint spark of what was once a fiercely-burning fire. Neither time, that corroder of all things, nor change, that ready abettor of oblivion, nor scenes of peril and excitement, which act as dampers to more quiet memory, could smother this little smouldering spark, which now and again—when rarely-coming calm succeeded some stirring passage in the hunter’s life, and left him, for a brief time, devoid of care and victim to his thoughts—would flicker suddenly, and light up all the nooks and corners of his rugged breast, and discover to his mind’s eye that one deep-rooted memory clung there still, though long neglected; proving that, spite of time and change, of life and fortune,

“On revient toujours à ses premiers amours.”

Often and often, as La Bonté sat cross-legged before his solitary camp-fire, and, pipe in mouth, watched the blue smoke curling upwards in the clear cold sky, a well-remembered form appeared to gaze upon him from the vapoury wreaths. Then would old recollections crowd before him, and old emotions, long a stranger to his breast, shape themselves, as it were, into long-forgotten but now familiar pulsations. Again he felt the soft subduing influence which once, in days gone by, a certain passion exercised over his mind and body; and often a trembling seized him, the same he used to experience at the sudden sight of one Mary Brand, whose dim and dreamy apparition so often watched his lonely bed, or, unconsciously conjured up, cheered him in the dreary watches of the long and stormy winter nights.

At first he only knew that one face haunted his dreams by night, and the few moments by day when he thought of any thing, and this face smiled lovingly upon him, and cheered him mightily. Name he had quite forgotten, or recalled it vaguely, and, setting small store by it, had thought of it no more.

For many years after he had deserted his home, La Bonté had cherished the idea of again returning to his country. During this period he had never forgotten his old flame, and many a choice fur he had carefully laid by, intended as a present for Mary Brand; and many a gâge d’amour of cunning shape and device, worked in stained quills of porcupine and bright-coloured beads—the handiwork of nimble-fingered squaws—he had packed in his possible sack for the same destination, hoping a time would come when he might lay them at her feet.

Year after year wore on, however, and still found him, with traps and rifle, following his perilous avocation; and each succeeding one saw him more and more wedded to the wild mountain life. He was conscious how unfitted he had become again to enter the galling harness of conventionality and civilisation. He thought, too, how changed in manners and appearance he now must be, and could not believe that he would again find favour in the eyes of his quondam love, who, he judged, had long since forgotten him; and inexperienced as he was in such matters, yet he knew enough of womankind to feel assured that time and absence had long since done the work, if even the natural fickleness of woman’s nature had lain dormant. Thus it was that he came to forget Mary Brand, but still remembered the all-absorbing feeling she had once created in his breast, the shadow of which still remained, and often took form and feature in the smoke-wreaths of his solitary camp-fire.

If truth be told, La Bonté had his failings as a mountaineer, and—sin unpardonable in hunter law—still possessed, in holes and corners of his breast seldom explored by his inward eye, much of the leaven of kindly human nature, which now and again involuntarily peeped out, as greatly to the contempt of his comrade trappers as it was blushingly repressed by the mountaineer himself. Thus, in his various matrimonial episodes, he treated his dusky sposas with all the consideration the sex could possibly demand from hand of man. No squaw of his ever humped shoulder to receive a castigatory and marital “lodge-poling” for offence domestic; but often has his helpmate blushed to see her pale-face lord and master devote himself to the feminine labour of packing huge piles of fire-wood on his back, felling trees, butchering unwieldy buffalo—all which are included in the Indian category of female duties. Thus he was esteemed an excellent parti by all the marriageable young squaws of Blackfoot, Crow, and Shoshone, of Yutah, Shian, and Arapaho; but after his last connubial catastrophe, he steeled his heart against all the charms and coquetry of Indian belles, and persevered in unblessed widowhood for many a long day.

From the point where we left him on his way to the waters of the Columbia, we must jump with him over a space of nearly two years, during which time he had a most uninterrupted run of good luck; trapping with great success on the head streams of the Columbia and Yellow Stone—the most dangerous of trapping ground—and finding good market for his peltries at the “North-west” posts—beaver fetching as high a price as five and six dollars a “plew”—the “golden age” of trappers, now, alas, never to return, and existing only in the fond memory of the mountaineers. This glorious time, however, was too good to last. In mountain language, “such heap of fat meat was not going to ‘shine’ much longer.”

La Bonté was at this time one of a band of eight trappers, whose hunting ground was about the head waters of the Yellow Stone, which we have before said is in the country of the Blackfeet. With him were Killbuck, Meek, Marcelline, and three others; and the leader of the party was Bill Williams, that old “hard case” who had spent forty years and more in the mountains, until he had become as tough as the parflêche soles of his mocassins. They were all good men and true, expert hunters, and well-trained mountaineers. After having trapped all the streams they were acquainted with, it was determined to strike into the mountains, at a point where old Williams affirmed, from the “run” of the hills, there must be plenty of water, although not one of the party had before explored the country, or knew any thing of its nature, or of the likelihood of its affording game for themselves or pasture for their animals. However, they packed their peltry, and put out for the land in view—a lofty peak, dimly seen above the more regular summit of the chain, being their landmark.

For the first day or two their route lay between two ridges of mountains, and by following the little valley which skirted a creek, they kept on level ground, and saved their animals considerable labour and fatigue. Williams always rode ahead, his body bent over his saddle-horn, across which rested a long heavy rifle, his keen gray eyes peering from under the slouched brim of a flexible felt-hat, black and shining with grease. His buckskin hunting-shirt, bedaubed until it had the appearance of polished leather, hung in folds over his bony carcass; his nether extremities being clothed in pantaloons of the same material, (with scattered fringes down the outside of the leg—which ornaments, however, had been pretty well thinned to supply “whangs” for mending mocassins or pack-saddles,) which, shrunk with wet, clung tightly to his long, spare, sinewy legs. His feet were thrust into a pair of Mexican stirrups, made of wood, and as big as coal-scuttles; and iron spurs of incredible proportions, with tinkling drops attached to the rowels, were fastened to his heel—a bead-worked strap, four inches broad, securing them over the instep. In the shoulder-belt which sustained his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, were fastened the various instruments essential to one pursuing his mode of life. An awl, with deer-horn handle, and the point defended by a case of cherry-wood carved by his own hand, hung at the back of the belt, side by side with a worm for cleaning the rifle; and under this was a squat and quaint-looking bullet-mould, the handles guarded by strips of buckskin to save his fingers from burning when running balls, having for its companion a little bottle made from the point of an antelope’s horn, scraped transparent, which contained the “medicine” used in baiting the traps. The old coon’s face was sharp and thin, a long nose and chin hob-nobbing each other; and his head was always bent forward, giving him the appearance of being hump-backed. He appeared to look neither to the right nor left, but, in fact, his little twinkling eye was everywhere. He looked at no one he was addressing, always seeming to be thinking of something else than the subject of his discourse, speaking in a whining, thin, cracked voice, and in a tone that left the hearer in doubt whether he was laughing or crying. On the present occasion he had joined this band, and naturally assumed the leadership, (for Bill ever refused to go in harness,) in opposition to his usual practice, which was to hunt alone. His character was well known. Acquainted with every inch of the Far West, and with all the Indian tribes who inhabited it, he never failed to outwit his Red enemies, and generally made his appearance at the rendezvous, from his solitary expeditions, with galore of beaver, when numerous bands of trappers dropped in on foot, having been despoiled of their packs and animals by the very Indians through the midst of whom old Williams had contrived to pass unseen and unmolested. On occasions when he had been in company with others, and attacked by Indians, Bill invariably fought manfully, and with all the coolness that perfect indifference to death or danger could give, but always “on his own hook.” His rifle cracked away merrily, and never spoke in vain; and in a charge—if ever it came to that—his keen-edged butcherknife tickled the fleece of many a Blackfoot. But at the same time, if he saw that discretion was the better part of valour, and affairs wore so cloudy an aspect as to render retreat advisable, he would first express his opinion in curt terms, and decisively, and, charging up his rifle, would take himself off, and “cache”[^[2]] so effectually that to search for him was utterly useless. Thus, when with a large party of trappers, when any thing occurred which gave him a hint that trouble was coming, or more Indians were about than he considered good for his animals, Bill was wont to exclaim—

“Do ’ee hyar now, boys, thar’s sign about? this hos feels like caching;” and, without more words, and stoically deaf to all remonstrances, he would forthwith proceed to pack his animals, talking the while to an old, crop-eared, raw-boned Nez-percé pony, his own particular saddle-horse, who, in dogged temper and iron hardiness, was a worthy companion of his self-willed master. This beast, as Bill seized his apishamore to lay upon its galled back, would express displeasure by humping its back and shaking its withers with a wincing motion, that always excited the ire of the old trapper; and no sooner had he laid the apishamore smoothly on the chafed skin, than a wriggle of the animal shook it off.

“Do ’ee hyar now, you darned crittur!” he would whine out, “can’t’ee keep quiet your old fleece now? Isn’t this old coon putting out to save ’ee from the darned Injuns now, do ’ee hyar?” And then, continuing his work, and taking no notice of his comrades, who stood by bantering the eccentric trapper, he would soliloquise—“Do ’ee hyar, now? This niggur sees sign ahead—he does; he’ll be afoot afore long, if he don’t keep his eye skinned,—he will. Injuns is all about, they ar’: Blackfoot at that. Can’t come round this child—they can’t, wagh!” And at last, his pack animals securely tied to the tail of his horse, he would mount, and throwing the rifle across the horn of his saddle, and without noticing his companions, would drive the jingling spurs into his horse’s gaunt sides, and muttering, “Can’t come round this child—they can’t!” would ride away; and nothing more would be seen or heard of him perhaps for months, when they would not unfrequently, themselves bereft of animals in the scrape he had foreseen, find him located in some solitary valley, in his lonely camp, with his animals securely picketed around, and his peltries safe.

However, if he took it into his head to keep company with a party, all felt perfectly secure under his charge. His iron frame defied fatigue, and, at night, his love for himself and his own animals was sufficient guarantee that the camp would be well guarded. As he rode ahead, his spurs jingling, and thumping the sides of his old horse at every step, he managed, with admirable dexterity, to take advantage of the best line of country to follow—avoiding the gullies and cañons and broken ground, which would otherwise have impeded his advance. This tact appeared instinctive, for he looked neither right nor left, whilst continuing a course as straight as possible at the foot of the mountains. In selecting a camping site, he displayed equal skill: wood, water, and grass began to fill his thoughts towards sundown, and when these three requisites for a camping ground presented themselves, old Bill sprang from his saddle, unpacked his animals in a twinkling, and hobbled them, struck fire and ignited a few chips, (leaving the rest to pack in the wood,) lit his pipe, and enjoyed himself. On one occasion, when passing through the valley, they had come upon a band of fine buffalo cows, and, shortly after camping, two of the party rode in with a good supply of fat fleece. One of the party was a “greenhorn” on his first hunt, and, fresh from a fort on Platte, was as yet uninitiated in the mysteries of mountain cooking. Bill, lazily smoking his pipe, called to him, as he happened to be nearest, to butcher off a piece of meat and put it in his pot. Markhead seized the fleece, and commenced innocently carving off a huge ration, when a gasping roar from the old trapper caused him to drop his knife.

“Ti-yah,” growled Bill, “do ’ee hyar, now, you darned greenhorn, do ’ee spile fat cow like that whar you was raised? Them doin’s won’t shine in this crowd, boy, do ’ee hyar, darn you? What! butcher meat across the grain! why, whar’ll the blood be goin’ to, you precious Spaniard? Down the grain I say,” he continued in a severe tone of rebuke, “and let your flaps be long, or out the juice’ll run slick—do ’ee hyar, now?” But this heretical error nearly cost the old trapper his appetite, and all night long he grumbled his horror at seeing “fat cow spiled in that fashion.”

When two or three days’ journey brought them to the end of the valley, and they commenced the passage of the mountain, their march was obstructed by all kinds of obstacles; although they had chosen what appeared to be a gap in the chain, and what was in fact the only practicable passage in that vicinity. They followed the cañon of a branch of the Yellow Stone, where it entered the mountain; but from this point it became a torrent, and it was only by dint of incredible exertions that they reached the summit of the ridge. Game was exceedingly scarce in the vicinity, and they suffered extremely from hunger, having, on more than one occasion, recourse to the parflêche soles of their mocassins to allay its pangs. Old Bill, however, never grumbled; he chewed away at his shoes with relish even, and as long as he had a pipeful of tobacco in his pouch, was a happy man. Starvation was as yet far off, for all their animals were in existence; but as they were in a country where it was difficult to procure a remount, each trapper hesitated to sacrifice one of his horses to his appetite.

From the summit of the ridge, Bill recognised the country on the opposite side to that whence they had just ascended as familiar to him, and pronounced it to be full of beaver, as well as abounding in the less desirable commodity of Indians. This was the valley lying about the lakes now called Eustis and Biddle, in which are many thermal and mineral springs, well known to the trappers by the names of the Soda, Beer, and Brimstone Springs, and regarded by them with no little awe and curiosity, as being the breathing places of his Satanic majesty—considered, moreover, to be the “biggest kind” of “medicine” to be found in the mountains. If truth be told, old Bill hardly relished the idea of entering this country, which he pronounced to be of “bad medicine” notoriety, but nevertheless agreed to guide them to the best trapping ground.

One day they reached a creek full of beaver sign, and determined to halt here and establish their headquarters, while they trapped in the neighbourhood. We must here observe, that at this period—which was one of considerable rivalry amongst the various trading companies in the Indian country—the Indians, having become possessed of arms and ammunition in great quantities, had grown unusually daring and persevering in their attacks on the white hunters who passed through their country, and consequently the trappers were compelled to roam about in larger bands for mutual protection, which, although it made them less liable to open attack, yet rendered it more difficult for them to pursue their calling without being discovered; for, where one or two men might pass unseen, the broad trail of a large party, with its animals, was not likely to escape the sharp eyes of the cunning savages.

They had scarcely encamped when the old leader, who had sallied out a short distance from camp to reconnoitre the neighbourhood, returned with an Indian mocassin in his hand, and informed his companions that its late owner and others were about.

“Do ’ee hyar now, boys, thar’s Injuns knocking round, and Blackfoot at that; but thar’s plenty of beaver too, and this child means trapping any how.”

His companions were anxious to leave such dangerous vicinity; but the old fellow, contrary to his usual caution, determined to remain where he was—saying that there were Indians all over the country for that matter; and as they had determined to hunt here, he had made up his mind too—which was conclusive, and all agreed to stop where they were, in spite of the Indians. La Bonté killed a couple of mountain sheep close to camp, and they feasted rarely on the fat mutton that night, and were unmolested by marauding Blackfeet.

The next morning, leaving two of their number in camp, they started in parties of two, to hunt for beaver sign and set their traps. Markhead paired with one Batiste, Killbuck and La Bonté formed another couple, Meek and Marcelline another; two Canadians trapped together, and Bill Williams and another remained to guard the camp: but this last, leaving Bill mending his mocassins, started off to kill a mountain sheep, a band of which animals was visible.

Markhead and his companion, the first couple on the list, followed a creek, which entered that on which they had encamped, about ten miles distant. Beaver sign was abundant, and they had set eight traps, when Markhead came suddenly upon fresh Indian sign, where squaws had passed through the shrubbery on the banks of the stream to procure water, as he knew from observing a large stone placed by them in the stream, on which to stand to enable them to dip their kettles in the deepest water. Beckoning to his companion to follow, and cocking his rifle, he carefully pushed aside the bushes, and noiselessly proceeded up the bank, when, creeping on hands and knees, he gained the top, and, looking from his hiding-place, descried three Indian huts standing on a little plateau near the creek. Smoke curled from the roofs of branches, but the skin doors were carefully closed, so that he was unable to distinguish the number of the inmates. At a little distance, however, he observed two or three squaws gathering wood, with the usual attendance of curs, whose acuteness in detecting the scent of strangers was much to be dreaded.

Markhead was a rash and daring young fellow, caring no more for Indians than he did for prairie dogs, and acting ever on the spur of the moment, and as his inclination dictated, regardless of consequences. He at once determined to enter the lodges, and attack the enemy, should any be there; and the other trapper was fain to join him in the enterprise. The lodges proved empty, but the fires were still burning and meat cooking upon them, to which the hungry hunters did ample justice, besides helping themselves to whatever goods and chattels, in the shape of leather and mocassins, took their fancy.

Gathering their spoil into a bundle, they sought their horses, which they had left tied under cover of the timber on the banks of the creek; and, mounting, took the back trail, to pick up their traps and remove from so dangerous a neighbourhood. They were approaching the spot where the first trap was set, a thick growth of ash and quaking-ash concealing the stream, when Markhead, who was riding ahead, observed the bushes agitated, as if some animal was making its way through them. He instantly stopped his horse, and his companion rode to his side, to inquire the cause of this abrupt halt. They were within a few yards of the belt of shrubs which skirted the stream; and before Markhead had time to reply, a dozen swarthy heads and shoulders suddenly protruded from the leafy screen, and as many rifle barrels and arrows were pointing at their breasts. Before the trappers had time to turn their horses and fly, a cloud of smoke burst from the thicket almost in their faces. Batiste, pierced with several balls, fell dead from his horse, and Markhead felt himself severely wounded. However, he struck the spurs into his horse; and as some half-score Blackfeet jumped with loud cries from their cover, he discharged his rifle amongst them, and galloped off, a volley of balls and arrows whistling after him. He drew no bit until he reined up at the camp-fire, where he found Bill quietly dressing a deer-skin. That worthy looked up from his work; and seeing Markhead’s face streaming with blood, and the very unequivocal evidence of an Indian rencontre in the shape of an arrow sticking in his back, he asked,—“Do’ee feel bad now, boy? Whar away you see them darned Blackfoot?”

“Well, pull this arrow out of my back, and may be I’ll feel like telling,” answered Markhead.

“Do ’ee hyar now! hold on till I’ve grained this cussed skin, will ’ee! Did ’ee ever see sich a darned pelt, now? it won’t take the smoke any how I fix it.” And Markhead was fain to wait the leisure of the imperturbable old trapper, before he was eased of his annoying companion.

Old Bill expressed no surprise or grief when informed of the fate of poor Batiste. He said it was “just like greenhorns, runnin’ into them cussed Blackfoot;” and observed that the defunct trapper, being only a Vide-pôche, was “no account anyhow.” Presently Killbuck and La Bonté galloped into camp, with another alarm of Indians. They had also been attacked suddenly by a band of Blackfeet, but, being in a more open country, had got clear off, after killing two of their assailants, whose scalps hung at the horns of their saddles. They had been in a different direction to that where Markhead and his companion had proceeded, and, from the signs they had observed, expressed their belief that the country was alive with Indians. Neither of these men had been wounded. Presently the two Canadians made their appearance on the bluff, galloping with might and main to camp, and shouting “Indians, Indians,” as they came. All being assembled, and a council held, it was determined to abandon the camp and neighbourhood immediately. Old Bill was already packing his animals, and as he pounded the saddle down on the withers of his old Rosinante, he muttered,—“Do ’ee hyar, now! this coon ’ull câche, he will.” So mounting his horse, and leading his pack mule by a lariat, he bent over his saddle-horn, dug his ponderous rowels into the lank sides of his beast, and, without a word, struck up the bluff and disappeared.

The others, hastily gathering up their packs, and most of them having lost their traps, quickly followed his example, and “put out.” On cresting the high ground which rose from the creek, they observed thin columns of smoke mounting into the air from many different points, the meaning of which they were at no loss to guess. However, they were careful not to show themselves on elevated ground, keeping as much as possible under the banks of the creek, when such a course was practicable; but, the bluffs sometimes rising precipitously from the water, they were more than once compelled to ascend the banks, and continue their course along the uplands, whence they might easily be discovered by the Indians. It was nearly sundown when they left their camp, but they proceeded during the greater part of the night at as rapid a rate as possible; their progress, however, being greatly retarded as they advanced into the mountain, their route lying up stream. Towards morning they halted for a brief space, but started again as soon as daylight permitted them to see their way over the broken ground.

The creek now forced its way through a narrow cañon, the banks being thickly clothed with a shrubbery of cottonwood and quaking-ash. The mountain rose on each side, but not abruptly, being here and there broken into plateaus and shelving prairies. In a very thick bottom, sprinkled with coarse grass, they halted about noon, and removed the saddles and packs from their wearied animals, piqueting them in the best spots of grass.

La Bonté and Killbuck, after securing their animals, left the camp to hunt, for they had no provisions of any kind; and a short distance beyond it, the former came suddenly upon a recent mocassin track in the timber. After examining it for a moment, he raised his head with a broad grin, and, turning to his companion, pointed into the cover, where, in the thickest part, they discerned the well-known figure of old Bill’s horse, browsing upon the cherry bushes. Pushing through the thicket in search of the brute’s master, La Bonté suddenly stopped short as the muzzle of a rifle-barrel gaped before his eyes at the distance of a few inches, whilst the thin voice of Bill muttered—

“Do ’ee hyar now, I was nigh giving ’ee h——: I was now. If I didn’t think ’ee was Blackfoot, I’m dogged now.” And not a little indignant was the old fellow that his câche had been so easily, though accidentally, discovered. However, he presently made his appearance in camp, leading his animals, and once more joined his late companions, not deigning to give any explanation as to why or wherefore he had deserted them the day before, merely muttering, “do ’ee hyar now, thar’s trouble comin’.”

The two hunters returned after sundown with a black-tailed deer; and after eating the better part of the meat, and setting a guard, the party were glad to roll in their blankets and enjoy the rest they so much needed. They were undisturbed during the night; but at dawn of day the sleepers were roused by a hundred fierce yells, from the mountains enclosing the creek on which they had encamped. The yells were instantly followed by a ringing volley, the bullets thudding into the trees, and cutting the branches near them, but without causing any mischief. Old Bill rose from his blanket and shook himself, and exclaimed “Wagh!” as at that moment a ball plumped into the fire over which he was standing, and knocked the ashes about in a cloud. All the mountaineers seized their rifles and sprang to cover; but as yet it was not sufficiently light to show them their enemy, the bright flashes from the guns alone indicating their position. As morning dawned, however, they saw that both sides of the cañon were occupied by the Indians; and, from the firing, judged there must be at least a hundred warriors engaged in the attack. Not a shot had yet been fired by the trappers, but as the light increased, they eagerly watched for an Indian to expose himself, and offer a mark to their trusty rifles. La Bonté, Killbuck, and old Bill, lay a few yards distant from each other, flat on their faces, near the edge of the thicket, their rifles raised before them, and the barrels resting in the forks of convenient bushes. From their place of concealment to the position of the Indians—who, however, were scattered here and there, wherever a rock afforded them cover—was a distance of about a hundred and fifty yards, or within fair rifle-shot. The trappers were obliged to divide their force, since both sides of the creek were occupied; but such was the nature of the ground, and the excellent cover afforded by the rocks and boulders, and clumps of dwarf pine and hemlock, that not a hand’s-breadth of an Indian’s body had yet been seen. Nearly opposite La Bonté, a shelving glade in the mountain side ended in an abrupt precipice, and at the very edge, and almost toppling over it, were several boulders, just of sufficient size to afford cover to a man’s body. As this bluff overlooked the trapper’s position, it was occupied by the Indians, and every rock covered an assailant. At one point, just over where La Bonté and Killbuck were lying, two boulders lay together, with just sufficient interval to admit a rifle-barrel between them, and from this breastwork an Indian kept up a most annoying fire. All his shots fell in dangerous propinquity to one or other of the trappers, and already Killbuck had been grazed by one better directed than the others. La Bonté watched for some time in vain for a chance to answer this persevering marksman, and at length an opportunity offered, by which he was not long in profiting.

The Indian, as the light increased, was better able to discern his mark, and fired, and yelled every time he did so, with redoubled vigour. In his eagerness, and probably whilst in the act of taking aim, he leaned too heavily against the rock which covered him, and, detaching it from its position, down it rolled into the cañon, exposing his body by its fall. At the same instant, a wreath of smoke puffed from the bushes which concealed the trappers, and the crack of La Bonté’s rifle spoke the first word of reply to the Indian challenge. But a few feet behind the rock, fell the dead body of the Indian, rolling down the steep sides of the cañon, and only stopped by a bush at the very bottom, within a few yards of the spot where Markhead lay concealed in some high grass.

That daring fellow instantly jumped from his cover, and, drawing his knife, rushed to the body, and in another moment held aloft the Indian’s scalp, giving, at the same time, a triumphant whoop. A score of rifles were levelled and discharged at the intrepid mountaineer; but in the act many Indians incautiously exposed themselves, every rifle in the timber cracked simultaneously, and for each report an Indian bit the dust.

But now they changed their tactics. Finding they were unable to drive the trappers from their position, they retired from the mountain, and the firing suddenly ceased. In their retreat, however, they were forced to expose themselves, and again the whites dealt destruction amongst them. As the Indians retired, yelling loudly, the hunters thought they had given up the contest; but presently a cloud of smoke rising from the bottom immediately below them, at once discovered the nature of their plans. A brisk wind was blowing up the cañon, and, favoured by it, they fired the brush on the banks of the stream, knowing that before this the hunters must speedily retreat.

Against such a result, but for the gale of wind which drove the fire roaring before it, they could have provided—for your mountaineer never fails to find resources on a pinch. They would have fired the brush to leeward of their position, and also carefully ignited that to windward, or between them and the advancing flame, extinguishing it immediately when a sufficient space had thus been cleared, and over which the fire-flame could not leap, and thus cutting themselves off from it both above and below their position. In the present instance, they could not profit by such a course, as the wind was so strong that, if once the bottom caught fire, they would not be able to extinguish it; besides which, in the attempt, they would so expose themselves that they would be picked off by the Indians without difficulty. As it was, the fire came roaring before the wind with the speed of a race-horse, and, spreading from the bottom, licked the mountain sides, the dry grass burning like tinder. Huge volumes of stifling smoke rolled before it, and, in a very few minutes, the trappers were hastily mounting their animals, driving the packed ones before them. The dense clouds of smoke concealed every thing from their view, and, to avoid this, they broke from the creek and galloped up the sides of the cañon on to the more level plateau. As they attained this, a band of mounted Indians charged them. One, waving a red blanket, dashed through the cavallada, and was instantly followed by all the loose animals of the trappers, the rest of the Indians following with loud shouts. So sudden was the charge, that the whites had not power to prevent the stampede. Old Bill, as usual, led his pack mules by the lariat; but the animals, mad with terror at the shouts of the Indians, broke from him, nearly pulling him out of his seat at the same time.

To cover the retreat of the others with their prey, a band of mounted Indians now appeared, threatening an attack in front, whilst their first assailants, rushing from the bottom, at least a hundred strong, assaulted in rear. “Do ’ee hyar, boys!” shouted old Bill, “break, or you’ll go under. This child’s goin’ to câche!” and saying the word, off he went. Sauve-qui-peut was the order of the day, and not a moment too soon, for overwhelming numbers were charging upon them, and the mountain resounded with savage yells. La Bonté and Killbuck stuck together: they saw old Bill, bending over his saddle, dive right into the cloud of smoke, and apparently make for the creek bottom—their other companions scattering each on his own hook, and saw no more of them for many a month; and thus was one of the most daring and successful bands broken up that ever trapped in the mountains of the Far West.

It is painful to follow the steps of the poor fellows who, thus despoiled of the hardly-earned produce of their hunt, saw all their wealth torn from them at one swoop. The two Canadians were killed upon the night succeeding that of the attack. Worn with fatigue, hungry and cold, they had built a fire in what they thought was a secure retreat, and, rolled in their blankets, were soon buried in a sleep from which they never awoke. An Indian boy tracked them, and watched their camp. Burning with the idea of signalising himself thus early, he awaited his opportunity, and noiselessly approaching their resting-place, shot them both with arrows, and returned in triumph to his people with their horses and scalps.

La Bonté and Killbuck sought a passage in the mountain by which to cross over to the head waters of the Columbia, and there fall in with some of the traders or trappers of the North-west. They became involved in the mountains, in a part where was no game of any description, and no pasture for their miserable animals. One of these they killed for food; the other, a bag of bones, died from sheer starvation. They had very little ammunition, their mocassins were worn out, and they were unable to procure skins to supply themselves with fresh ones. Winter was fast approaching, the snow already covered the mountains, and storms of sleet and hail poured incessantly through the valleys, benumbing their exhausted limbs, hardly protected by scanty and ragged covering. To add to their miseries, poor Killbuck was taken ill. He had been wounded in the groin by a bullet some time before, and the ball still remained. The wound, aggravated by walking and the excessive cold, assumed an ugly appearance, and soon rendered him incapable of sustained exertion, all motion even being attended with intolerable pain. La Bonté had made a shanty for his suffering companion, and spread a soft bed of pine branches for him, by the side of a small creek at the point where it came out of the mountain and followed its course through a little prairie. They had been three days without other food than a piece of parflêche, which had formed the back of La Bonté’s bullet-pouch, and which, after soaking in the creek, they eagerly devoured. Killbuck was unable to move, and sinking fast from exhaustion. His companion had hunted from morning till night, as well as his failing strength would allow him, but had not seen the traces of any kind of game, with the exception of some old buffalo tracks, made apparently months before by a band of bulls crossing the mountain.

The morning of the fourth day La Bonté, as usual, rose at daybreak from his blanket, and was proceeding to collect wood for the fire during his absence while hunting, when Killbuck called to him, and in an almost inarticulate voice desired him to seat himself by his side.

“Boy,” he said, “this old hos feels like goin’ under, and that afore long. You’re stout yet, and if thar was meat handy, you’d come round slick. Now, boy, I’ll be under, as I said, afore many hours, and if you don’t raise meat you’ll be in the same fix. I never eat dead meat[^[3]] myself, and wouldn’t ask no one to do it neither; but meat fair killed is meat any way; so, boy, put your knife in this old niggur’s lights, and help yourself. It’s ‘poor bull,’ I know, but maybe it’ll do to keep life in; and along the fleece thar’s meat yet, and maybe my old hump ribs has picking on ’em.”

“You’re a good old hos,” answered La Bonté, “but this child ain’t turned niggur yet.”

Killbuck then begged his companion to leave him to his fate, and strive himself to reach game; but this alternative La Bonté likewise generously refused, and faintly endeavouring to cheer the sick man, left him once again to look for game. He was so weak that he felt difficulty in supporting himself, and knowing how futile would be his attempts to hunt, he sallied from the camp convinced that a few hours more would see the last of him.

He had scarcely raised his eyes, when, hardly crediting his senses, he saw within a few hundred yards of him an old bull, worn with age, lying on the prairie. Two wolves were seated on their haunches before him, their tongues lolling from their mouths, whilst the buffalo was impotently rolling his ponderous head from side to side, his bloodshot eyes glaring fiercely at his tormentors, and flakes of foam, mixed with blood, dropping from his mouth over his long shaggy beard. La Bonté was transfixed; he dared scarcely to breathe lest the animal should be alarmed and escape. Weak as it was, he could hardly have followed it, and, knowing that his own and companion’s life hung upon the success of his shot, he scarcely had strength to raise his rifle. By dint of extraordinary exertions and precautions, which were totally unnecessary, for the poor old bull had not a move in him, the hunter approached within shot. Lying upon the ground, he took a long steady aim, and fired. The buffalo raised its matted head, tossed it wildly for an instant, and, stretching out its limbs convulsively, turned over on its side and was dead.

Killbuck heard the shot, and crawling from under the little shanty which covered his bed, saw, to his astonishment, La Bonté in the act of butchering a buffalo within two hundred yards of camp. “Hurraw for you!” he faintly exclaimed; and exhausted by the exertion he had used, and perhaps by the excitement of an anticipated feast, fell back and fainted.

However, the killing was the easiest matter, for when the huge carcass lay dead upon the ground, our hunter had hardly strength to drive the blade of his knife through the tough hide of the old patriarch. Then having cut off as much of the meat as he could carry, eating the while sundry portions of the liver, which he dipped in the gall-bladder by way of relish, La Bonté cast a wistful look upon the half-starved wolves, who now loped round and round, licking their chops, only waiting until his back was turned to fall to with appetite equal to his own, and capabilities of swallowing and digesting far superior. La Bonté looked at the buffalo, and then at the wolves, levelled his rifle and shot one dead, at which the survivor scampered off without delay.

Arrived at camp, packing in a tolerable load of the best part of the animal—for hunger lent him strength—he found poor Killbuck lying on his back, deaf to time, and to all appearance gone under. Having no sal-volatile or vinaigrette at hand, La Bonté flapped a lump of raw fleece into his patient’s face, and this instantly revived him. Then taking the sick man’s shoulder, he raised him tenderly into a sitting posture, and invited, in kindly accents, “the old hos to feed,” thrusting at the same time a tolerable slice of liver into his hand, which the patient looked at wistfully and vaguely for a few short moments, and then greedily devoured. It was nightfall by the time that La Bonté, assisted by many intervals of hard eating, packed in the last of the meat, which formed a goodly pile around the fire.

“Poor bull” it was in all conscience: the labour of chewing a mouthful of the “tender loin” was equal to a hard day’s hunt; but to them, poor starved fellows, it appeared the richest of meat. They still preserved a small tin pot, and in this, by stress of eternal boiling, La Bonté contrived to make some strong soup, which soon restored his sick companion to marching order. For himself, as soon as a good meal had filled him, he was strong as ever, and employed himself in drying the remainder of the meat for future use. Even the wolf, bony as he was, was converted into meat, and rationed them several days. Winter, however, had set in with such severity, and Killbuck was still so weak, that La Bonté determined to remain in his present position until spring, as he now found that buffalo frequently visited the valley, as it was more bare of snow than the lowlands, and afforded them better pasture; and one morning he had the satisfaction of seeing a band of seventeen bulls within long rifle-shot of the camp, out of which four of the fattest were soon laid low by his rifle.

They still had hard times before them, for towards spring the buffalo again disappeared; the greater part of their meat had been spoiled, owing to there not being sufficient sun to dry it thoroughly; and when they resumed their journey they had nothing to carry with them, and had a desert before them without game of any kind. We pass over what they suffered. Hunger, thirst, and Indians assaulted them at times, and many miraculous and hairbreadth escapes they had from such enemies.

The trail to Oregon, followed by traders and emigrants, crosses the Rocky Mountains at a point known as the South Pass, where a break in the chain occurs of such moderate and gradual elevation as to permit the passage of waggons with tolerable facility. The Sweet Water Valley runs nearly to the point where the dividing ridge of the Pacific and Atlantic waters throws off its streams to their respective oceans. At one end of this valley, and situated on the right bank of the Sweet Water, a huge isolated mass of granitic rock rises to the height of three hundred feet, abruptly from the plain. On the smooth and scarped surface presented by one of its sides, are rudely carved the names and initials of traders, trappers, travellers and emigrants, who have here recorded the memorial of their sojourn in the remote wilderness of the Far West. The face of the rock is covered with names familiar to the mountaineers as those of the most renowned of their hardy brotherhood; while others again occur, better known to the science and literature of the Old World than to the unlearned trappers of the Rocky Mountains. The huge mass is a well-known landmark to the Indians and mountaineers; and travellers and emigrants hail it as the half-way beacon between the frontiers of the United States and the still distant goal of their long and perilous journey.

It was a hot sultry day in July. Not a breath of air relieved the intense and oppressive heat of the atmosphere, unusual here where pleasant summer breezes, and sometimes stronger gales, blow over the elevated plains with the regularity of trade-winds. The sun, at its meridian height, struck the dry sandy plain and parched the drooping buffalo-grass on its surface, and its rays, refracted and reverberating from the heated ground, distorted every object seen through its lurid medium. Straggling antelope, leisurely crossing the adjoining prairie, appeared to be gracefully moving in mid-air; whilst a scattered band of buffalo bulls loomed huge and indistinct in the vapoury distance. In the timbered valley of the river deer and elk were standing motionless in the water, under the shade of the overhanging cottonwoods, seeking a respite from the persevering attacks of swarms of horseflies and mosquitos; and now and then the heavy splash was heard, as they tossed their antlered heads into the stream, to free them from the venomous insects that buzzed incessantly about them. But in the sandy prairie, beetles of an enormous size were rolling in every direction huge balls of earth, pushing them with their hind legs with comical perseverance; cameleons darted about, assimilating the hue of their grotesque bodies with the colour of the sand: groups of prairie-dog houses were seen, each with its inmate barking lustily on the roof; whilst under cover of nearly every bush of sage or cactus a rattlesnake lay glittering in lazy coil. Tantalising the parched sight, the neighbouring peaks of the lofty Wind River Mountains glittered in a mantle of sparkling snow, whilst Sweet Water Mountain, capped in cloud, looked gray and cool, in striking contrast to the burned up plains which lay basking at its foot.

Resting their backs against the rock, (on which, we have said, are now carved the names of many travellers,) and defended from the powerful rays of the sun by its precipitous sides, two white men quietly slept. They were gaunt and lantern-jawed, and clothed in tattered buckskin. Each held a rifle across his knees, but—strange sight in this country—one had its pan thrown open, which was rust-eaten and contained no priming; the other’s hammer was without a flint. Their faces were as if covered with mahogany-coloured parchment; their eyes were sunken; and as their jaws fell listlessly on their breasts, their cheeks were hollow, with the bones nearly protruding from the skin. One was in the prime of manhood, with handsome features; the other, considerably past the middle age, was stark and stern. Months of dire privation had brought them to this pass. The elder of the two was Killbuck, of mountain fame; the other hight La Bonté.

The former opened his eyes, and saw the buffalo feeding on the plain. “Ho, boy,” he said, touching his companion, “thar’s meat a-runnin.”

La Bonté looked in the direction the other pointed, stood up, and hitching round his pouch and powder-horn, drew the stopper from the latter with his teeth, and placing the mouth in the palm of his left hand, turned the horn up and shook it.

“Not a grain,” he said—“not a grain, old hos.”

“Wagh!” exclaimed the other, “we’ll have to eat afore long,” and rising, walked into the prairie. He had hardly stepped two paces, when, passing close to a sage bush, a rattlesnake whizzed a note of warning with its tail. Killbuck grinned, and taking the wiping-stick from his rifle-barrel, tapped the snake on the head, and, taking it by the tail, threw it to La Bonté, saying, “hyar’s meat, any how.” The old fellow followed up his success by slaying half a dozen more, and brought them in skewered through the head on his wiping-stick. A fire was soon kindled, and the snakes as soon roasting before it; when La Bonté, who sat looking at the buffalo which fed close to the rock, suddenly saw them raise their heads, snuff the air, and scamper towards him. A few minutes afterwards a huge shapeless body loomed in the refracted air, approaching the spot where the buffalo had been grazing. The hunters looked at it and then at each other, and ejaculated “Wagh!” Presently a long white mass showed more distinctly, followed by another, and before each was a string of animals.

“Waggons, by hos and beaver! Hurrah for Conostoga!” exclaimed the trappers in a breath, as they now observed two white-tilted waggons, drawn by several pairs of mules, approaching the very spot where they sat. Several mounted men were riding about the waggons, and two on horseback, in advance of all, were approaching the rock, when they observed the smoke curling from the hunters’ fire. They halted at sight of this, and one of the two, drawing a long instrument from a case, which Killbuck voted a rifle, directed it towards them for a moment, and then, lowering it, again moved forward.

As they drew near, the two poor trappers, although half-dead with joy, still retained their seats with Indian gravity and immobility of feature, turning now and then the crackling snakes which lay on the embers of the fire. The two strangers approached. One, a man of some fifty years of age, of middle height and stoutly built, was clad in a white shooting-jacket, of cut unknown in mountain tailoring, and a pair of trousers of the well-known material called “shepherd’s plaid;” a broad-brimmed Panama shaded his face, which was ruddy with health and exercise; a belt round the waist supported a handsome bowie-knife, and a double-barrelled fowling-piece was slung across his shoulder.

His companion was likewise dressed in a light shooting-jacket, of many pockets and dandy cut, rode on an English saddle and in boots, and was armed with a superb double rifle, glossy from the case, and bearing few marks of use or service. He was a tall, fine-looking fellow of thirty, with light hair and complexion; a scrupulous beard and mustache; a wide-awake hat, with a short pipe stuck in the band, but not very black with smoke; an elaborate powder-horn over his shoulder, with a Cairngorm in the butt as large as a plate; a blue handkerchief tied round his throat in a sailor’s knot, and the collar of his shirt turned carefully over it. He had, moreover, a tolerable idea of his very correct appearance, and wore Woodstock gloves.

The trappers looked at them from head to foot, and the more they looked the less could they make them out.

“H—!” exclaimed La Bonté emphatically.

“This beats grainin’ bull-hide slick,” broke from Killbuck as the strangers reined up at the fire, the younger dismounting, and staring with wonder at the weather-beaten trappers.

“Well, my men, how are you?” he rattled out. “Any game here? By Jove!” he suddenly exclaimed, seizing his rifle, as at that moment a large buzzard, the most unclean of birds, flew into the topmost branch of a cottonwood, and sat, a tempting shot. “By Jove, there’s a chance!” cried the mighty hunter; and, bending low, started off to approach the unwary bird in the most approved fashion of northern deer-stalkers. The buzzard sat quietly, and now and then stretched its neck to gaze upon the advancing sportsman, who on such occasions threw himself flat on the ground, and remained motionless, in dread of alarming the bird. It was worth while to look at the countenance of old Killbuck, as he watched the antics of the “bourgeois” hunter. He thought at first that the dandy rifleman had really discovered game in the bottom, and was nothing loth that there was a chance of his seeing meat; but when he understood the object of such manœuvres, and saw the quarry the hunter was so carefully approaching, his mouth grinned from ear to ear, and, turning to La Bonté, he said, “Wagh! he’s some—he is!”

Nothing doubting, however, the stranger approached the tree on which the bird was sitting, and, getting well under it, raised his rifle and fired. Down tumbled the bird; and the successful hunter, with a loud shout, rushed frantically towards it, and bore it in triumph to the camp, earning the most sovereign contempt from the two trappers by the achievement.

The other stranger was a quieter character. He, too, smiled as he witnessed the exultation of his younger companion, (whose horse, by the way, was scampering about the plain,) and spoke kindly to the mountaineers, whose appearance was clear evidence of the sufferings they had endured. The snakes by this time were cooked, and the trappers gave their new acquaintances the never-failing invitation to “sit and eat.” When the latter, however, understood what the viands were, their looks expressed the horror and disgust they felt.

“Good God!” exclaimed the elder, “you surely cannot eat such disgusting food?”

“This niggur doesn’t savy what disgustin’ is,” gruffly answered Killbuck; “but them as carries empty paunch three days an’ more, is glad to get ‘snake-meat,’ I’m thinkin.”

“What! you’ve no ammunition, then?”

“Well, we haven’t.”

“Wait till the waggons come up, and throw away that abominable stuff, and you shall have something better, I promise,” said the elder of the strangers.

“Yes,” continued the younger, “some hot preserved soup, hotchpotch, and a glass of porter, will do you good.”

The trappers looked at the speaker, who was talking Greek (to them.) They thought the bourgeois were making fun, and did not half like it, so answered simply, “Wagh! h—’s full of hosh-posh and porter.”

Two large waggons presently came up, escorted by some eight or ten stout Missourians. Sublette was amongst the number, well known as a mountain trader, and under whose guidance the present party, which formed a pleasure expedition at the expense of a Scotch sportsman, was leisurely making its way across the mountains to the Columbia. As several mountaineers were in company, Killbuck and La Bonté recognised more than one friend, and the former and Sublette were old compañeros. As soon as the animals were unhitched, and camp formed on the banks of the creek, a black cook set about preparing a meal. Our two trapping friends looked on with astonishment as the sable functionary drew from the waggon the different articles he required to furnish forth a feed. Hams, tongues, tins of preserved meats, bottles of pickles, of porter, brandy, coffee, sugar, flour, were tumbled promiscuously on the prairie; whilst pots and pans, knives, forks, spoons, plates, &c. &c. displayed their unfamiliar faces to the mountaineers. “Hosh-posh and porter” did not now appear such Utopian articles as they had first imagined; but no one can understand the relish, but those who have fared for years on simple meat and water, with which they accepted the invitation of the Capen (as they called the Scotchman,) to “take a horn of liquor.” Killbuck and La Bonté sat in the same position as when we first surprised them asleep under the shadow of Independence Rock, regarding the profuse display of comestibles with scarce-believing eyes, and childishly helpless by the novelty of the scene. Each took the proffered half-pint cup, filled to the brim with excellent brandy—(no tee-totallers they!)—looked once at the amber-coloured surface, and with the usual mountain pledge of “here’s luck!” tossed off the grateful liquor at a breath. This prepared them in some measure for what was yet in store for them. The Scotchman bestirred the cook in his work, and soon sundry steaming pots were lifted from the fire, and the skillets emptied of their bread—the contents of the former poured in large flat pans, while pannikins were filled with smoking coffee. The two trappers needed no second invitation, but, seizing each a panful of steaming stew, drew the butcher knives from their belts, and fell to lustily—the hospitable Scotchman plying them with more and more, and administering corrective noggins of brandy the while; until at last they were fain to cry enough, wiped their knives on the grass, and placed them in their sheaths—a sign that human nature could no more. How can pen describe the luxury of the smoke that followed, to lips which had not kissed pipe for many months, and how the fragrant honey-dew from Old Virginia was relishingly puffed!

But the Scotchman’s bounty did not stop here. He soon elicited from the lips of the hunters the narrative of their losses and privations, and learned that they now, without ammunition and scarcely clothed, were on their way to Platte Fort, to hire themselves to the Indian traders in order to earn another outfit, wherewith once more to betake themselves to their perilous employment of trapping. What was their astonishment to see their entertainer presently lay out upon the ground two piles of goods, each consisting of a four-point Mackinaw, two tin canisters of powder, with corresponding lead and flints, a pair of mocassins, a shirt, and sufficient buckskin to make a pair of pantaloons; and how much the more was the wonder increased when two excellent Indian horses were presently lassoed from the cavallada, and with mountain saddle, bridle, and lariats complete, together with the two piles of goods described, presented to them “on the prairie” or “gift-free,” by the kindhearted stranger, who would not even listen to thanks for the most timely and invaluable present.

Once more equipped, our two hunters, filled with good brandy and fat buffalo meat, again wended on their way; their late entertainers continuing their pleasure trip across the gap of the South Pass, intending to visit the Great Salt Lake, or Timponogos, of the West. The former were bound for the North Fork of the Platte, with the intention of joining one of the numerous trapping parties which rendezvous at the American Fur Company’s post on that branch of the river. On a fork of Sweet Water, however, not two days after the meeting with the Scotchman’s waggons, they encountered a band of a dozen mountaineers, mounted on fine horses, and well armed and equipped, travelling along without the usual accompaniment of a mulada of pack-animals, two or three mules alone being packed with meat and spare ammunition. The band was proceeding at a smart rate, the horses moving with the gait peculiar to American animals, known as “pacing” or “racking,” in Indian file—each of the mountaineers with a long heavy rifle resting across the horn of his saddle. Amongst them our two friends recognised Markhead, who had been of the party dispersed months before by the Blackfeet on one of the head streams of the Yellow Stone, which event had been the origin of the dire sufferings of Killbuck and La Bonté. Markhead, after running the gauntlet of numerous Indians, through the midst of whose country he passed with his usual temerity and utter disregard to danger, suffering hunger, thirst, and cold—those every-day experiences of mountain life—riddled with balls, but with three scalps hanging from his belt, made his way to a rendezvous on Bear River, whence he struck out for the Platte in early spring, in time to join the band he now accompanied, who were on a horse-stealing expedition to the Missions of Upper California. Little persuasion did either Killbuck or La Bonté require to join the sturdy freebooters. In five minutes they had gone “files-about,” and at sundown were camping on the well-timbered bottom of “Little Sandy,” feasting once more on delicate hump-rib and tender loin.

For California, ho!