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Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 56, Number 350, December 1844

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Title: Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 56, Number 350, December 1844

Author: Various


        
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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE, VOLUME 56, NUMBER 350, DECEMBER 1844 ***




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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
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  BLACKWOOD'S
  EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

  NO. CCCL. DECEMBER, 1844. VOL. LVI.


  CONTENTS.

  The Scottish Banking System,                                    671

  The Milkman of Walworth,                                        687

  Injured Ireland,                                                701

  Singular Passages in the Life of a Russian Officer,             713

  Traditions and Tales of Upper Lusatia. No IV. The Moor Maiden,  726

  "That's What We Are,"                                           741

  Edmund Burke,                                                   745

  My College Friends. No. II. John Brown,                         763

  Nelson's Despatches and Letters,                                775

  Guizot,                                                         786



  EDINBURGH:
  WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;
  AND 22, PALL-MALL, LONDON.

  _To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._

  SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

  PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.




  BLACKWOOD'S
  EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

  No. CCCL.    DECEMBER, 1844.   Vol. LVI.




THE SCOTTISH BANKING SYSTEM.


When any important branch of national polity has been impeached,
arraigned, and brought to stand its trial before the bar of public
opinion, it is satisfactory to know that the subject has been
thoroughly investigated, since a searching investigation alone can
excuse a verdict, be it of acquittal or of condemnation. That no man
can be twice tried upon the same indictment, is a proud boast of the
British constitution. It would be well if the same rule were always
applied when mightier interests than those of individuals are at
stake!

It is just eighteen years ago since a ministry, feeble in practice,
but strong in speculative theory, ventured to put forth its hand
against the monetary system of Scotland, under shelter of which the
country had improved and thriven to a degree of prosperity never
experienced to the north of the Tweed before, and at a ratio which far
exceeded that of any other nation in Europe. In the short space of
half a century, the whole face of the country had changed. From a
bleak, barren, and dilapidated region--for such she undoubtedly was
for many years subsequent to the last rebellion of 1745--Scotland
became, with the shortest possible transition, a favourite land of
husbandry. Mosses and muirs, which, at all events since the forgotten
days of the Jameses, had borne no other crop than rugged bent or
stubborn heather, were subjected to the discipline of the plough, and
produced a golden harvest of grain. Woods sprang up as if by magic,
from the roots of the old Caledonian forest, to hide the nakedness of
the land and redeem the national reproach. The towns and
boroughs--which had never recovered from the terrible blow inflicted
upon them by the failure of the Darien scheme, in which nearly the
whole capital of Scotland was embarked, and which had lost the greater
and more valuable portion of their trade, and dwindled down into
almost hopeless insignificancy--began to revive again. New
manufactures were established, the older ones were extended; the
fisheries rose immensely in magnitude and importance; the mountainous
districts were made profitable by the breeding and export of sheep and
cattle; and even the rugged shores of the Hebrides furnished for a
time a most profitable article of commerce. All this took place in a
poor and very neglected country. England for a long time knew little
of what as going on in the north; perhaps her eyes were then riveted,
with more than the anxiety of a gamester's, upon the great stakes for
which she was contending on the red battle-fields of Europe. This much
she knew, that Scotland could produce in time of need--ay, and did
produce--levies of men, whose high heroic courage, steady discipline,
and daring intrepidity, were the theme even of their enemies'
admiration; and of these services she was, and is, justly and
generously proud. But of the social condition of their northern
neighbours, we repeat, the body of the English, at this period, were
singularly ignorant. We had not very long before suffered the penalty
of adherence to a fallen cause. We were considered to be still rather
too irritable and dangerous for much interference; perhaps, also, it
was thought that it might be _cheaper_ to leave us to ourselves--and,
so long as we paid our proportion of the common taxation, not to
enquire too curiously into our own domestic system of management. In
all respects, therefore, notwithstanding the war, we flourished.

Peace came; and with peace, as a matter of course, a more searching
investigation into the internal state of the country. Then, for the
first time, Scotland became a sort of marvel. Our agriculture, our
commerce, our internal resources, so strangely and quickly augmented,
attracted the attention of the politician; and the question was
speedily mooted--"How, and by what means, have so poor a nation as the
Scotch attained so singular a position?" And truly the facts were
startling, and such as might justify an enquiry. _The whole coined
money in Scotland, at the date of the Union, was known not to have
exceeded the sum of_ ONE MILLION STERLING; and a large part of this
paltry sum was necessarily hoarded, and so withdrawn from circulation,
throughout the whole period of the intestine troubles. That single
million, therefore, held the place both of that part of the wealth of
the country which is now represented by bank-notes, and also of that
which is now deposited in the hands of the bankers. Aladdin's palace,
which sprang up in one night at the bidding of the slaves of the lamp,
could scarcely have been a greater paradox to the aged Sultan, than
this increase of prosperity on the part of Scotland was to our
southern legislators. How to explain the metamorphosis seemed for a
time a mystery. One thing, at all events, was clear--that English gold
had no participation in the change. North of the Tweed, a guinea was a
suspected article, apt to be rung, and examined, and curiously
weighed, before it was received in currency, and even then accepted
with a certain reluctance. The favourite medium of circulation was
paper-notes of one pound each, of somewhat dubious complexion to the
eye of the stranger, but received and circulated by the Scottish
people with the utmost readiness and confidence. The answer to the
question was a short one--"We have prospered through OUR BANKING
SYSTEM."

It was some time--not until ten years of peace had elapsed--before any
open attack was made upon that system, which had proved, if facts can
prove any thing, the greatest imaginable boon to the nation; and
which, be it always specially remembered, did not originate with the
state, but with private individuals--upright, honourable, and
patriotic men--who better deserve a monument to their memories, were
that required, than the most successful conqueror whose march is on
humbled thrones. During that period much was done with regard to
internal relations, of which we, in common with every Scotsman who
retains one spark of patriotic feeling, most heartily disapprove. The
tendency towards centralization in London--the inevitable consequence
of the Union treaty--was not only not counteracted, as we maintain it
ought to have been, by a wise and paternal government, but forced and
hurried on by an excessive exercise of power. Every remnant of our
ancient institutions that could be rooted up, and all our local boards
with hardly one exception, were transferred to the seat of
government--regardless of the drain that was thereby made from the
proper resources of the country, and the deep heart-burnings that such
a system must necessarily create amongst a proud, observant, and
jealous, though enduring people. These things we shall not dilate
upon--though the temptation is triply strong, and we know how keenly
that subject is felt by many of the best and most loyal of the
land;--but in the mean time we shall pass over this period of gradual
humiliation, and come at once to the first great attack that was made
upon the source of all our national prosperity.

At the close of the year 1825, there arrived a period of public
distress, followed by a panic which fortunately has but rarely been
felt in this country. We attributed it then, and we attribute it now,
to an unexampled glut in the money market, which we hold to be in this
trading country the most destructive of any, saving and excepting a
glut in agricultural produce and labour; and for this very plain
reason, that a glut of money resolves itself sooner or later into a
glut of goods, thereby carrying the amount of production in the
country far beyond the amount of the consumption and demand, and so
necessarily for a time closing the door against all the outlets of
industry. But it is of very little consequence to our present purpose
how that distress was created. The effects were very grievous. In
England the panic took effect, and a run was made upon the banks for
gold; the consequence of which was, that a number of the private and
joint-stock establishments failed. In Scotland, where the distress was
certainly not less in proportion, there was not only no failure on the
part of the banks, but no run, and no diminution in the usual credits.
At this time, it is very proper to remark, that England had been
thoroughly centralized; that is, that the whole course and tendency of
its money market was to London; and indeed, for purposes of trade, the
principal circulation of the important districts of Lancashire and
others, seems to have been bills of exchange payable in London, with
from twenty to fifty endorsements on each. With us such a system was
unknown. Scotland, then as now, and we devoutly trust for ever, had
her own internal circulation, and neither took nor gave, except when
statutorily compelled, beyond the limits of her own jurisdiction.

The attention of the ministry was immediately directed to an
investigation of the cause of the general distress. This was right and
proper, and precisely what a cautious and well-meaning government
ought to do under such circumstances, in order to prevent, if
possible, the recurrence of a similar disaster. But unfortunately the
ministers of the day, though well-meaning, were any thing but
cautious. The majority of them were imbued with speculative notions of
political economy. They were disciples of a school which rejects facts
and cleaves implicitly to theory--men who threw considerations of
circumstance, time, and national characteristics aside, as prejudices
too low for even the momentary regard of a philosopher; in short, they
wished to introduce the standard of an untried rule as the _ne plus
ultra_ of human sagacity, and remorselessly to overturn every existing
institution--no matter at what sacrifice or risk--if it only seemed to
stand in the way of the operation of their darling theories.

It was easy for men so tutored and trained, to overlook the necessary
effect which fluctuation of the seasons at home and abroad must have
upon the prices of either produce, of the effect of these prices upon
manufactures, and the manifest and established fact that there is a
point when _production_ will exceed _consumption_. This state of
things it is totally beyond the power of man to remedy. The facts of
nature will always be found too strong for the theories of the
political economist; but our rulers in the plenitude of their wisdom
thought otherwise; and began to search within the social system for a
cause of that disorder, which was neither more nor less than an
epidemic, as totally beyond the reach of their prevention as if the
College of Physicians were to issue their solemn fiat--"This year
there shall be neither cholera nor fever." In searching for the cause,
however, they stumbled upon an effect which they at once adroitly
magnified into a cause. In England there had been a marked increase
during the rise in the issue of the country banks. Here was an
opportune discovery for the champions of metallic currency! and,
accordingly, the paper system was prostrated in England to make way
for its more glittering, often more slippery, and always more
expensive rival.

Scotland, in the mean time, was going on in her old and steady
footing. One and all of the banks--chartered, joint-stock, and
private--were as firm as if each had been backed by the whole weight
and responsibility of the state. Between them and the public the most
perfect confidence subsisted; and very nobly indeed, in that time of
trial and distress, did the banks behave, in maintaining credits
grievously depressed for the moment, but certain to revive with the
return of general prosperity. This mutual confidence is the great
secret of the success of the Scottish system. The banker is to the
trader as a commercial physician--sometimes restrictive, sometimes
liberal, but always a judicious friend. It is impossible to separate
the interests of the two; and as they have risen together, so, in the
event of a change, must they both equally decline. But we will not
anticipate our defence, before we have adduced the facts upon which
that defence is founded.

All at once, and without sounding any note of preparation, the
ministry announced, that after the expiry of a given season, the whole
Scottish banking system was to be changed, all paper currency under
the five-pound note abolished, and a metallic circulation introduced
and enforced. If Ben Nevis had burst forth at once in the full thunder
of volcanic eruption, we could not have been more astonished. What!
without complaint or enquiry--without the shadow of a cause shown, or
a reason assigned, except it might be that reason--to a Scotsman the
most unpalatable of all--the propriety of assimilating the
institutions of both countries; in other words, of coercing Scotland
to adopt the habit of her neighbours--to excavate the foundation-stone
of our whole prosperity, and make us the victims of a theory which,
even if sound, could not profess to give us one tittle more advantage
than the course which we had so long pursued! We believe that if the
annals of legislation were searched through, we could not find a
parallel case of such wanton and unprovoked temerity!

We said then, and we say now, with even more emphatic earnestness, it
is the curse of the age that every thing is to be managed by political
economy and philosophy, and that local knowledge is to be utterly
disregarded in the management of local interests. CENTRALIZE and
ASSIMILATE--these were the watchwords of the ministers of that day;
and for aught that we can see, Sir Robert Peel is determined to
persevere in the theory. What excuse was there, _then_, for the
attempt of any assimilation between the banking systems of the two
countries? If it had been alleged that the Scotch paper currency was
surreptitiously carried into England--that it was there supplanting
the legal currency, and absorbing the gold in exchange, there might
have been some show of reason for a slight modification of the
system--at all events for a more stringent preventive check. But no
such allegation was made. The most determined hater of the Scottish
banks knew well that their paper never crossed the Border; for the
very best of all possible reasons, that the notes were not a legal
tender, and that five persons out of six to whom they might happen to
be offered, would unhesitatingly reject them. Again, to absorb the
gold would have been neither more nor less than partially to carry out
the views entertained by the supporters of a metallic currency, and
therefore surely, in their eyes, a venal, if not a meritorious,
offence. But such was not the fact. In Scotland there was no such a
thing known as a gold circulation. The fishermen, the cattle dealers,
and the small traders, would not so much as take it; and the stranger
who, through ignorance, had provided himself with a stock of the
precious metal, was forced to have recourse to a Scottish bank in
order to have it exchanged for notes. Beyond what lay in the bank
reserves, there was literally none in the country; and therefore any
idea of the interference of the currencies was too preposterous to be
maintained.

But it is not here, or at this point, that we intend to discuss the
propriety of the measure which was then proposed. Unfortunately, we
are called upon to do so with reference to our own times, as well as
to those which are now matter of history; and the remarks which we
shall have occasion to offer are equally applicable to the one as to
the other. In the mean time, let us see how the mere alarm engendered
by that unlucky proposition affected Scotland, and what steps were
taken to resist the threatened change.

First of all, we have it in evidence that the open threat of the
ministerial scheme produced within the country more actual distress
and bankruptcies than had previously occurred during the period of the
previous depression. This may seem a paradox to a stranger; but the
reason will be readily understood, and the fact candidly admitted by
every one who is conversant with the Scottish system of banking. A
short explanation may be necessary. One large department of the
business of every bank was the granting of CASH-CREDITS; a method of
accommodation to the public which the experience of _ninety-four
years_ (cash-credits were granted by the Royal Bank of Scotland so
early as 1729) had shown not only to be the safest to the bank, but by
far the most advantageous to the public. Indeed it is not too much to
say, that were those credits prohibited, and no other alteration made
in the existing system, the mainspring of the machinery of Scottish
banking would be broken, and its general utility impaired. With that
point we shall deal more fully when we come to the consideration of
the system in detail; at present it is only necessary to remark, that
these credits had been maintained unimpaired during the period of
depression, and were the fortunate means of averting ruin from many.

But the attitude which the ministry assumed was so formidable, and the
prospect of a sweeping change so alarming, that the bankers were
forced in self-defence, though sorely against their will, to make
preparation for the worst contingencies. They were, so to speak,
compelled to follow the example of England in 1745--to recall all
their outlying forces from abroad, concentrate them at home, and leave
their allies to fight their own battles as they best could, and to
conquer or fall according to their ability or weakness. Their first
step was rigidly to refuse the granting of any new cash-credits; their
second, to withdraw--with as much tenderness as might be, but still to
withdraw--those which were already in existence. It was then that the
country at large began to feel how terribly their interests were
compromised. The trader, who was driving an active business on the
strength of his cash-credit, and turning over the amount of his
bank-account it may be thirty times in the course of the year, found
himself suddenly brought to a stand-still. The country gentleman, in
the midst of his agricultural improvements, and at the very moment
when their cessation would undo all that he had hitherto accomplished,
was compelled either to desist for want of ready money, and throw his
labourers on the parish, or to have recourse to the pernicious system
of discounting bills at a ruinous rate of interest. The manufacturer,
in despair, was reduced to close his works, and the operatives went
forth to combine, or starve, or burn; for the hand of the ministry was
upon them likewise, and their burden was sorer than their masters'.

These were the first fruits of the proposed metallic currency; and it
soon became evident to all, that nothing was left for Scotland, if she
wished to escape from universal ruin, but to offer a firm and most
determined resistance. The struggle was felt throughout the length and
breadth of the land to be one, which, if it did not actually involve
existence, involved a greater commercial interest than had been at
stake for more than a century before. The combination which took place
in consequence was so extraordinary, that we may be pardoned if we
express our wonder how any minister who witnessed it, can at this hour
have the temerity to return to the charge. Party-spirit, always higher
and keener in Scotland than elsewhere, was at once forgotten in the
common cause. All ranks, from the peer to the peasant, rose up in
wrath at the proposed innovation; and from every county, city, town,
village, and corporation in the kingdom, indignant remonstrances were
forwarded to the foot of the Throne, and to the Imperial Parliament of
Great Britain. It was assuredly a dangerous experiment to make with a
proud and jealous people. Old watchwords and old recollections, buried
spells which it were safer to leave alone, began to revive amongst us;
and many a lighter act of aggression, which had been passed over at
the moment in silence, was then recalled and canvassed, and magnified
into a serious grievance. In short, Scotland, from the bottom of her
heart, felt herself most deeply insulted.

It was at this time that the celebrated letters of Malachi
Malagrowther appeared. To the general sentiments contained in that
work, we subscribe without the slightest hesitation. Strong language
is usually to be deprecated, but there are seasons when no language
can be too strong. We think meanly of the man who can sit down to
round his periods, and prune his language, and reduce his feelings to
the level of cold mediocrity, when he knows that the best interests of
his country are at stake, and that he is her chosen champion. And
such, most assuredly, and beyond all comparison, was Sir Walter Scott.
He went into that conflict like a giant, in a manner that disdained
conventionalisms; he neither begged, nor prayed, nor conceded, but
took his firm ground on the chartered liberties of his country, and
spoke out in such manly and patriotic accents as Scotland has rarely
heard since the days of Fletcher and Belhaven. All honour be to his
memory! Were it for that good work alone, his name ought for ever to
be immortal.

In consequence, ministry were condescending enough to allow a
Parliamentary enquiry. Even that was not granted readily, as the
prevailing impression in the cabinet seemed to be, that Scottish
affairs were of too slight importance to occupy the time of the
Imperial Parliament. The old country might be dealt with summarily,
and left to remonstrate at its leisure. But the spirited resistance of
our representatives, and it is no less incumbent upon us to add, that
innate sense of justice in Englishmen, which will not suffer any one
to be condemned unheard, procured us the investigation, upon the issue
of which we were willing to rest our cause. The Scottish banking
system underwent the severest of all scrutinies before committees of
the Houses of Peers and of the Commons; and the following was the
nature of the reports.

The committee of the House of Commons, after recapitulating the
leading points which were brought out in evidence before them, came to
the following conclusions--which it is very important to bring before
the public now, as they refer not only to the deductions which the
committee had formed from the history of the past, but to the special
reasons which were to influence the legislature in future and
prospective change.

     "Upon a review of the evidence tendered to your committee, and
     forming their judgment upon that evidence, your committee _cannot
     advise_ that a law should now be passed, prohibiting, from a
     period to be therein determined, the future issue in Scotland of
     notes below five pounds:--

     "There are, in the opinion of your committee, sufficient grounds
     in the experience of the past for permitting another trial to be
     made of the compatibility of a paper circulation in Scotland with
     a circulation of specie in this country.

     "Looking at the amount of notes current in Scotland, below the
     value of five pounds, and comparing it with the total amount of
     the paper currency of that country, _it is very difficult to
     foresee the consequences of a law which should prohibit the
     future issue of notes constituting so large a proportion of the
     whole circulation_.

     "Your committee are certainly not convinced that it would affect
     the cash-credits to the extent apprehended by some of the
     witnesses; but they are unwilling, without stronger proof of
     necessity, to incur the risk of deranging, from any cause
     whatever, A SYSTEM ADMIRABLY CALCULATED, in their opinion, to
     economize the use of capital, to excite and cherish a spirit of
     useful enterprise, and even to promote the moral habits of the
     people, by the direct inducements which it holds out to the
     maintenance of a character for industry, integrity, and prudence.

     "At the same time that your committee recommend that the system
     of currency which has for so long a period prevailed in Scotland,
     should not, under existing circumstances, be disturbed, they feel
     it to be their duty to add, that they have formed their judgment
     upon a reference to the past, and upon the review of a state of
     things which may hereafter be considerably varied by the
     increasing wealth and commerce of Scotland, by the rapid
     extension of her commercial intercourse with England, and by the
     new circumstances that may affect that intercourse after the
     re-establishment of a metallic currency in this country.

     "Apart from these general observations, bearing upon the
     conclusions at which they have arrived, there are two
     circumstances to which your committee must more particularly
     advert.

     "It is evident that if the small notes issued in Scotland should
     be current beyond the Border, they would have the effect, in
     proportion as their circulation should extend itself, of
     displacing the specie, and even in some degree the local currency
     of England. Such an interference with the system established for
     England would be a manifest and gross injustice to the bankers of
     this part of the empire. If it should take place, and it should
     be found impossible to frame a law consistent with sound and just
     principles of legislation, effectually restricting the
     circulation of Scotch notes within the limits of Scotland, there
     will be, in the opinion of your committee, no alternative but the
     extension to Scotland of the principle which the legislature has
     determined to apply to this country.

     "The other circumstances to which your committee meant to refer,
     as bearing materially upon their present decision, will arise in
     the event of a considerable increase in the crime of forgery.
     Your committee called for returns of the number of prosecutions
     and convictions for forgery, and the offence of passing forged
     notes, during the last twenty years in Scotland, which returns
     will be found in the appendix. There appears to have been, during
     that period, no prosecutions for the crime of forgery; to have
     been eighty-six prosecutions for the offence of issuing forged
     promissory notes--fifty-two convictions; and eight instances in
     which the capital sentence of the law has been carried into
     effect."

This may, on the whole, be considered as an impartial report; and, as
it is as well in every case to disencumber a question from
specialties, we shall state here that experience has since shown that
there has been no tendency whatever to the introduction of Scottish
notes into England. With regard to the other special point referred to
by the committee--that of forgery--such a thing as a forged bank-note
is now unknown in Scotland. The evidence taken before the last
committee on banks of issue in 1841, established the fact, that since
the improved steel plates were brought into general use, there has
never been a forgery of a note. Such being the case, it is unnecessary
here to dispute the wisdom of that policy which would leave a great
national institution at the mercy of a single forger. The experience
of this last month alone might show how wretchedly that test would
operate if applied even to the Bank of England.

Setting these specialties aside, the only possibly grounds which this
committee saw for any future legislative interference were, "the
increasing wealth and commerce of Scotland, the rapid extension of her
commercial intercourse with England, and the circumstances which may
affect that intercourse after the re-establishment of an English
metallic currency." To us the first part of this reservation sounds
somewhat like a threat of future bleeding when Scotland shall have
become more pursy and plethoric. Nevertheless we are ready to join
issue with our opponents on any of these grounds.

The report of the Lords was even more favourable; and, at the risk of
being thought tedious, we cannot refrain from inserting their
admirable digest of the evidence, which, for candour and clearness,
might be taken as a universal model.

     "With respect to Scotland, it is to be remarked, that during the
     period from 1766 to 1797, when no small notes were by law
     issuable in England, the portion of the currency in Scotland in
     which payments under five pounds were made, continued to consist
     almost entirely of notes of £1 and £1, 1s.; and that no
     inconvenience is known to have resulted from this difference in
     the currency of the two countries. This circumstance, amongst
     others, tends to prove that uniformity, however desirable, is not
     indispensably necessary. It is also proved, by the evidence and
     by the documents, that the banks of Scotland, whether chartered
     or joint-stock companies or private establishments, _have for
     more than a century exhibited a stability which the committee
     believe to be_ UNEXAMPLED IN THE HISTORY OF BANKING; that they
     supported themselves from 1797 to 1812 without any protection
     from the restriction by which the Bank of England and that of
     Ireland were relieved from cash payments; that there was little
     demand for gold during the late embarrassments in the
     circulation; and that, _in the whole period of their
     establishment_, there are not more than two or three instances of
     bankruptcy. As, during the whole of this period, a large portion
     of their issues consisted almost entirely of notes not exceeding
     £1 or £1, 1s., there is the strongest reason for concluding,
     that, as far as respects the banks of Scotland, the issue of
     paper of that description _has been found compatible with the_
     HIGHEST DEGREE _of solidity_; and that there is not, therefore,
     while they are conducted upon their present system, sufficient
     ground for proposing any alteration, with the view of adding to a
     solidity which has been so long sufficiently established.

     "This solidity appears to derive a great support from the
     constant exchange of notes between the different banks, by which
     they become checks upon each other, and by which any over-issue
     is subject to immediate observation and correction.

     "There is also one part of the system, which is stated by all the
     witnesses (in the opinion of the committee very justly stated) to
     have had the best effects upon the people of Scotland, and
     particularly upon the middling and poorer classes of society, in
     producing and encouraging habits of frugality and industry. _The
     practice referred to is that of_ CASH-CREDITS. Any person who
     applies to a bank for a cash-credit is called upon to produce two
     or more competent securities, who are jointly bound, and after a
     full enquiry into the character of the applicant, the nature of
     his business, and the sufficiency of his securities, he is
     allowed to open a credit, and to draw upon the bank for the whole
     of its amount, or for such part as his daily transactions may
     require. To the credit of this account he pays in such sums as he
     may not have occasion to use, and interest is charged or credited
     upon the daily balance, as the case may be. From the facility
     which these cash-credits give to all the small transactions of
     the country, and from the opportunities which they afford to
     persons who begin business with little or no capital but their
     character, to employ profitably the minutest products of their
     industry, it cannot be doubted that the most important advantages
     are derived to the whole community. The advantage to the banks
     who give those cash-credits arises from the call which they
     continually produce for the issue of their paper, and from the
     opportunity which they afford for the profitable employment of
     part of their deposits. The banks are indeed so sensible that, in
     order to make this part of their business advantageous and
     secure, it is necessary that their cash-credits should (as they
     express it) be frequently operated upon, that they refuse to
     continue them unless this implied condition be fulfilled. The
     total amount of their cash-credits is stated by one witness to be
     five millions, on which the average amount advanced by the banks
     may be one-third.

     "The manner in which the practice of deposits on receipt is
     conducted tends to produce the same desirable results. Sums to as
     low an amount as £10 (and in some instances lower) are taken by
     the banks from the depositor, who may claim them at demand. He
     receives an interest, usually about one per cent below the market
     rate. It is stated that these deposits are, to a great extent,
     left uncalled for from year to year, and that the depositors are
     in the habit of adding, at the end of each year, to the interest
     then accrued, the amount of their yearly savings; that the sums
     thus gradually accumulated belong chiefly to the labouring and
     industrious classes of the community; and that, when such
     accounts are closed, it is generally for the purpose of enabling
     the depositors either to purchase a house or to engage in
     business.

     "It is contended by all the persons engaged in banking in
     Scotland, that the issue of one-pound notes is essential to the
     continuance both of their cash-credits and of the branch banks
     established in the poorest and most remote districts. Whether the
     discontinuance of one-pound notes would necessarily operate to
     the full extent which they apprehend, in either of these
     respects, may perhaps admit of doubt; but the apprehensions
     entertained on this head, by the persons most immediately
     concerned, might, for a time at least, have nearly the same
     effect as the actual necessity; _and there is strong reason to
     believe, that if the prohibition of one-pound notes should not
     ultimately overturn the whole system, it must for a considerable
     time materially affect it_.

     "The directors of the Bank of England, who have been examined
     before the committee, have given it as their opinion, that a
     circulation of notes of £1 in Scotland or in Ireland would not
     produce any effects injurious to the metallic circulation of
     England, provided such notes be respectively confined within the
     boundary of their own country.

     "Notwithstanding the opinions which have been here detailed, the
     committee are, on the whole, so deeply impressed with the
     importance of a metallic circulation below £5 in England, not
     only for the benefit of England, but likewise for that of all the
     other parts of the empire, that if they were reduced to make an
     option between the establishment of such a metallic circulation
     in Scotland, or the abandonment of it in England, they would
     recommend the prohibition of small notes in Scotland. But they
     entertain a reasonable expectation, that legislative measures may
     be devised which will be effectual in preventing the introduction
     of Scotch paper into England; and unless such measures should in
     practice prove ineffectual, or _unless some new circumstance
     should arise_ to derange the operations of the existing system in
     Scotland itself, or materially to affect the relations of trade
     and intercourse between Scotland and England, they are not
     disposed to recommend that the existing system of banking and
     currency in Scotland should be disturbed."

This is just what a Parliamentary report ought to be--calm,
perspicuous, and decided. There is no circumlocution nor ambiguity of
expression here. After a patient investigation into the whole
question, and a minute examination of enemies as well as friends, the
Lords arrived at the opinion, that the existing banking system of
Scotland ought on all points to be maintained, and they not only
stated their general conviction, but gave their reasons for upholding
each part in detail, in the luminous manner which has always been the
characteristic of that august Assembly, and which has established its
proud reputation as not only the noblest, but the most upright
tribunal of the world. It is worthy of the most marked attention, that
the committee of the Lords in this report, which afterwards received
the sanction of the House, advocated no temporary continuance of the
banking system in Scotland, but were clearly of opinion that it should
remain as a permanent institution. They evidently entertained no
ideas, grounded upon mere expediency, that it would be prudent to wait
until Scotland, by means of her cherished institutions and her own
internal industry, arrived at that point of condition when it might be
expedient to introduce the lancet, and drain off a little of her
superfluous blood. They vent upon the righteous maxim--that a nation,
as well as a man, is entitled to work out its own resources in peace,
so long as it does not trench upon the industry or prerogatives of its
neighbour, and so long as no impeachment can be laid against the
prudence and stability of its institutions. We defy any man to read
over this report, and to adduce one word from it which shall convey
the idea that it was not intended as a final judgment, with the simple
qualifications that we have stated in the last sentence.

These two reports saved the country--we trust we shall not hereafter
be compelled to add, only for a time--from its great impending
misfortune. The circulation in England became metallic, with what
success it is not for us to say, whilst Scotland was allowed to retain
her paper currency with at least most perfect satisfaction to herself.
One pregnant fact, however, it would be unpardonable for us to
omit--as showing the stability of the northern system when compared
with that practised in the south--that at the last investigation
before a committee of the House of Commons in 1841, it was stated,
that whereas in Scotland the whole loss sustained by the public from
bank failures, _for a century and a half_, amounted to L. 32,000, the
loss to the public, _during the previous year in London alone, was
estimated at_ TEN TIMES THAT AMOUNT!

Since 1826, we have had eighteen years' further experience of the
system, without either detecting derangement in its organization, or
the slightest diminution of confidence on the part of the public.
There has been no interference with the metallic currency of England.
Forgery is a crime now utterly unknown, as is also coining, beyond the
insignificant counterfeits of the silver issue. This, in fact, is a
great advantage which we have above the English in point of security,
since we are exempt from the risk of receiving into circulation either
base or light sovereigns, and since the banks provide for the
deterioration of their notes by tear and wear, whilst the holder of a
light sovereign has to pay the difference between the standard and the
deficient weight. When we reflect upon the small amount of the wages
of a labouring man, it is manifest how important this branch of the
subject is; for were gold allowed in Scotland to supersede the paper
currency, a fresh and most dangerous impetus would be given to the
crime of coining; and there cannot be a doubt, that in the remoter
districts, where gold is utterly unknown, a most lamentable series of
frauds would be perpetrated, with little risk of detection, but with
the cruelest consequences to the poor and illiterate classes.

We are not, however, inclined to adopt the opinion expressed by the
committee of the House of Commons, to the extent of admitting that it
would be either politic or just to disturb the whole banking system of
a country on account of private frauds, whether forgeries or the
fabrication of counterfeit coin. If their opinion was a sound one, the
weight of evidence is now upon our side of the argument; but we hold
that the interests at stake are far too great to be affected by any
such minor details. If any new circumstance has arisen "to affect the
relations of trade and intercourse between Scotland and England," we
at least are wholly unconscious of the occurrence, and, of course, it
is the duty of those who meditate a change to point it out, in order
that it may be thoroughly scrutinized. Internally, the business of the
banks has been increasing, and, commensurate with that increase, there
has been a vast addition to the number of branch banks spread over the
face of the country; so that, whereas in 1825 there was but one office
for every 13,170 individuals, in 1841 there was an office for every
6600 of the population. This is plainly the inevitable effect of
competition; but lest that increase should be founded upon by our
opponents as a proof of over-circulation, we shall say a few words
upon the subject of the _exchange_ between the banks themselves, which
is a leading feature of our whole system, and the most complete check
against over-trading which human ingenuity could devise. Fortunately
we have ample _data_ for our statement in the evidence tendered to the
committee on banks of issue in 1841.

It is right, however, to premise that, strictly speaking, there are
not more, nay, there are positively _fewer_ banks in Scotland at the
present moment than there were in 1825, though the amount of paid-up
capital in the banks is more than doubled. It is the branches alone
which make this astonishing increase. Now, as a branch is merely a
local agency of the parent bank, established at a distance for the
sake of outlying business, the number of parties engaged in banking
who are responsible to the public is not thereby increased, nor is the
amount in circulation extended. In fact, the multiplication of the
branch banks has been of extraordinary benefit to the public, by
affording the inhabitants of even the remotest districts a ready,
easy, and favourite method of deposit, and by extinguishing all risks
of credit. Further, it has this manifest advantage, that the manager
of the branch bank has far greater facilities of ascertaining the
character, habits, and pursuits of those persons who may have received
the advantage of a cash-credit accommodation, and can immediately
report to his superiors any circumstances which may render it
advisable that the credit should be contracted or withdrawn. So far
are we from holding that the multiplication of branch banks is any
evil or incumbrance, that we look upon it as an increased security not
only to the banker but the dealer. The latter, in fact, is the
principal gainer; because a competition among the banks has always the
effect of heightening the rate of interest given upon deposits, and of
lowering the rates charged upon advances. Nor does this give any
impetus to rash speculation on the part of the dealer, but directly
the reverse. The deposits always increase with the advancing rate of
interest; and experience has shown, that it is not until that rate
declines to two per cent that deposited money is usually withdrawn,
which is the signal of commencing speculation. To the mere speculator
the banks afford no facilities, but the reverse. Their cash credits
are only granted for the daily operations of persons actively engaged
in trade, business, or commerce. So soon as that credit appears to be
converted into a different channel, it is withdrawn, as alike
dangerous to the user and unprofitable to the bank which has given it.

Of thirty-one banks in Scotland which issue notes, five only are
_chartered_--that is, the responsibility of the proprietors in those
established is confined to the amount of their subscribed capital. The
remaining twenty-six are, with one or two exceptions, joint-stock
banks, and the proprietors are liable to the public for the whole of
the bank responsibilities to the last shilling of their private
fortunes. The number of persons connected with these banks as
shareholders is very great, almost every man of opulence in the
country being a holder of stock to a greater or a less amount. That
some jealousy must exist among so many competitors in a limited field,
is an obvious matter of inference. Such jealousy, however, has only
operated for the advantage of the public, by the maintenance of a
common and vigilant watch upon the manner in which the affairs of each
establishment are conducted, and against the intrusion of any new
parties into the circle whose capital does not seem to warrant the
likelihood of their ultimate stability. Accordingly, the Scottish
bankers have arranged amongst themselves a mutual system of exchange,
as stringent as if it had the force of statute, by means of which an
over-issue of notes becomes a matter of perfect impossibility. _Twice
in every week the whole notes deposited with the different bank
offices in Scotland are regularly interchanged._ Now, with this system
in operation, it is perfectly ludicrous to suppose that any bank would
issue its paper rashly for the sake of an extended circulation. _The
whole notes_ in circulation throughout Scotland return to their
respective banks in a period averaging from ten to eleven days in
urban, and from a fortnight to three weeks in rural districts. In
consequence of the rate of interest allowed by the banks, no person
has any inducement to keep bank paper by him, but the reverse, and the
general practice of the country is to keep the circulation at as low a
rate as possible. The numerous branch banks which are situated up and
down the country, are the means of taking the notes of their
neighbours out of the circle as speedily as possible. In this way it
is not possible for the circulation to be more than what is absolutely
necessary for the transactions of the country.

If, therefore, any bank had been so rash as to grant accommodation
without proper security, merely for the sake of obtaining a
circulation, in ten days, or a fortnight at the furthest, it is
compelled to account with the other banks for every note they have
received. If it does not hold enough of their paper to redeem its own
upon exchange, it is compelled to pay the difference in exchequer
bills, a certain amount of which every bank is bound by mutual
agreement to hold, the fractional parts of each thousand pounds being
payable in Bank of England notes or in gold. In this way over-trading,
in so far as regards the issue of paper, is so effectually guarded and
controlled, that it would puzzle Parliament, with all its conceded
conventional wisdom, to devise any plan alike so simple and
expeditious.

The amount of notes at present in circulation throughout Scotland is
estimated at three millions, or at the very utmost three millions and
a half. At certain times of the year, such as the great legal terms of
Whitsunday and Martinmas, when money is universally paid over and
received, there is, of course, a corresponding increase of issue for
the moment which demands an extra supply of notes. It is never
considered safe for a bank to have a smaller amount of notes in stock
than the average amount which is out in circulation; so that the whole
amount of bank-notes, both in circulation and in hand, may be
calculated at seven millions. The fluctuation at the above terms is so
remarkable, that we are tempted to give an account of the number of
notes delivered and received by the bank of Scotland in exchange with
other banks during the months of May and November 1840:--

                      Notes               Notes
                     Delivered.          Received.
  1840,
  May   1,            £ 51,000           £ 43,000
  ...   5,              52,000             32,000
  ...   8,              44,000             45,000
  ...  12,              43,000             48,000
  ...  15,              54,000             64,000
  ...  19,            *132,000           *172,000
  ...  22,              98,000             69,000
  ...  26,              38,000             33,000

  Nov.  3,              38,000             32,000
  ...   6,              37,000             33,000
  ...  10,              51,000             61,000
  ...  13,             *99,000           *138,000
  ...  17,              67,000             80,000
  ...  20,              66,000             49,000
  ...  24,              52,000             33,000
  ...  27,              66,000             42,000

  *Term Settlements.


It will be seen from the above table how rapidly the system of bank
exchange absorbs the over-issue, and how instantaneously the paper
drawn from one bank finds its way into the hands of another.

If further proof were required of the absurdity of the notion, that a
paper circulation has a necessary tendency to over-issue, the
following fact is conclusive. The banking capital in Scotland has
_more than doubled_ between the years 1825 and 1840--a triumphant
proof of their increased stability; whilst the circulation has been
nearly stationary, but, if any thing, _rather diminished than
otherwise_. We quote from a report to the Glasgow Chamber of Commerce.

     "The first return of the circulation was made in Scotland in
     1825. Every one knows the extraordinary advance which Scotland
     has made between that period and 1840; for instance, in the
     former of these years, she manufactured 55,000 bales of cotton,
     in the latter, 120,000 bales. In 1826, the produce of the iron
     furnaces was 33,500 tons; in 1840, about 250,000 tons. In 1826,
     the banking capital of Scotland was £4,900,000; in 1840, it was
     about £10,000,000; yet with all this progress in industry and
     wealth, the circulation of notes, which in 1825 varied from
     £3,400,000 to £4,700,000, was in 1839 from £2,960,000 to
     £3,670,000, and in the first three months of 1840, £2,940,000."

We are induced to dwell the more strongly upon these facts, because we
have strong suspicions that our opponents will endeavour to get at our
monetary system by raising the senseless cry of over-issue--senseless
at any time as a political maxim, it being the grossest fallacy to
maintain that an increased issue is the cause of national distress,
unless, indeed, it were possible to suppose that bankers were madmen
enough to dispense their paper without receiving a proper
equivalent--not only senseless, but positively nefarious, when the
clear broad fact stares them in the face, that Scotland has in fifteen
years thrown double the amount of capital into its banking
establishments, increased its productions in a threefold, and in some
cases a sevenfold ratio, augmented its population by nearly half a
million, (one-fifth part of the whole,) and yet kept its circulation
so low as to exhibit an actual decrease.

If we were called upon to state the cause of this certainly singular
fact, we should, without any hesitation, attribute it to the great
increase of the bank branches. The establishment of a branch in a
remote locality, has invariably, from the thrifty habits of the
Scottish people, absorbed all the paper which otherwise would have
been hoarded for a time, and left in the hands of the holders without
any interest. It would thus seem, from practice, that the doctrines of
the political economists upon this head are absolutely fallacious;
that the increase of banks, supposing these banks to issue paper and
to give interest on deposits, has a direct tendency to check
over-circulation, and in fact does partially supersede it.

With these facts before us, we consider that the measure of last
session, prohibiting any further issue of notes beyond those already
taken out by the banks, is almost a dead letter. We have not the least
fear, that under any circumstances there can be a call for a larger
circulation; at the same time, we demur to the policy which ties our
hands needlessly, and we object to all restriction where no case for
restriction has been shown. We look upon that measure as especially
unfair to the younger banks, whose circulation is not yet established,
and whose progress has thus received a material check, from no fault
of their own, but from want of ministerial notice. With every system
where competition is the acknowledged principle, it is clearly
impolitic to interfere; nor can we avoid the painful conviction, that
this first measure, though comparatively light and generally
unimportant, was put out by way of _feeler_, in order to test the
temper of the Scottish people--to ascertain whether eighteen years of
prosperity might not have made them a little more supple and pliable,
and whether they were likely to oppose to innovation the same amount
of obstinate resistance as before. It is dangerous to permit the
smallest rent to be made in a wall, for, with dexterous management,
that rent may be so widened, as to bring down the whole
superstructure.

In the absence of any distinct charge against the Scottish banks,
which were so honourably acquitted in 1826, we shall confine our
further observations to the effects which must necessarily follow upon
a change in the established currency. In doing so, we shall conjure up
no phantoms of imaginary distress, but merely state the consequences
as they have already been explained to Parliament by men who are far
better able to judge than ourselves, and even--with deference be it
said--than our legislators, of the substitution in Scotland of a
metallic for a paper currency. That measure is to be considered, 1st,
as it will affect the banks; 2dly, as it will affect the public.

The general effect of the change would be to derange the whole of the
present system. The first result would probably be the abolition and
withdrawal of all the branch banks throughout the kingdom. These
offices are at present fed with notes which are payable at the office
of the parent bank, whither, accordingly, they invariably return.
These are supplied to them at no risk or expense, whereas the
transmission of gold would not only be dangerous, but so expensive as
entirely to swallow up the profits. Add to this, that the banks would
no longer be able to allow interest on deposit accounts; at all events
such interest would be merely fractional, and too insignificant to
induce the continuance of the saving habit which now so fortunately
prevails. In short, all the branch business would stagnate and die.
The consequence of the removal of the branch banks would be the ruin
of the Highlands.

Mr Kennedy's account of the profits of banking will explain the
sweeping nature of the change. "A banker's profits are derived from
two sources--the brokerage upon the deposit money, and the returns
that he gets from his circulation. We have tried to estimate the
amount of deposits in Scotch banks, and we calculate it at about
thirty millions; that, at the brokerage of one and a half per cent,
yields £450,000 annually. The currency we will take at three millions,
and that, at 5 per cent, is £150,000: making a gross sum of £600,000,
_which is the whole profit derived from banking in Scotland_. Out of
that are to be deducted the whole of the charges. From these figures
it will be perceived that the gross profit of the currency is a fourth
part of the gross profit of banking; but the expense that falls upon
the currency is not so large as the expense that falls upon the other
portions of the banking business; so that I should be inclined to say
that, upon the average, the profit derived from the circulation bore
the proportion of a third to the aggregate profit of banking."

Assuming Mr Kennedy's calculation to be correct, the profit of
£600,000, derived by the banks, would thus be reduced to £400,000 by
the change of currency.

But the diminution would not rest there. The brokerage upon the
deposits--that is, the difference between the rates of interest given
and charged by the banks--on the present calculated amount of
deposits, is £450,000. from which the charges are deducted. Now we
have already seen that the banks find it necessary, in order to
encourage deposits, to give a liberal rate of interest; and we have
also seen that, whenever interest falls to two per cent, the deposits
are gradually withdrawn, and a period of speculation begins. Let us
hear Mr John Thomson, of the Royal Bank, on the effect of a gold
currency on deposit accounts:--"I think, on the operating deposits, we
could scarcely allow any interest, and on the more steady deposits,
that the rate of interest would require to be very considerably
reduced."

It follows, therefore, according to all experience, that, if no
interest were allowed, the deposits would be generally withdrawn for
investment elsewhere; and thus another serious reduction would be made
from the already attenuated amount of the Scottish bankers' profits.
But besides the loss of profit on the small notes, there would be a
further loss sustained by the necessity of keeping up a large stock of
gold in the coffers of the bank. Hear Mr Thomson again upon this
subject:--

     "It would occasion greater loss than the mere profit on the small
     notes, inasmuch as at present we have to keep on hand a large
     stock of small notes, to fill up in the circle those that are
     taken from it by tear and wear, and to meet occasional demands.
     The present mode of keeping up this stock, which consists of our
     own notes, is done at no expense; if we had to keep a
     corresponding stock of gold to keep up the circle in the same
     proportion, we would, perhaps, if there is £1000 dispersed in
     small notes, require to keep up a protecting fund of £500 to meet
     that, or something in that proportion. So that, upon the whole,
     if there was £1,800,000, which was the sum assumed of notes in
     circulation, withdrawn, we would require to fill up the place,
     £1,800,000, in gold, and in order to fill our coffers with a
     protecting stock, perhaps from _seven to nine hundred thousand_,
     to keep up the stock; and, in addition to that, there is the
     expense of transmission from one part of the country to another,
     and the bringing it from London."


The small note circulation is here estimated at £1,800,000 but there
is no doubt that it is now considerably larger. Taking it, however, at
Mr Thomson's calculation, what a fearful amount of unoccupied and
inoperative capital is here! This, be it observed also, is only the
first reserve, which at present is represented by the small notes of
the bank. According to the later evidence of Mr Blair, the Scottish
banks are in the habit of holding, _besides this_, a further reserve
of gold and Bank of England notes, equal to _a fourth of their
circulation_, without taking into account exchequer bills, or other
convertible securities which bear interest.

Thus it follows, as a matter of course, that if the small notes were
abolished, and a gold currency established, there would not be room in
the country for one-fourth of the present number of banks. If the
banks are removed, and more especially the branches, which must
inevitably fall, we should like to know from any theoretical
economist, even from Sir Robert Peel, how the country is to be
supplied with money?

So much for the effect which the introduction of a metallic currency
would have upon the banking establishments. Let us now see what would
be the consequence of the change upon the interests of the public, who
are the dealers.

Now, although we hold, that upon every principle of public expediency
and justice, the legislature are bound to regard with particular
tenderness the interests of a body of men, who, like the Scottish
bankers, have not only established, but administered for such a long
time, the monetary system of the country with stability, temperance,
indulgence, and success, equally removed from weak facility and from
grasping avidity of gain; we must, nevertheless, allow that the
interests of the public are paramount to theirs, and that if it can be
shown that the public will be gainers, although the bankers should be
losers by the change, the sooner the metallic currency is established
amongst us the better. Here is the true test of the clause in the
Treaty of Union, providing that no alteration shall be made on laws
which concern private right excepting for the evident utility of the
subjects _within_ Scotland. There shall be no interference with
private rights if that interference is not to benefit the public; if
it does so, private right must of course give way, according to a rule
universally adopted by every civilized nation. In speaking of the
public, we, of course, restrict ourselves to Scotland; for although
the Treaty of Union is not, strictly speaking, a federal one, and in
the larger points of policy and general government is very clearly one
of incorporation, it has yet this important ingredient of federality
in its conception, that the laws of each country and their
administration are left separate and entire, as also their customs and
usages, so long as the same do not interfere with one another. It is a
sore point with the supporters of a metallic currency, and a sad
discouragement to their theories, that they have never been able in
any way to shake the confidence of the Scottish public in the
stability of their national bankers. It was no use drawing invidious
comparisons between a weighty glittering guinea, fresh started from
the mint of Mammon, and the homely unpretending well-thumbed issue of
the North; it was no use hinting that a system which professed to
dispense with bullion must of necessity be a mere illusion, which
would go down with the first blast of misfortune, as easily as its
fragile notes could be dispersed before a breeze of wind. The shrewd
Scotsman knew, what apparently the economist had forgotten, that the
piece of gold exhibited by the latter was in itself but a
representative, and not the reality of property; that the gold to be
acquired _must be bought_; that all representation of wealth within a
country must be conventional in order to have any value; and further,
that however fragile the despised paper might appear, that it was by
convention and by law the representative of things more weighty and
more solid than metal--of the manufactures of the country, of its
agricultural produce, and, finally, OF THE LAND ITSELF; all which were
mortgaged for its redemption. It was in vain to talk to him of the
rates of foreign exchange in the mystic jargon of the Bourse. He knew
well, that when the Scottish mint was abolished, and the bullion trade
transferred to London, that branch of traffic was placed utterly
beyond his reach. He knew further, that the circulation of Scotland
did not ebb or flow in accordance with the fluctuation of foreign
exchanges, but from causes which were always within the reach of his
own ken and observance. All scrutiny beyond that he left to the bank,
in the solvency of which he placed the most implicit confidence; and
accordingly he dealt with it as freely and as confidently as his
father and grandfather had done before him, and laughed the theories
of the political economists to scorn. Such is no overcharged statement
of the sentiments which the Scottish customer entertains;--is he
right, or is he wrong? and how would the change affect him?

In the first place, he would receive no interest upon his deposit
account. This point we have already touched upon, when proving that
the banks would sustain great loss by the inevitable withdrawal of
their deposits; but of course the profit to the bank is one thing, and
the profit to the customer is another. An operating deposit account on
which a fixed and universal rate of interest is paid, is a thing
unknown in England. In that country, according to Mr John Gladstone, a
Liverpool merchant, and a declared enemy to the Scottish currency, the
bankers only give interest on deposits by special bargain, according
to the length of time that these deposits shall be entrusted to their
hands. This is clearly neither more nor less than permanent loan to
the bank, and, like every other private contract, is arbitrary. But an
operating deposit is a totally different matter, by which the
circulation of the bank paper is promoted, and which acquires actual
value from the frequency of its fluctuations. It is a system so easy
in its working, that no householder in Scotland is without it; and for
every shilling that he deposits in the bank, he receives regular
interest, calculated from day to day, without any deduction or
commission, at as high a rate as if he had left, for a stipulated
period, a million of money unrecallable by him, to be employed in its
trade by the bank. This is surely a great accommodation and
encouragement to the trader. But see how the introduction of the
metallic currency would affect us. Operating deposits there would be
none; for, if the banker were not actually compelled to charge a
certain per centage of commission, he would at least be able to pay no
interest. Or let it be granted that, by great economy, (though we
cannot well see how,) he could still afford to pay a diminished rate,
the proportion would be too small to tempt the dealer to the constant
system of deposit which now exists, and hoarding would be the
inevitable result. Or suppose that the system of deposit should still
continue in the large towns, what is to become of the country when the
branch banks shall have been removed? A little topography might here
be valuable, to correct the notions of the theorists, who would
legislate precisely for the thinly inhabited districts of Kintail and
Edderachylis, as they would for the town-covered surface of
Lancashire.

But there would be more important losses to the public than the mere
cessation of interest upon operating deposit accounts. All the
witnesses who have been examined, agree that cash-credits must be
immediately withdrawn. Of all the facilities that a mercantile
country, or rather the foremost mercantile system of a country, can
afford to industry, that of cash-credit is certainly the most
unexceptionable. Take the case of a young man just about to start in
business, whose connexion, habits, and education, are such as to give
every possible augury for his future success. The _res angustæ domi_
are probably hard upon him. He has no patrimony; his friends, though
in fair credit, are not capitalists; and he has not of himself the
opportunity of launching into trade, for the want of that one talent,
which, if judiciously used, would in time multiply itself into ten. He
cannot ask his friends to assist him in the discount of bills. Large
as the affection of a Scotchman may be for some descriptions of paper,
he has a kind of inherent repugnance to that sort of floating private
currency, which in three or in six months is sure to return, coupled
with an awkward protest, to his door. Probably in his own early
experience, or in the days of his father, he has received a salutary
lesson, better than a thousand treatises upon the law and practice of
acceptance; and accordingly, while he will lend you his purse with
readiness, he will not, for almost any consideration, subscribe his
name to a bill. To persons thus situated, the accommodation granted by
the bank cash-credits, is the greatest commercial boon that ever was
devised; but as the committee of the House of Lords, in the report
already quoted, has borne ample testimony in their favour, it is
unnecessary for us to dwell with further minuteness on their utility.

We must again have recourse to Mr Thomson for an exposition of the
reasons which, if a metallic currency were forced upon us, would lead
to the discontinuance of the cash-credits. "I do not think the
cash-credits would be maintained at all; the banker's profits might be
made up by the charge of a commission on each credit; but it is not
probable that the holders of accounts would pay at such a rate, if
they could borrow money upon bills at a cheaper rate, which they would
do. They would discount bills at five per cent. A banker would not be
disposed to come under the obligation to give a running credit with a
cash account, and thereby bind himself to keep in his hands a stock of
gold to supply the daily operations of a cash-account, while he might
find it perfectly convenient to discount a bill and give the money
away at once." In short, it has been stated, and distinctly proved,
that the difference to the trader between an operating cash-credit and
accommodation by discount, _is the difference between paying five and
a quarter by discount, and two and a half per cent by cash-credit_.
Are our merchants and traders prepared or disposed to submit to such a
sacrifice; more especially when it is considered, that a bank will
often refuse to discount a bill for £100, when it would make no
difficulty, from its opportunities of control, in granting a
cash-credit for five times that amount?

If individuals are thus to be crippled, the general commercial
business of the country must retrograde as a matter of course. Still
Edinburgh, and Glasgow, and the larger towns might, although they
would suffer immensely, get over the crisis by adopting some system of
internal arrangement, without experiencing a general crash. The great
question, however, yet remains behind--What is to become of the
country districts? To us who are familiar with almost the whole face
of Scotland, it seems a gross absurdity to suppose, that _under any
circumstances_, if the branch banks were withdrawn, a gold metallic
currency could be made operative in the remoter districts. Mr
Dunsmure, then secretary to the commissioners for the public
fisheries, gave very singular evidence upon that point in 1826; so
singular, indeed, that were it our purpose in this paper rather to
amuse than to warn and protest, we should have dwelt more minutely
upon his statements. Speaking of the silver currency, his evidence is
as follows:--"The quantity of silver on the west coast is so very
limited, that there is a great difficulty in getting a proper supply
for the necessary purposes. _Some of the people have been obliged to
issue promissory notes for 5s., long after they had been prohibited by
act of Parliament._ I happened to be at Barra, and the officer there
informed me that, having occasion to purchase some oats for a pony he
found it necessary to keep, the farmer whom he paid for them declared
he had not seen the face of a shilling for two years before." One of
the individuals who was thus forced by necessity to contravene the
statute, was a fish-curer and merchant, who kept a large store in
Tobermory, and the form of his notes is at once curious and
explanatory. "For want of change I owe you 5s., and for four of these
tickets, I will give a one-pound note." The establishment of branch
banks may somewhat have mended matters on the west coast, though we
doubt if the improvement has been commensurate with that of other
districts in Scotland, owing to the severe, and in our view
mischievous, commercial enactment which supplanted the native
manufacture of kelp, by the substitution of foreign barilla; but if
the branches are removed, no discovery short of the philosopher's
stone will establish the metallic currency there. Do our legislators
seriously mean to compel the population of about one-fourth of
Scotland, comprehending the whole western and northern divisions, to
accept the fish-curer's notes, instead of those of a joint-stock bank,
with its paid-up capital for security?

We have not space here to proceed with a minute analysis of the
evidence which was formerly given. Suffice it to say, that it is of a
much more serious nature than even those who have general notions upon
the question can possibly anticipate. In the event of any change which
shall derange the present system of currency, the landowners and
agriculturists of every class must prepare themselves for crippled
markets, curtailment of the sales of their produce, and consequently
for a great reduction in the rent and value of land. This will apply
equally to the fisheries, the distilleries, and the linen trade--to
every branch, in short, of internal manufacture, which is now
prosperous, and which has become so from the superior ease, facility,
and advantage of our present currency. Compared with these, the
interests of the bankers are actually trifling. Such of them as may
remain under the altered system, will no doubt, in one way or another,
secure their profit; but for that profit the country at large will
have to pay a heavy price.

The great question now for Scotland to determine is, whether these
interests are to be sacrificed to the theories of any ministry
whatever, without resistance of the most determined nature. That
resistance, in our deliberate opinion, she is not only entitled, but
bound, to make. We have purposely abstained from dwelling--nay, we
have scarcely even touched--upon any points of extraneous irritation
which may exist between the sister countries. Our wish is, that this
question should be tried upon its own merits, independently of any
such considerations; and we are glad to see that this line of conduct
has been adopted by every one of the numerous bodies who have hitherto
met to protest against the change. Believing thoroughly and sincerely
that we have a clear case, both on the score of justice and
expediency, we do not wish to revive any warmer feeling, though we are
convinced that a word could arouse it. Scotland in this matter feels,
and will speak, like a single man. We are sure of the unanimous
support and energy of the members for the ancient kingdom; and
although that phalanx forms but an integral part of the legislature of
Great Britain, we will not allow ourselves to believe that any
minister will proceed with so obnoxious a measure in the face of their
united opposition. One word only of advice we shall venture to offer
them, before they leave their native country to do battle in her
behalf. COMPROMISE NOTHING! Do not, as you value the interests of
Scotland, permit even the smallest interference with a system which
has already obtained the unqualified approval of the state. If you do,
rely upon it that one change will be merely the forerunner of
another--that the statute-book, in each succeeding session of
Parliament, will exhibit new changes and new modifications, until,
gradually and by piecemeal, we shall lose all the benefits of those
national institutions which you are now ready and pledged to maintain
whole and unimpaired. Any other line of tactics must, in the long run,
prove not only injurious, but fatal, to the cause you support.

And now we have said our say. It is not for us--more especially as the
batteries of our opponents are still masked--to remonstrate with an
administration which assuredly, on many points, has a just claim to
the support and confidence of the nation at large. Still we may
insinuate the question--Is it very politic, in the present state of
matters, to rouse up a feeling in peaceful Scotland which may, with
little fanning of the fuel, terminate in an agitation quite as
extensive as that which at present unhappily prevails in Ireland? It
is not only wrong, but--what Talleyrand held to be a greater sin in a
statesman--most injudicious, to overlook in such a matter the tendency
of the national character. Scotchmen have long memories; and although
the days of hereditary feuds have gone by, they are not the less apt
to remember and to cherish injuries. Would it not, therefore, be
prudent to adhere to the homely but excellent maxim, "Let well be
alone;" and to abstain from forcing the country into a position which
it is really unwilling to assume, merely for the sake of illustrating
another proverb with which we close our remarks upon the Scottish
Banking System--"IT IS POSSIBLE TO BUY GOLD TOO DEAR."




THE MILKMAN OF WALWORTH.

CHAPTER I.


I was just fifteen, when the battle of Waterloo, (it will soon be
thirty years ago,) by giving peace to Europe, enabled my father to
gratify one of the principal desires of his heart, by sending me to
finish my education at a German university. Our family was a
Lincolnshire one, he its representative, and the inheritor of an
encumbered estate, not much relieved by a portionless wife and several
children, of whom I was the third and youngest son. My eldest brother
was idle, lived at home, and played on the fiddle. Tom, my second
brother, two years older than myself, had just entered the army time
enough to be returned in the Gazette as severely wounded in the action
of the 18th. I was destined for the church--as much, I believe, from
my mother's proneness to Prelacy, (in a very different sense from its
usual acceptation,) she being fond of expatiating on her descent from
one of the Seven of immortal memory, as from my being a formal,
bookish boy, of a reserved and rather contemplative disposition. The
profession did not appear uncongenial to my taste; and although, from
my classical education having been deplorably neglected, there was no
small share of grinding and fag before me, I entered readily into my
father's views; the more especially, as in them was comprehended the
preliminary visit to Germany, the land of my early visions, where I
hoped to be on more intimate terms than ever with my old
acquaintances, the Spirit of the Brocken, the Wild Hunter, &c. &c.;
or, mayhap, to carry to practical results in the heart of the Black
Forest the lessons of natural freedom I had so largely acquired from
Schiller. My father's object in sending me to Heidelberg was not, I
believe, quite of so elevated a character.

After a month's preliminary bustle, I set out. The Lincoln
Light-o'-Heart coach took me up a couple of miles from my
father's--and with me a chest of stores that would have sufficed for
the north-west passage. Furnished with a letter to a friend in London,
who was prepared to forward me by the first vessel offering for
Holland, I accomplished the journey to town satisfactorily. On
arriving in London, I found Mr Sainsbury, the friend already
mentioned, awaiting me at the coach-office in Lad Lane. He was my
father's banker--a little red-faced hospitable man, fond of Welsh
rabbits, Hessian boots, and of wearing his watch-chain down to his
knees. He welcomed me very cordially, said he had not had time as yet
to make the necessary enquiries about my passage; but as he was sure
no vessel would sail for Helvoetsluys for at least a week, he insisted
upon my putting up at his residence while I remained. Oppressed as I
was with fretting and fatigue, it was a matter of indifference to me
at the moment where I stayed while in town. I therefore, with a proper
expression of thanks, accepted the invitation. A job coach conveyed us
in a short time to Mr Sainsbury's abode. He lived at Walworth, at that
period an extensive suburb on the Surrey side of London, but long
since incorporated into the great mass of the metropolis. The street
in which the mansion stood was large, the houses were spacious and
handsome, their tenants, as I learned afterwards, opulent and
respectable. It was late in August; my friend's family were all at
Margate; and I found none to do the honours of the house but himself
and his eldest son, a young man of prepossessing appearance and
intelligent manners. On finding I was not disposed to go out the
following morning, he recommended me to the library and some
portfolios of choice engravings, and, promising to return early in the
afternoon, departed for his haunts of business in the city.

I found the library tolerably comprehensive for its size; and having
glanced along its ranges, I tumbled over Hogarth and Gillray on the
print-stands for some time. I settled upon my usual efficacious remedy
in desultory hours--old Burton's _Anatomie_, and dropped with it into
the window-seat. I have seldom found him to fail me on such
emergencies--his quaintness, his humour, the lavish prodigality of
learning and extraordinary thinking that loads his pages, never to me
lose their freshness. Yet on the present occasion I found them fix me
with more difficulty than I ever before, or I believe since,
experienced. My mind wandered constantly from the page back to home,
forward to Heidelberg, and, after a while, I laid down the volume to
gaze vacantly through the window. It overlooked the street. Yet here
the day was so piteously wet there was nothing to arrest my
half-drowsy eye or half-dreamy attention. No young ladies in the
opposite windows. They were all at Hastings or Brighton. No neat
serving-wenches chattering on the area steps--not even a barrel-organ
to blow out one's patience--no vagabond on stilts, with a pipe and
dancing-dogs--no Punch--no nothing!--Once, a ruffian with four
_babbies_, two in his arms and two more at his ankles, strolled down
the street, chanting--"In Jury is God known"--his hat off, and the
rain streaming down at his nose as from a gable-spout. But he, too,
vanished. Occasionally a dripping umbrella hurried past, showing
nothing but thin legs in tights and top-boots, or thick ones in
worsteds and pattens. At one o'clock the milkman passed along the
street silently, and with a soberer knock than usually announces the
presence of that functionary. I counted him at number 45, 46, 47,
48--number 49 was beyond the range of the window; but I believe I
accompanied him with my ear up to number 144--where the
multiplication-table ends. He was assisted in his vocation by his
wife, who attended him--very devotedly too, for I remarked she seemed
regardless of the weather, and carried no umbrella. Wearied out
completely by the monotony and dulness of the street, I next sank into
a doze, which destroyed one hour further towards dinner, and the
remnant of time I managed to dispose of by writing a large portion of
a long letter to my mother. My dinner was a tête-à-tête one with John
Sainsbury--his father having been called away to Margate on affairs
connected with the residents there. Finding myself labouring under a
cold, I avoided wine, and while my companion discussed his _Château
Margaut_, I kept up a languid conversation with him, enlivened
occasionally by the snap of a walnut-shell or indifferent pun, with
now and then an enquiry or remark respecting the street passengers.
Amongst those, the milk-vender and lady at the moment happened to pass
along--"By the by," I said, "there is one peculiarity about that Pair
I cannot help remarking. I observe, that wherever, or at whatever
pace, the man moves, his female companion always keeps at the one
exact distance behind him--about three yards or so--See, just as they
stand now at No. 46! I never perceive her approach nearer. She seems a
most assiduous wife."

"_Wife!_" rejoined Sainsbury, with a motion of the lip that might have
been a smile, but for the gravity of his other features--"she is not
his wife."

"Wife, or friend then," I said, correcting myself.

"She is not his friend either."

"Well, his sister or relative."

"Neither sister nor relative--in fact," he said, "I don't think she is
any thing to him."

"But the deuce is in it, man, you don't mean to say that she is not a
most devoted friend who thus so closely, and at all hours, it appears
to me, attends him and assists"----

"She does not assist him," again interrupted Sainsbury.

"I mean, shares his toil."

"She has no participation whatever in his business. Come," he said,
rising and advancing to the window, "I see you are puzzled; nor are
you the first who has been at fault respecting that extraordinary
Pair. Just observe them for a moment," and he threw up the sash to
afford me the means of glancing after them along the street; "you
perceive that there is not the slightest communication between them.
He has just stopped at that house, No. 50, and there stands the woman,
rigid as a statue, only three yards behind him; now he has done and
moves rapidly on--how exactly she follows! He stops again, and see,
she is motionless; now, he proceeds slowly across the street to that
house with the lofty portico, but, slowly or quickly, there she is
close at hand."

"How very odd!" I said; "they never speak."

"Speak! Watch him narrowly, and you will see he never for a single
instant _looks behind him_. Here they come this way, on his return
homewards. You hear the shout from those idle throngs that have just
caught a glimpse of yonder balloon; you see _that_ man never turns,
never pauses, never looks up; he knows who is behind him, and hurries
on. There, he has turned the corner, and, certain as his death, _she_
has vanished in his footsteps. Singular--most singular!" he muttered
to himself half musingly.

"But surely their home reconciles them?"

"They don't live together! On the contrary, I believe, they dwell far
asunder; and we of this neighbourhood, who have seen them for years,
have just as little cause to conclude that they are known personally
to each other as you have, who have only beheld them once or twice."

"But this strange companionship, this existence of attraction and
repulsion, which I have witnessed those two days, it surely does not
always continue. You talk of years"----

"Yes, several years; and during that time the man has not been once
missed from his business, nor ever found pursuing it unwatched or
unattended by that woman, more constant, in truth, than his very
shadow."

"Why, here is mystery and romance with a vengeance! ready made, too,
at one's threshold, without having to seek it out in hall or bower.
'Tis a trifle _low_ to be sure; had it been a shepherd and shepherdess
it _might_ do, but a milkman and a--may I say?--milkmaid."

"I assure you there is no quiz whatever in it. It is just as you see
it and say it--a downright mystery, and one that, perhaps, will never
be cleared up."

"I think the clue, my dear fellow, a very simple one--the woman is
mad."

"Not a bit of it; she is perfectly rational; of intelligence, I am
told, far beyond her apparent station in life--a little reserved, to
be sure."

"Then he is a lunatic, and she his keeper--eh?"

"For that I refer you to the cook, and all of that respectable calling
who transact business with the fellow. If he must be characterized by
any one particular quality, I would say that there is far more of the
villain than the fool about him."

"Pray, be kind enough," I said, "to tell me all you know respecting
this curious Pair. I am really interested in them."

"In what I have said already," replied Sainsbury, resuming his seat,
"I have told you all, or very nearly all, that I, or I believe any
body else, knows of them. My little information is chiefly acquired
from hearing the servants gossip about them; but I very well remember
that, on the first appearance of the Pair in this vicinity, they
excited a good deal of speculation and enquiry amongst every class in
Walworth. It is now more than eight years ago since this man's
predecessor--the purveyor, as he grandiloquently was wont to call
himself, of milk to this large district--died. His dairies, which I
fancy were lucrative things enough, were immediately sold, and taken
by a person who, we were informed, would not only continue to supply
Walworth with their produce, but, from motives of caprice or economy,
would deliver it himself. Accordingly, the man you have seen pass this
evening appeared; and all was uniform and punctual as before. In a few
days, however, he came, attended by that mysterious female, dogged
precisely as you have seen him an hour ago, and at once the heart of
every cook and kitchen-maid in the parish was on fire with curiosity
and suspicion. From the kitchen the contagion spread to the
drawing-room, and commissions of enquiry, in the shape of tea-parties,
were held in every house relative to the strange milk-vender and his
stranger shadow. To those who asked him any questions on the matter,
and very few ventured to do so--for his manner, though civil, had
reserve and sullenness, and there was in his deportment a decent
propriety, that repulsed, or rather prevented, enquiry--he usually
answered that he 'knew nothing of the woman who followed him;' 'that
he dared to say it was from some whim;' 'that she was welcome to do so
if she pleased;' 'she had the same right of highway as any other
person,' and suchlike evasive replies."

"But his companion--I should rather say, his attendant--from her sex,
she would, at least, be something more communicative?"

"Not at all. She was very seldom spoken to upon any subject. She kept
aloof from all who seemed disposed to be inquisitive; and if she ever
came within range, as the sailors say, of a question, she never gave
an intelligible, or at least satisfactory, answer. Besides, as she was
never seen save in the track of him whom she lives but to pursue, her
own sex have had no opportunity of conciliating her into an
acquaintanceship, and their patience and curiosity have long consumed
themselves away."

"Then, after all, it may be only the whim of an eccentric woman that
leads her thus to persecute an inoffensive, industrious person?"

"I cannot think so. I am persuaded there is some peculiar occurrence
in their past lives that has thus mysteriously associated them--some
conscious secret that, by its influence, draws them forcibly into
contact. What the nature of this strange sympathy may be, I cannot
form the least idea."

"Has no one attempted to unriddle it before now?"

"Not with any prospect of success. Of course there have been a
thousand conjectures. Among the lower orders of people, the prevalent
opinion is, that the woman once possessed a large sum of money, out of
which this Maunsell (for such is his name) contrived to cheat her; and
that she has ever since _haunted_ him, as they very appropriately term
it. But this offence I am inclined to think infinitely too light a one
to draw upon him the grievous punishment which has been so many years
inflicted on him. One of our neighbours, Rochfort, a very
matter-of-fact sort of man, not at all given to the marvellous,
asserts, that he witnessed by accident what he is sure was the first
meeting of the Pair after the man's arrival in this quarter. It was
late in the evening; Rochfort was standing, he says, in the shadow of
a gateway that breaks up the long blank wall of a large timber-yard
that belongs to him, at some distance from this, and which skirts a
lonely and unfrequented road leading to Kennington. He is positive
there was not a human being but himself within sight or hearing, when
he perceived the milkman coming along by the wall, his footsteps
echoing loudly up the dusty path. Not choosing to encounter a stranger
at the moment in such a spot, my friend withdrew further into the
shadow of the gateway. The man, in passing it, happening to drop some
pieces of money from his hand, stooped to recover then; and while so
engaged, a female, who, Rochfort asserts, must have risen out of the
earth on the instant, suddenly appeared standing at the searcher's
side, perfectly motionless, and muffled in those dark funereal
garments that have since been so familiar to our eyes. On lifting his
head the man perceived her, started, but, my informant says, it was
more the subdued start of one accustomed to face horror, than the
overwhelming dismay of a person terrified for the first time: he
folded his arms, as if endeavouring to collect himself, but his whole
frame shook convulsively. He was about to speak, when a noise of
workmen approaching up the archway stopped him, and, turning away, he
hastened on--that dark spectral woman gliding noiselessly after him."

"Perhaps," I said, with a forced laugh--for, despite of myself, the
story was exciting my imagination as well as curiosity--"she really
_is_ a visitant from another world."

"There are not wanting those who say so," replied my friend; "but
however ghost-like her mission and appearance may be, I believe there
is no doubt that as yet she is a denizen in the flesh."

"And this Pair--where and how do they reside?"

"The man lives at his dairies, a considerable way from here, and
although he has, I am told, an extensive establishment, never goes out
but on his daily business. He is of a serious, methodistical
disposition, and, I understand, affects devotional reading a good
deal; yet he is never seen at a place of worship. He is unmarried, nor
does any relative or companion reside with him. The woman--it is
hardly known where she lives; in some miserable lonely room far away,
buried in the heart of one of those dismal courts that lurk in the
outlets of London, her way of life and means of support equally
unknown, the one object of her existence palpable to all--to come
forth at the grey of daybreak in winter and summer, in storm or shine,
and seat herself at a little distance from that man's abode, until he
makes his appearance: when he was passed her, to rise, to follow, to
track him through the livelong day with that unflagging constancy
poets are fond of ascribing to unquenchable love, which the early
Greeks attributed to their impersonations of immortal Hate."

"Surely the wild and doubtful surmises that those circumstances have
raised in people's minds must have had an injurious effect on
Maunsell's business?"

"Not at all; on the contrary, I think it has assisted it. Every
neighbourhood loves to have a mystery of its own, and we, you must
confess, have got a superlative one. The man has been found
scrupulously honest, regular, and exact in his dealings; and were we
to lose him now, and get a mere common-place person to succeed him,
half the housewives of Walworth would perish of inanition. And now,"
said Sainsbury, rising, "That I have imparted to you all I know
respecting the milkman and his familiar, let us to the drawing-room
and seek some coffee."


CHAPTER II.

The night that followed this conversation was to me a most
uncomfortable one. The episode in the day's occurrences had made so
deep an impression on me, that it excluded all other thoughts from my
mind, which it occupied so intently, that, upon retiring to my
chamber, several hours elapsed before I sought repose. I did so at
last, but in vain. Between the fever attendant upon my indisposition,
and the irksomeness of frame caused by mental inquietude, sleep was
completely banished from my eyelids, or visited them only in short and
broken slumbers, peopled by the distorted images of my waking
thoughts. The mysterious Pair were again before me. I saw them gliding
through the long street, the man hastening on in that attitude, so
strikingly described by Coleridge, like one

    "Who walks in fear and dread;
  And having once turn'd round, walks on,
    And turns no more his head,
  Because he knows a frightful fiend
    Doth close behind him tread"--

the woman keeping on his track with the constancy of Doom. Or I was
standing a witness to their first meeting in the grim Dark on that
lonely road, their eyes of hate and fear staring wildly into each
other. Sometimes I found myself spellbound between the two, the centre
upon which their fearful sympathies revolved, the object upon which
their long pent-up passions were about to burst. Starting from those
visions, my waking fancies were hardly less tormenting. I was just at
that season of youth, before the calmer and nobler faculties have
acquired maturity and tone; when incidents that vary but little from
the ordinary economy of life, seen through the medium of the
imagination, assume a magnitude of distinctness not properly their
own. On the present occasion, however, my friend's recital was well
calculated to arouse the speculations of a romantic fancy; and mine
was now fully employed in forming a thousand conjectures in
elucidation of the curious circumstances he had repeated to me. What
could be the relation between those strange parties? Was it attachment
in the one and aversion in the other? Or had one, as was commonly
supposed, been the plundered victim--the other the Despoiler? Neither
of these cases could be so. A petty office of police would have
relieved the persecuted--a court of law would have redressed the
robbery. _Monomania_ had been known to instigate persons to a line of
conduct as perseveringly painful as this woman pursued; but then there
could be no motive why the object of her attention should, for years,
resign himself to a system of annoyance that drew upon him so much of
remark and obloquy. Or could the female be the hired instrument of
persecution in the hands of others? The poverty, the utter joylessness
of her solitary life, precluded the supposition. No! crime, I felt
convinced--_crime_ was at the bottom of it all! and crime, too, of no
ordinary quality. Was the man intent upon committing some deadly
offence against society? and was it to prevent its commission that he
was so assiduously watched by his companion? Perhaps he meditated
breaking that instinctive canon which the Most High has so wisely
fixed against "self-slaughter." Or had some hideous deed already been
perpetrated? Was it by one, or both? or was one a soul black with
guilt--the other a spirit of innocence? The more I indulged in those
heated fancies, the wilder they became. Was the woman, after all, a
Being endowed with vitality? The suddenness of her first appearance
before the man watching at the gate--the fearful hour--the lonely
spot--her noiseless tread--her silent demeanour--her sepulchral
dress--almost warranted the contrary opinion. Had she fallen by the
hand of this Maunsell? and was the apparition, which we are told ever
lives by the side of the murderer, thus permitted to haunt him,
embodied before the eyes of men? Such were the troubled thoughts that
disturbed me throughout the night. Long before sunrise I was up,
endeavouring to calm the fever into which I had wrought myself, by
pacing my apartment in the cool of morning. A brilliant sunshine
ushered in the day, and under its enlivening influence my perturbed
spirits gradually subsided to their usual tone. At breakfast, I
confess, I was disposed again to enter on the topic, if an opportunity
occurred; but Sainsbury, occupied in some letters of importance that
had arrived, talked but little, and did not recur to the subject of
the previous evening. This did not assist to allay the interest which
had been so powerfully excited in my bosom. The continuance of my cold
once more served me as a plea for remaining within doors; and, upon
our parting for the day, I did not hesitate to retire to the
dining-parlour, whose windows looked directly on the street, and
there, shutting myself up, I awaited the arrival of the hour at which
the extraordinary pair generally appeared, determined to satisfy
myself by a closer observation than I had hitherto made.

Exactly as noon sounded, I saw _him_ stop at an opposite door,
and--did I see rightly? Yes--alone. No; I had not approached
sufficiently close to the window; when I did, _she_, too, was there,
at the same slight distance behind, in the same silent, patient,
motionless attitude. He went on, and, steady as his shadow, she
pursued. I now resolved to see them still closer, and for that purpose
proceeded to the hall-door, where I remained carelessly standing until
the man approached it. I could observe that he walked at an even
deliberate pace; and as he carried none of the cumbrous machinery
distinctive of his craft, his step was steady and unimpeded. He was a
low-sized, well-made man, probably somewhat more than forty years of
age. He was neatly dressed; his attire being a suit of some of those
grave colours and primitive patterns which find so much favour in the
eyes of staid Dissenters, and persons of that class. Indeed, I could
see by his whole deportment, that the occupation he pursued was one of
choice, not of necessity. His features were regular, nor was there in
his countenance any thing remarkable, except that it was pale and
subdued, with a look of endurance which peculiar circumstances perhaps
imparted to it. What I chiefly noticed, was an evident consciousness
about the man that some disagreeable object lurked behind him; and
when I caught his eye, which I did once or twice, I could see in its
glance that he quite understood why my attention was directed to him.
He did not utter a word in my hearing, and there was altogether in his
appearance an air of depression and reserve which still further aided
the impression Sainsbury's story had made on my imagination. When he
next paused, his short progress brought his attendant close to me--in
every way a more striking and interesting person. She was a woman tall
in stature, of an erect figure, finely proportioned, as well as the
coarse mourning garments and large dark cloak in which she was muffled
allowed me to judge. She must have been, in youth, very handsome; but
on her thin ashen cheek premature age had already made unusual ravage.
She could not, from the unbroken and graceful outline of her form, be
much more than thirty; but her face was marked with the passionate
traces of nearly double that period. Nothing of life I ever beheld
exhibited the paleness--the monumental paleness of that face. On the
brow, on the cheek, all was the aspect of the grave. Yet
life--intenser life than thrills the soul of Beauty in her bridal
bower, dwelt in the working of those thin compressed lips--lurked
beneath those heavy downcast lids, burned in those dark wild eyes,
whose flashes I more than once arrested ere she passed from before me.
Writing at the interval of time I now do, and disposed as I am to deal
severely with the fantastic imaginations of my youth, I have not in
any way exaggerated the appearance this singular female exhibited.
Should the reader suspect me of such an error, a moment's reflection
will convince him that she who could--from whatever motive it might
be--adopt the strange purpose to which she had devoted her solitary
life, must have been characterized by energies of mind that would of
necessity have filled and informed her frame, and imparted to her an
air that altogether distinguished her from ordinary persons. I
observed that she seemed wholly regardless of what was passing around
her, appearing to be entirely absorbed in one great duty--the business
of her existence--that of attending on the individual whose steps she
so closely followed. He made no movement that, I thought, escaped her.
Insensible, apparently, to every thing else, her glance showed that
never for a moment did she cease to watch him, eager, my fancy
suggested, to catch the slightest indication of his turning round and
encountering her gaze. If so, her vigilance, as long as I beheld the
Pair, was in vain. The man never ventured to look behind him. In half
an hour they had vanished from the street.

They re-appeared in the evening again as usual, and then, and for
several subsequent days, (for I did not feel well enough to undergo
some twenty or thirty hours' sea-sickness in the packet that offered
the Saturday after my arrival,) I took a morbid and eager pleasure in
awaiting the visits and observing the motions of those inscrutable
beings. Sainsbury and his son were amused, but not surprised, at the
anxiety I evinced to obtain a nearer insight into Maunsell's history.
My curiosity and vigilance were, however, fruitless. The Pair
performed their revolutions with a cold uniformity, a silent
perseverance, that I found sufficiently monotonous; and at length,
after one or two baffled attempts to engage the man in conversation,
and which never proceeded beyond a few common-place words, (about his
companion there was a something indefinable that prevented me from
ever addressing _her_,) I relinquished any further hope of penetrating
the mystery. Towards the close of my stay, and as my indisposition
wore away, the Sainsburys complimented me by giving one or two
dinner-parties, and these, with some morning visits and rambles with
the men I met at the house, served to draw my attention from the
matter; so that by the time I had fairly embarked on board the
_Blitzen_, bound for Helvoetsluys, the circumstances which had
occupied me so intently for the last fortnight were beginning to take
their place among the remembrances of the past.


CHAPTER III.

The passage to the Dutch coast, and my journey onward to Heidelberg,
were performed without interruption, and were unenlivened by any
incident that deserves relating. As it is not my intention to dwell
upon the vicissitudes of my career at the high school and university,
I shall merely say that, attending very little to the conventional and
arbitrary distinctions by which the students of Germany choose to
classify themselves--caring still less for _chores_, _brand-foxes_,
and _Burschenschafft_, and nothing at all for noisy suppers and their
drunken _refrain_--

  "Toujours fidèle et sans souci
  C'est l'ordre du Crambambuli!"--

I very earnestly bent myself to second the intentions of my father.
For three years, diligently and indefatigably, I pursued a course of
severe application to long-neglected studies, which enabled me fairly
to redeem the time I had squandered in early youth. Nor is it unworthy
of remark, that, as is often the case with imaginative people, the
temptations which had appeared so inviting when beheld from a
distance, failed in their powers of allurement on a nearer approach.
The Spirit of the Brocken and I made no advances in intimacy, and I
rode through the Black Forest without a desire to enroll myself
amongst its freebooters.

The fourth year of my stay at Heidelberg was drawing to a close, when,
in pursuance of arrangements entered into with my father, I returned
to England. Upon reaching London, I drove to my kind friends at
Walworth, where I experienced the same ready welcome as before,
accompanied by many congratulations upon my academical success, of
which they had heard from time to time from my family. It was the
middle of winter--the second or third week in December--when London
exhibits all that joyous bustle of plenteousness and good cheer,
amidst which its citizens celebrate the festival of Christmas. As Mrs
Sainsbury and her daughters were now at home, I was easily prevailed
on to prolong my visit for a few days before I departed for
Lincolnshire. The moment I entered the house, the rooms and their
associations recalled to me forcibly the mysterious Pair, whose
proceedings had filled my mind with so much of curiosity and interest
when I was last a sojourner in the abode. During my residence in
Germany I had not forgotten them; and although the austerity of my
pursuits in that country had schooled my fancy to a soberer pace, I
could not forbear from enquiring, in one or two letters which I had
occasion to write to the younger Sainsbury, whether the milkman of
Walworth and his Shadow still pursued their rounds uninterrupted, or
if any thing had transpired that could enlighten our conjectures on
their history. My correspondent always neglected, or forgot, to
satisfy me in this particular; and it was therefore with something, I
am ashamed to say, nearly approaching to anxiety, that on the morning
after my arrival--for the gay variety of the social circle had
monopolized my attention until then--I once more, after so long an
interval, seated myself in the library window, under pretence of
seeking a passage in Herder, which I had quoted for Julia Sainsbury
the preceding evening, and awaited the hour of noon.

And there, before the clock of the neighbouring church had ceased
striking, with the selfsame step, in the same subdued attire in which
I saw him four years ago, came gliding up the street the dark, sullen
milkman; and there, too, close behind him as ever, followed his
shadowy companion! It is in vain to deny it. I could feel my heart
beating audibly when I beheld them, as if they were unsubstantial
visitants, whose appearance I expected the grave would have
interdicted from my eyes for ever. It was a dim, bitter, wintry day,
and showers of sleet were drifting heavily on the fierce and angry
wind, soaking the man's garments through and through, and sweeping
aside the thin habiliments of the female, as though they would tear
them from her slender form, and leave it a prey to the keen wrath of
the elements. Yet the Pair passed upon their way, seemingly regardless
of weather that had banished all other creatures from the streets. As
they stopped beneath the window where I sat, I scrutinized them
eagerly, to see whether time, or toil, or the terrors of such winters
as that now raging, had wrought the work of ruin I would have expected
in their frames. In that of the woman there was but little alteration.
She was thinner and paler perhaps, and the poorness of her dress
betokened no doubt an increase in her sufferings and privations; but
her glance, when I could catch it, had more of fiery blackness: her
mouth more of compressed determination than when I formerly beheld
her. But in Maunsell there was a striking change: his figure was
stooped, his cheek hollow, his eye sunk; in a word, his aspect now
bore the signs of that mental misery which, on an earlier occasion, I
had looked for in one subjected like him to such long, and steady, and
undying persecution. Mournful beings! I internally exclaimed, as they
proceeded from my sight, whatever sinful sorrow thus serves to link
together your discordant existences, it must indeed be of a damning
nature, if such a career as yours does not go far to expiate it!

That day, on the re-assembling of the family, I did not fail to allude
to the subject of the milkman, and to express my surprise at his
tenacity to life, as well as at the fixedness of purpose that enabled
him to pursue his occupation through a long series of years, under
such remarkable circumstances. I found, however, that the ladies only
smiled at the interest which my manner exhibited; some of them
assuring me, at the same time, that the neighbourhood was now so
accustomed to the matter, that, although calculated to arrest the
attention of a stranger, to them it had ceased to be either a source
of curiosity or enquiry. I believe they added, that of late the man's
health had begun to fail, and that once or twice, when he happened to
be confined from indisposition, his companion's visits were
interrupted by the occurrence, although she still kept her vigilance
in exercise by watching unremittingly for his re-appearance.

After a few pleasant days passed in London, I proceeded to
Lincolnshire, and had the happiness of finding my family well when I
arrived at home. My father was quite satisfied with the letters I
conveyed from Professor Von Slammerbogen; my mother delighted to
receive me in any character, whether that of pedant or prodigal.
Nicholas, my elder brother, I found as much attached, as when I left
him, to practising "Dull Care", upon the violin. In Tom, however,
there was a considerable modification, he having left his sinister arm
at Hougomont, in exchange for a three months' campaign in country
quarters and a Waterloo medal. In the following term I entered at
Cambridge, as my father had originally planned; and in due time, upon
obtaining my degree, was admitted into holy orders. My first curacy,
it is singular enough, was obtained through the influence of our
friend the Walworth banker, and was that of St ----'s, in his
neighbourhood, but nearer to town, and the centre of a poor but
densely peopled district. The scene of life I now entered upon was
truly laborious and painful. Resolved to perform its duties diligently
to the best of my ability, I found every moment I could spare from
refreshment and sleep hardly sufficient for the claims which the
Comfortless, whom I had to console, the Sick, whom I had to succour,
the Profligate, to reclaim, the Sceptic, to convince, made upon my
time. Wholesome and profitable to my spirit, I trust, was this
discipline! It seems to me a thing inexplicable, how a man can
advocate the interests, the benefits of religion--can impress upon
others the divine precepts of Christianity, and be himself not a
partaker in the blessings he imparts. Such a one, I hope, I have long
ceased to be; and although I do not profess to have attained that
degree of zealous fervour and devotion, which sees, in the light and
graceful relaxations of life nothing but the darkness and allurements
of sin, I humbly believe I have endeavoured to make my course, as much
as in me was possible, conformable to the doctrines I have taught.

Upon settling in London, I gladly renewed my acquaintance with the
Sainsburys; yet so arduous were the duties of my profession, that, for
the first two years in which I resided in St ----'s parish, I saw but
little of this amiable family. Towards the close of that period, the
aid of an additional curate, appointed to assist in the district,
afforded me a little more leisure time, and I was enabled occasionally
to spend an evening at Walworth. In passing to and from my friend's
house, I now and then met, and ever with renewed interest and
surprise, the dark PAIR still plodding their melancholy, interminable
rounds. The last time I beheld them, I remember calculating, as they
passed me, the number of years they had been thus incomprehensibly
associated, and speculating on how many more should elapse before age
and death terminated that melancholy partnership. In about two months
after, I dined at the banker's, and the first intelligence with which
John Sainsbury greeted me, was the news that the milkman of Walworth
and his companion had at length disappeared. Maunsell, he said, had
died some weeks before, after a couple of days' illness. No one seemed
to know of what disorder--general debility, it was thought; no doctor
had been called in; and not having left a will, his property went to
some distant relative. With respect to the woman, she was last
noticed, the evening of his death, sitting in the usual spot--within
sight of the gateway leading to his house--where she generally awaited
his appearance. She was not there the following morning; nor was she
seen again. As the deceased had made no disclosure respecting her, nor
left any papers that could tend to explain their connexion, all
chance, it was concluded, of clearing up the mystery was at an end for
ever. I confess this disappointed me not a little. I found I had,
whenever the strange Pair occurred to my recollection, unconsciously
entertained a conviction that I should, at some period or other, learn
their history; and now that all opportunity of so doing had vanished,
the fancies of my early youth again returned, and occupied me with
their wild suggestions for a longer time than was either pleasing or
justifiable. The coincidence, however, which had brought me so often
into contact with those singular persons, was not fated as yet to
discontinue.


CHAPTER IV.

It was, I think, about half a year from this period, that, in
returning late one evening from the neighbourhood of Russell Square,
where my father, during a short visit he was compelled to make to
town, had taken lodgings, I missed my way, and got entangled in the
intricacies of the numerous narrow streets and alleys that lie between
that quarter of London and the eastern end of Holborn. Intending to
avail myself of some of the public conveyances homewards, I had
attempted to shorten my passage to the great thoroughfares, and in
doing so had thus gone astray. As it was past ten o'clock I was
necessarily hurried, and yet the heat and heaviness of the night--it
was July--prevented me freeing myself as rapidly as I should otherwise
have done from the squalid and disagreeable avenues in which I had got
entangled. I was just pausing to enquire my way of a slatternly-looking
woman, who stood considerably in front of the door of a dirty-looking
house in one of the dirtiest lanes I had yet explored, and who, with an
apron thrown round her shoulders, to supply, it seemed to me, the absence
of their appropriate garments, appeared, from the direction of her looks,
to be awaiting some one's arrival, when a lad hastened up the opposite
side of the alley, and breathlessly announced to her, that "the docther
wouldn't come 'thout he first got his fee."

"Holy Mary, mother of ----! Oh, wisha, what _am_ I to do!" exclaimed
the woman in a strong Irish accent, with that elision of apostrophe
into complaint peculiar to her country.

"If she goes on this way till mornin', two men wouldn't hould her, let
alone one _colleen_.[1] Run, Micky, to the 'seer, an' let him get her
to the hospiddle, or my heart 'll be broke from her."

"How dove I know where the 'seer lives at this hour o' the night?"
expostulated the boy.

"There's a wake in Tim Reilly's second floor--can't you go there, and
they'll tell you--can't you?"

The messenger disappeared, and I now, before putting the question for
which I had stopped, asked the woman soothingly the cause of her
perturbation.

"Is it what's the matther, sir? Matther enough thin--a poor crethur of
a woman lodgin' with me is took very bad with the fever. She wasn't to
say so bad entirely till this evenin', when she begin to rave, and
'sist upon gettin' up; an' goin' on with terrible talk, that it would
frighten the heart o' you to hear her."

"How long," I said, "has she been ill?"

"Wisha, sir, she was never well since the day she darkened my dure;
but I think 'tis the heat o' the weather, an' her never stirrin' out,
an' the weakness entirely, an' the impression on her heart, that is
killin' her now."

"And has she had no advice?"

"Sorrow the 'vice--you'd think she'd go into fits when I mentioned a
docther to her; and as to a priest or a ministher--my dear life, I
might as well mention a blunderbush."

Well accustomed to hear of, and witness, such suffering as the woman
described, I was about to proceed in quest of a physician myself, if
she had paused in the first part of the sentence just finished. The
concluding remarks arrested me.

"I am a clergyman," I said; "will you let me see this poor person?"

"An' a thousand welcomes, sir. I know you're not the Revern' Misthur
Falvey, that I goes to a' Christmas an' Easther--nor the ministher
convenient here. Maybe you're"----

"I'm quite unknown here; but by allowing me to see your patient, I
shall be able to judge if she is in a fit state to be removed to an
hospital; or, if instantly necessary, I shall myself procure medical
advice for her."

The woman entered the house and I followed her, waiting, as she
requested me, in the dark entry, until she procured from the sick
chamber the only light that I presume was burning in the dwelling. She
then re-appeared at the head of the stairs, and requested me to
ascend.

Lighting me up four ruinous flights of steps, leading to rooms that
appeared to be tenanted by beings as miserable as herself, she ushered
me into an apartment of such large dimensions that the weak rushlight
she carried left its extremity in absolute darkness. It was wretchedly
furnished. At the farthest end from the door was a bed, by the side of
which stood a coarse-looking girl about fifteen, engaged in
preventing--now by soothing, now by forcible restraint--the invalid
who occupied it from attempting to rise.

"Not another moment--not one moment longer! I _must_ get up--he is
waiting for me! See! I am late already, for 'tis daybreak--though you
cannot see the dawn through that dismal rain. Let me go--wretch,
wretch!--let me go; he shall not stir one step that I won't be near
him to remind him of"----

Leaving the candle near the door, my guide approached the bed, and
beckoned me to follow. I advanced, and even through the misty shadows
that enveloped the place, I recognised, in the emaciated Form
struggling on the couch, her wild flashing eyes now wilder with fever
and insanity, the well-remembered wanderer who had so often excited my
interest in Walworth.

"Ha!" she continued, after stopping suddenly, as lunatics will do when
a stranger unexpectedly appears, and intently observing me for some
minutes. "Ha! I knew I was late--see there. _He_ has come to seek me,
for the first time, too, for seventeen--eighteen-oh! so many long
years. Ha, ha! all in black, too--Barnard--and you've brought your
wealthy bride"--and she glanced at the woman, who stood beside me;
"but, faugh, how her limbs rattle--not a whole bone," she said, with a
hysterical laugh, "in her beautiful body!"

In this way she continued to rave, during the short time I remained in
the apartment. I attempted to ask her a few questions, to ascertain,
if possible, how far the distraction of her mind was consequent upon
her disorder; but her only replies were mad and incoherent allusions
to past scenes and occurrences, that seemed entirely to engross her
attention. Finding my presence of no avail, I quitted the place, and
was about to deposit a small sum with the hostess for the sufferer's
use, when she very ingenuously informed me it was not at the moment
necessary, that person herself having always, in the payment of her
weekly rent, entrusted to her hands money sufficient to supply the
wants of several ensuing days.

"An' though we're sometimes bad enough off, sir, when the boys don't
get the work at Mr Cubitt's, still, shure, if I was to wrong a poor
sickly crethur like that of her thrifle of change, 'twould melt away
the weight o' myself in goold if I had it."

I could not help smiling at this unwonted display of honesty in so
unexpected a quarter, and promising her that such care and attention
to her sick tenant should not go unrewarded, I departed, escorted by
"Micky," who had returned to say that no intelligence of the 'seer was
to be obtained at Tim Reilly's. On making our way into Holborn, I
called at the nearest surgeon's, and, giving him my address, I
dispatched him back with the boy, directing him, at the same time, not
to allow the woman to be removed unless her disorder was a contagious
one, (which, I was persuaded, it was not,) and requesting, should the
aid of a physician be necessary, he would at once procure it, for
which, with all other expenses, I would be answerable. Touching this
latter point, the lad had informed me as we came along, that he did
not think their lodger was at all at a loss for money, as she procured
it about once a-month, he thought, (the only time she ever went
abroad,) from some "gentleman's office in the coorts."

Although living at such a distance, I contrived to see the unfortunate
invalid several times in the following week. I found I was right as to
the nature of her disorder. An eminent physician had been called in
once or twice during its most violent paroxysms, and stated, that it
was likely her malady was not the cause, but the consequence, of some
extraordinary mental excitement. Under the judicious treatment he
pointed out, the fever gradually subsided, and for a short time there
was an appearance in the patient of returning convalescence. But her
physical energies were exhausted, and it was evident that a very short
period would terminate her existence. Reason, too, never wholly
resumed its functions, if indeed it had ever of late years exercised
them in that wearied brain. Her ideas assumed a certain degree of
coherency. She was able to converse occasionally with calmness, to
recognise faces familiar to her, and appeared sensible of and even
grateful for my visits, and the assiduity with which I sought to
awaken her to some preparation for the great approaching change; but

                            "the delicate chain
  Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again:"

never _wholly_ cleared. The lightning of insanity flashed continually
from the heavy cloud that hung upon her soul. The allusions, too, she
was in the habit of making to some transactions of bygone years, were
of so startling a nature, that I was fully confirmed in my early
impression she had been at one time of her life implicated in some
wonderful, nay, heinous occurrence. Upon this point it was my
intention, if possible, to win her gradually to confide to me the
secret of her guilt or wrongs, hoping by this means to relieve her
spirit by seeming to share in its burdens and distress.

With the quick perception of persons labouring like her under mental
aberration, she seemed to anticipate my purpose. I was one morning
sitting by her bedside, when she suddenly began--

"You asked me yesterday if I remembered having ever seen you before
this illness--this late attack--and I said no. It was false. I spoke
as I thought at the time; but, in looking at you now, I recollect you
were one of those people I often met at Walworth. I even think you
once attempted to get into _his_ confidence--(now, do not interrupt
me.) You likewise desired to know why one like me, who appears
superior in mind and language to the wretched class amongst whom you
find her, should have led the life----Stay! send for a sheriff's
officer, and I will tell you."

I assured her I saw no necessity at that moment for the presence of
such a person; and, as she appeared somewhat more excited than I had
seen her for several days, I endeavoured to lead her away from the
subject that occupied her, by turning the conversation to some
indifferent topic. But it would not do. She still reverted to the
point at which she had broken off; and I was at length obliged to let
her pursue the course of her own thoughts as she pleased.

"Did you ever think me handsome? Many once thought me so; but that is
long ago. My father was still handsomer. He was the younger of two
brothers, both wealthy. They were plain Devonshire farmers--each, too,
was a widower, with each a daughter. So far for their likeness to one
another. Now for the contrast. My father spent his wealth, died, and
left me a beggar. _Her's_ (my pretty cousin Martha's) saved it, and
left his child an heiress--a Temptation--a prize for all the bumpkins
and graziers about us. I was glad to live with her. We kept house
together. We were both of an age--young, handsome, lively, and for our
station, or rather for a higher one, well educated. Here again ceased
the resemblance. Like my father, I was open, guileless,
unsuspecting--and it destroyed me. She was mean, cunning, treacherous,
and would--but HELL was too strong for her--have triumphed. My cousin
had numerous offers of marriage. I had none. Among several young men
who frequented our society, was a substantial farmer named Barnard.
You have seen him. When you first beheld him he was little altered. He
had ever that cursed look of Cain upon his forehead, though I branded
it a little deeper. Do not thus stop me!--breath!--I have breath
enough. Barnard was gay, smooth, agreeable--what was more, he was _my_
suitor--the only one amid throngs that was attentive, kind, obliging
to me. I felt first grateful, and next loved him--you shall hear HOW
WELL.

"Our match began to be talked of. Martha from some whim disapproved of
it. He ceased to visit at the house--but I would not give him up; and
while he contemplated, as I thought, arrangements for our marriage, we
often met alone. Judgment is over with him now--mine is at hand, and I
will not load him with guilt that, after all, may not be his. He was
the only being that cared for me on earth, and I clung to him with a
tenfold affection. How do I know but it was this mad confidence that
first awoke the villain in his soul? That wine"--

I held the glass to her lips; and, while I wiped the damp drops of
agony from her brow, I besought her to defer the sequel of her story
until she was more capable of pursuing it.

"No," she said; "it must be now, or not at all. I am stronger than I
have been for months to-day. Where was I?--Stealing back day after day
to Martha's, a trampled, but not an unhoping spirit; for I still
looked forward to _his_ fulfilling his promise. He once more was a
visitor at our house. I did not know why--I did not care--he was
there, and I was satisfied: I had no eyes for any thing else. But the
blow was coming. It fell--it smote us all to dust.

"I was one morning occupied alone in some domestic duty, when I heard
Barnard's name pronounced by two female servants of our farm, who were
employed in the next apartment. I listened--poor souls! they were
merely agreeing 'how natural it was for Mr Barnard to have jilted
Miss--(but let my very name be unpronounced)--and taken up with Miss
Martha, who had all the fortune.' Was it not a natural remark? So
natural, that every being in the country had already made it but her
whose heart it broke to hear it. I rushed from the spot, a mist
spreading before my eyes as I hastened on. I sought out Barnard; I
found him, and alone. I told him of the report I had overheard. He
said it was not new to him. I charged him with perfidy--he avowed it.
Half-dreaming, I attempted to catch his hand. He coolly withdrew it. I
knelt before him--I clasped his knees--I wept, and prayed he would
bless me by treading me to death beneath his feet. He extricated
himself with a laugh, bid me not be a fool, and left me.

"Before I rose from the spot where I had fallen, a dreadful shadow
passed, as it were, suddenly across me, and some black passion I had
never known till then took possession of my spirit. It was JEALOUSY.
I returned home, and hastened to have an interview with Martha.
Hitherto I had been of a quiet, timid disposition--I was now bold from
frenzy and betrayed affection. I upbraided my cousin with duplicity,
with meanness in receiving the addresses of the man betrothed to her
relative. She retorted by drawing comparisons between our attractions,
personal as well as pecuniary. At these I smiled--bitterly perhaps,
but still I smiled. She scoffed at my pleas that Barnard was my
affianced husband, declared her intention of marrying him, and ended
by insinuating that I had lost him by the very unguardedness of my
affection. I never smiled again.

"I was mad from that day forward. My whole existence changed. I was a
dissembler--a liar--for my life was a long lie--and, come near--I _am_
a murderer. I lived blindly on--a day was fixed for their
marriage--but, though I knew not _how it was to be_--I knew another
would never stand at the altar as his bride.

"She and I had apparently been reconciled--I saw Barnard no more, save
in her presence--I lulled them both into a belief that I was a poor,
trodden, and stingless thing.

"The Sunday preceding the wedding-day arrived. It was a lovely evening
in summer, and Martha and he and I wandered far away into the
fields--they to taste the freshness of nature, I, to wonder the
flowers did not wither beneath our tread; for we were all alike evil
and abandoned. In our way, we visited a mill that was soon to become
the property of Barnard in right of his bride. In passing through the
different lofts into which it was divided, we paused in one to admire
the immense and complicated machinery connected with the great wheel
that worked the manufactory. Martha, ever capricious and perverse,
wished to see the engine set in motion. But there was not a
servant--not a creature, save ourselves--within a mile of the spot at
the moment. Barnard, however, volunteered to go to the mill-dam
outside, and, on a signal from us, to undo the wicket that kept back
the waters from the wheel. I watched him from the window till he took
his station at the spot. Just then Martha, who, with perverse
inquisitiveness, had been standing caged within the iron framework of
the engines, in hastening to leave it missed her footing, and stumbled
backward again within its circle. A streak as of fire flashed through
the place. I waved my hand; there was the sudden rush of tumbling
water, a faint shriek, and then the roar and thunder of the enormous
wheels hurrying on, grinding and tearing her to pieces. And then came
the horrorstruck look of Him, crying out to Heaven in his vain
impotency, and my own mad laughter, ringing high over it all!

"His consternation and despair--his wild attempts to stay the progress
of the crashing machinery--his wrath at my exultation--only raised me
to a higher state of frenzy--that frenzy of heart and brain that never
went from me more. I hollowed in his ear how I had done it--and when
he flung himself on the ground in a passion of remorse and grief, I
danced round him, proclaiming my hate and guilt, and summoning him to
give me up to justice. It was now his turn to quiver under the lash of
conscience. He accused himself of the ruin I had wrought--acknowledged
his falsehood--cried aloud for mercy--and still I exulted with a
fiercer laughter, with a louder demand that he would give me to the
gibbet. He endeavored to fly from the spot. I pursued him. I NEVER
LEFT HIM AGAIN. There was a long illness--a blot upon my memory. I
cannot tell you any thing of its duration. _Her_ remains were
found--there was an enquiry--he was the only witness--he kept _our
secret_. On my recovery, I found he had sold his property, and
departed to some distant quarter in the north of England. I tracked
him there. I had vowed to haunt his soul with the memory of my crime,
until he surrendered me to justice. He sought to shun me, by changing
his name and removing from one place of residence to another; but in
vain. My revenge was as hard and cruel as his own look on the morning,
in his orchard, when he spurned me fainting from his feet. Go where he
would, I pursued. At last he settled near London--in that place where
you first beheld us. You know the rest of our career. If guilt can be
atoned for by _human_ suffering--the wrath of years--the raging
wind--the scorching sun--ruined youth--premature age--privation,
misery, madness, and hate, have well atoned for ours. You shake your
head. It is not so? Well, you were the first to teach me to vent my
burning thoughts in prayer. Pray with me now. I seem to have lived all
my evil passions over again in this last hour. Do not leave me yet,
but--pray!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Such was the disastrous tale imparted to me in almost the last
interview I had with its hapless narrator. Either the recollections
she had lived through, as she said, in so short a space, or the
exertions caused by its recital, were too much for her enfeebled
intellect. Delirium shortly after returned, and continued to within a
few hours of her dissolution, which occurred on the evening of the
following day. I was present when she expired. She instructed me where
to find the agent, who paid her a small stipend derived from a distant
relative, (to whom, by her uncle's will, his property descended,) that
I might apprise him of her death. She was quite sensible at the awful
moment; and there is still a hope mingled with the melancholy
remembrance that her last entreaty to me was--to "PRAY!"




INJURED IRELAND.


The miseries of the Irish people, and the oppressions under which they
groan, form the topics of conversation in every quarter of the
globe--you hear of them at Rome and at Constantinople--they are
discussed on the prairies of Texas and in the wilds of the Oregon--in
Paris and at Vienna you are bored by their constant repetition. The
"smart" American contributes his dollars, and the "pious Belgian"[2]
his prayers, to effect their redress; and they have fairly driven from
the field of compassion all sympathy for the plundered Jews and
persecuted Poles. The restless Frenchman speculates on them as the
certain means by which England may be humiliated; and impatiently
awaits the moment when, under the guidance of the young De Joinville,
fifty thousand of "les braves" may be thrown on the coast of Ireland,
and take advantage of the national disaffection, for the double
purpose of mortally wounding his ancient enemy, and of giving, as a
boon to its oppressed inhabitants, that liberty of which he talks so
much and knows so little. Doubtless the sufferings of this _patient_
people have, before now, drawn tears from the sensitive eyes of "the
brother of the sun;" and the "sagacious and enlightened Lin" has
already suggested to his celestial master the propriety of dispatching
some of his invincible war-junks to effect the liberation of the
degraded slaves of the "red and blue devils" who have so cruelly
annoyed him. Every one has heard, and every one talks, of Irish
grievances; but no one seems to know exactly what those grievances
are: their existence appears to be so unquestionable, that to dispute
it is not only useless but almost disreputable; and yet if one venture
to enquire of those who declaim most loudly against them wherein they
consist, they limit themselves to generalities, and quote the admitted
state of the country as proof positive of English injustice and Saxon
misrule.

That the inhabitants of distant countries should believe what they
hear so constantly asserted, cannot be a matter of much surprise; nor
that the enemies of England and of order should credit what it suits
their inclinations to believe; but that those who live close to the
scene of such grievous inflictions--that those who are the
fellow-subjects of the oppressed, and who may be said to be the
instruments whereby those enormities are perpetrated--should take for
granted all they hear stated, without endeavouring to discover the
truth of those assertions or the extent of their own culpability, does
seem to us almost incredible. Yet so it is. Irish grievances are now
in fashion. The most glaring fabrications are swallowed with anxiety
if they only profess to be recitals of Irish sufferings; and the
British people seem ready to yield to the clamours of mendacious and
designing demagogues, measures not only detrimental to the interests
of the country for whose welfare they profess so much anxiety, but
absolutely ruinous to the glory and the power of their own.

We will not stop here to discuss the benefits which we are told would
accrue to the Irish nation from the success of a measure which never
can be carried while Ireland holds loyal subjects, or Britain has an
arm to wield; but we shall at once proceed to ascertain if those
glaring injustices, which make us the world's table-talk, really
exist, and if the admitted misery of the Irish people can, with truth,
be attributed to the unjust or partial legislation of the British
Parliament.

We do not seek to deny, that the interests of Ireland have not been
neglected or unfairly dealt by, in former times. With that we have
nothing now to do; we take the existing state of things, and we
maintain, and will, we trust, convince our readers, that instead of
being oppressed or wronged by legislative enactments, Ireland is (as
matters are at present managed) greatly favoured, and that instead of
complaining of injustice, her inhabitants should be most grateful for
the exemptions which are granted them, and for the fostering care
which a Conservative government has extended, and is still anxious to
extend to them.

In supporting our view of the case, we shall appeal to facts--facts
which, if untrue, can easily be refuted; and first, we shall apply
ourselves to the amount of taxation imposed on Ireland by the Imperial
Parliament. _The Irish people are exempt from every species of direct
taxation!_ and their indirect taxes are not more than those to which
the inhabitants of England and Scotland are subject. Thus, while the
English and Scotch gentleman is taxed for his servants, his carriages,
his horses, his dogs, and his armorial bearings--and, in addition,
pays, in common with the trading and operative classes, his
window-tax--the Irish gentleman and tradesman are totally free from
all such imposts. And though, at first sight, this exemption would
seem to benefit only the wealthier classes, still when we find, as is
certainly the case, that it enables the Irish gentry to keep much
larger establishments than men of similar fortune could attempt to do
in this country; that consequently more persons are employed as
servants; that it enhances the value of horses by increasing the
demand for them; that it also greatly adds to the number of carriages
used, and, of course, to the employment of the artisan--we must admit
that it has no slight influence on the condition both of the tradesman
and the agriculturist.

Ireland pays no income-tax! (at least no Irishman need pay it if he
choose to reside at home;) for the Minister and the Parliament, _so
hostile_ to Irish interests, have only subjected the absentees to its
operation; and we find, that in the year ending the 10th October
1844--

  England and Scotland paid by assessed
  taxes,                                  £4,204,855
  By income-tax,                           5,158,470
                                          ----------
                               Total,     £9,363,325


While under those two heads, "_injured, persecuted Ireland_" paid not
one shilling!

Thus we see, that a sum of over nine millions is annually levied from
off the inhabitants of the "_favoured_" portions of the British
empire, towards which "_oppressed Ireland_" is not called upon to
contribute sixpence!

It may be said, those taxes only affect the wealthy, and it is not
their grievances which call so loudly for redress; it is the burdens
imposed on the poor landholders which demand our attention.

We have, in a former Number of this Magazine, see Vol. lv. p. 638,
shown that the rents paid for land in Ireland are at least one-third
less than the rents paid in England; (but were it even otherwise, the
right to dispose of property to the best advantage could not be by law
interfered with.) In that article we stated, that in addition to his
rent, the English occupier is subject by law to the payment of tithes,
which in many instances amount to more than the entire rent imposed on
the Irish tenant; and that by recent enactments, the payment of the
Protestant church has been transferred from the Irish tenantry to the
landlords, nine-tenths of whom are Protestants; that the English
tenant pays _all_ the poor-rates, while the Irish tenant is only
called on to pay the _half_; and that while the former is subject to
county and parochial rates, in addition to turnpikes, which are a
heavy burden, the latter pays only the county cess, the amount of
which depends very much on his own conduct. We cannot, then, discover
that the Irish peasantry are subject to any pecuniary grievances which
legislation has inflicted, or could remove; neither can we perceive
any neglect of their interests evinced by the British Minister or the
Saxon Parliament; but, on the contrary, we see that they have been
specially protected by particular enactments against the payment of
charges to which the occupiers of the other portions of the United
Kingdom are still subject. If the Irish farmers set their faces
against the commission of crime, instead of tacitly, if not openly,
affording protection to the greatest delinquents, it is clear that the
amount of the county cess, _the only tax the tenant pays_, might be
greatly diminished; the constabulary force might be, under more
favourable circumstances, reduced from nine thousand men (its present
strength) to half that number; and if the people abstained from
houghing the cattle or burning the houses of those who are obnoxious
to them, the county rates would not amount to more than one-third of
the sum at present levied. Thus, then, the amount of the only direct
tax the peasantry have to pay, is mainly dependent on the peaceable
condition of the country: if the people be orderly and obedient to the
laws, its amount is reduced; if otherwise, and they have heavy
assessments to pay, to reimburse those they have injured, no one is to
blame for it but themselves. We would, then, ask any candid man, if it
would be possible for any government to act more leniently towards
Ireland as regards taxation? She is exempt from her proportion of the
nine millions levied from the other portions of the United Kingdom;
and many of the local assessments to which her inhabitants are
subject, were, by special enactments, removed from the shoulders of
the occupiers of the soil, and placed on those of the proprietors.

Thus, then, under the head of taxation, no injustice can be said to be
committed.

The extent of the Irish representation, and the laws regulating the
elective franchise, both in the cities and counties, form a prominent
portion of Irish grievances; yet if the efficiency of the
representation is to be judged by the influence which it exercises on
the councils of the empire, or the registration laws be tested by the
results which they have produced, the Irish have little reason to
complain of either. The very exemption from taxation to the amount we
have already stated, proves one of two things--either that the British
minister and British representation are peculiarly partial to the
interests of Ireland, (which would destroy the favourite doctrine of
"English hatred and Saxon oppression;") or that the Irish
representation is powerful enough not only to protect their
constituents from injustice, but to secure them peculiar advantages.
That the amount of representation already enjoyed by Ireland is _at
least_ sufficient for all constitutional purposes, cannot be doubted;
for every one knows that by the Radical portion of it alone, an
administration odious to the people of Great Britain, and rejected by
their representatives, was for years kept in office, and that through
its instrumentality both Whig and Tory ministers have been compelled
to abandon measures which they believed to be beneficial, and which
they brought forward in a spirit of good feeling, and with a desire
to promote the best interests of the country.

In the first Parliament elected under the Reform Bill, and after the
system of registration now complained of came into operation, the
Irish representation consisted of

  Liberals,                 74
  Conservatives,            31

Now, when it is borne in mind, that beyond all question at least
nine-tenths of the landed property of Ireland is possessed by the
Conservative party, and that that party was able to secure to itself
little more than a fourth of the representation, it must be admitted
that numbers told, and that the mass was represented in a ratio beyond
what the constitution contemplates. So far, then, as relates to the
laws regulating the elective franchise, if they are to be judged of by
the results which they produced, the Liberal party have nothing to
complain of, and the Roman Catholics still less; of the Radical
majority, they numbered thirty-five, or nearly one-half; and if
eligible men could be had of their body, or if their leaders wished
it, undoubtedly persons of their profession might have been returned
in every instance in which liberal Protestants were seated. They had
the power to effect this: if they abstained from using it, influenced
either by good taste or motives of prudence, they still have no reason
to complain of the law--it placed the power in their hands; their own
discretion alone restrained its exercise.

The agitators proclaim that their number in Parliament has diminished,
and that they have lost cities and counties, because the constituency
has decreased under the "emaciating influence of the registration
law." It is true the Irish constituency has diminished, and that the
Destructives have lost many places; but the diminution in the
constituency has not been caused by the state of the law--and this
they know full well--but by the disinclination of the respectable
portion of the people to make themselves any longer their tools! Under
the law when first called into operation, the Radicals had an
overwhelming majority. The same men who registered and voted in 1832
and in 1837, are generally still in existence--the same tenures under
which they registered still continue--the same assistant barristers
before whom they registered (or ones more favourable to their
interests) still preside; it is clear, therefore, that if the people
were inclined to claim the franchise, they have only to take the
necessary steps to secure it--but they won't. They were persecuted
between the priests and their landlords--they see the hollowness of
the agitators, who used them for their own purposes, and then left
them to ruin; and, as the surest way to avoid trouble, they don't
register at all; the landlords not having any influence over their
votes, and not wishing to quarrel with them, don't induce them to do
so--and they have hitherto resisted the efforts of the country agents
of the Corn Exchange. What man of sense would put himself upon the
register, when he well knows that any deviation from the path pointed
out to him by the priest, would not only entail curses and
persecutions on himself, but insult and outrage on the innocent
members of his family? Who would establish his right to vote, when he
would be called on to exercise that right with _his grave dug before
his dwelling_, and _the_ DEATH'S HEAD AND CROSS-BONES AFFIXED TO HIS
DOOR!!

The assertions of the agitators, that they have lost ground _because_
the constituencies have been diminished by the operation of the laws
regulating the possession of the elective franchise, is of a piece
with all their other reckless falsehoods; but fortunately it is more
easy of disproof. It does appear by parliamentary returns, that the
Irish constituency has decreased, _on the whole_, in small degree; but
it is rather curious and unfortunate for those truth-loving gentlemen,
that, in every instance in which _they_ have been beaten, the
constituencies have greatly increased, and that they have only
diminished in those counties in which their interest is
all-powerful.[3] For instance, Antrim, in 1832, (when a Liberal was
returned,) had on the register 3487 electors; and, in 1837, when a
Conservative was seated, 4079.[4]

Belfast, in 1832, when two Liberals were returned, had 1650; in 1841,
when two Conservatives were elected, 4334.

Carlow, in 1832, when two Liberals were returned, had 1246; and in
1841, when the Tories beat O'Connell's own son, 1757.

Down had in 1832, when a Liberal was returned, 3130; and in 1837, when
a Tory was substituted, 3305.

Dublin County had in 1832, when two Liberals were returned, 2025; and
in 1841, when two Tories displaced them, 2820.

Dublin City had in 1832, when O'Connell was triumphantly returned,
7008; and in 1841, when he was beaten, 12,290.

Longford had in 1832, when two Liberals were returned, 1294; and in
1841, when one of them was displaced by a Tory, 1388.

Queen's County had in 1832, when one Liberal was returned, 1471; and
in 1835, when two Conservatives were elected, 1673.

Thus we see, by unquestionable proof, that instead of being benefited
by an increase of the constituencies, the cause of the Destructives
has invariably suffered by their enlargement; and yet sure we are,
that most persons on this side the water believe in the truth of the
Liberator's lamentations, and suppose that those patriots who have
been rejected by the votes of the most independent electors and
largest constituencies in Ireland, have lost their seats solely
because the names on the register had been greatly diminished, and the
Liberal portion of the people deprived of their rights, by the
"emaciating influence" of a bad law.

But if there be defects in the registry laws, who are to blame for
their continuance? The "great grievance" connected with them of which
Mr O'Connell complained, was, "that from the ambiguous wording of the
act, some assistant barristers adopted _the solvent tenant test_,"
instead of "_the beneficial interest test_,"[5] which he and those who
acted with him thought to be its legitimate construction. This
unquestionably would make a vast difference to the claimant; and so
thought Sir Robert Peel. He brought in a bill clearly establishing
"the beneficial interest test." And to remedy another objection
founded on the fact of tenants at will in England having the right to
vote, while the Irish law debarred persons similarly circumstanced, he
proposed to give the franchise to all occupiers of certain quantities
of land, merely from the fact of possession;[6] and yet Mr O'Connell
was the first to denounce the measure! The agitators complain of
defects in the law, and the minister agrees to amend them; the
patriots claim for the Irish a full equality in the registration law
granted to England, and more is conceded. When headed by their "august
leader," they denounce the redress of those injustices of which they
complained as "An additional insult," and they raise such a clamour
because what they formerly asked for was about to be granted, that the
minister was compelled to succumb, and the bill was withdrawn.

The next item in the catalogue of grievances is the municipal law.
None has been more frequently or more forcibly dwelt on; its
injustice, and tendency to exclude the "Liberal" inhabitants of the
towns and cities of Ireland from local influence and political power,
form prominent topics in the speeches of every patriot orator. Let us
see with what justice.

It must be admitted that there is considerable Conservative property
and respectability in the Irish corporate towns; and yet what has been
the result of the elections under this municipal law so loudly
declaimed against?--There are thirty-three corporations in Ireland,
all of which, with _one solitary exception_, (that of Belfast,) are
not only Liberal but downright Revolutionary. The number of the
friends of order in the town-councils is so small, that they can
accomplish nothing. Overwhelming majorities have voted addresses to
the "convicted conspirators," and their mayors formed a deputation to
present them, and proceeded in state to the "dungeon of the martyrs;"
and yet this law, which lays the corporations of Ireland at the feet
of O'Connell, forms "one of the greatest oppressions under which his
devoted country groans." He has unlimited influence in all. What more
would he have? what more could any law give him?

Men ought to have a little modesty; but the "Liberator" has gained so
much by reckless assertion that he is justified in persevering in its
practice. He has often said, that "he never knew any statement tell,
or any argument, however powerful, attain the desired end, if only
once repeated;" and on this principle he acts. He repeats and repeats
again, in the teeth of contradiction and disproof, what he wishes to
have believed; and the result shows the wisdom of his proceeding.
Those who contradict soon get tired, while, by perseverance, he is
left in full possession of the field.

It has been said that the Irish Roman Catholics have been debarred, by
the unfair exercise of political patronage, from the attainment of
those offices at the bar and in the administration to which they were
rendered eligible by the Emancipation Act. The Whigs promoted three
Roman Catholics--Mr Shiel, Mr Wyse, and Mr O'Ferrall; these gentlemen
retired with their party, and if Sir Robert Peel offered them place
to-morrow, they would, as a matter of course, refuse it. These are the
only persons of their religion _unpledged_ to "Repeal of the Union" at
present in the House, who would have any claim on the score of
abilities to official station; it surely cannot be expected that a
Conservative minister would give power to men pledged to the
dismemberment of the British empire, and the supporters of a measure
which he has so unequivocally denounced; neither can it be supposed
that any man would be such a fool as to place red-hot Repealers in the
important office of stipendiary magistrate, when the wishes of the
government might be thwarted and the safety of the country compromised
by their partisanship.

The Repealers admit their determination to accomplish the destruction
of "Saxon rule" in Ireland, and at the same time _modestly_ declaim
against the Saxon government, because they will not give them power or
confidential employment, by means of which they might more securely
carry out their intentions. Sir Robert Peel has taken every occasion,
to the great detriment and dissatisfaction of his steadfast
supporters, to give place to such of the Roman Catholic party as were
at all eligible; if the number of such persons be limited, the Roman
Catholics themselves, and not the minister, are to blame.

As to the bar, the list of Roman Catholics was run out before he came
to power. There was no one amongst them whose standing in his
profession would have at all justified the minister in placing him on
the bench; and he had men of his own party, distinguished for their
acquirements, whose interests he could not overlook, whose claims were
recognised even by Mr O'Connell himself, and whose conduct, since
their promotion, has been unimpeachable.

The agitators cannot, in justice, blame him for having recourse to the
Conservative bar, for when in trouble they sought protection from its
ranks themselves. Except Mr Shiel, who was merely employed to make a
speech, and whose legal knowledge was never insisted on by his
friends; and Mr _Precursor_ Pigott, who was retained lest a slur
should be thrown on the Whigs--all the leading lawyers who conducted
the defence in the "monster trial" were Protestants and Conservatives
of the highest order.

But what has this much-abused minister done to conciliate Ireland
since he came to office? He has nearly trebled the grant for national
education, and still continues the system adopted by the Whigs and
patronised by the priests, in opposition to a powerful and influential
portion of his own supporters;--he found a board of charitable
bequests composed altogether of Protestants, and seeing, as he stated,
"that two-thirds of the property they had to administer was Roman
Catholic," he dissolved that board and constituted another, in which
the Roman Catholics have an equality, and may under certain
circumstances have a majority;[7]--he found the mortmain laws in
existence, and he repealed them; now any man who wishes may endow the
Roman Catholic church to any extent he pleases. Yet these last
concessions have been denounced by priests and bishops as an
additional insult, as an unjustifiable and tyrannical interference
with their rights. And why? Because Sir Robert Peel clogged the
measure with the condition, that any testator so leaving property
should have his will made and registered three months before his
death. Because he wishes to protect the interests of the Roman
Catholic laity, by securing them against the interference of the
clergy when their relatives are at the point of death, he stirs the
bile and rouses the indignation of ravenous and pelf-seeking
ecclesiastics. He brought in a bill to remedy what was said to be the
great defect in the registration laws, and it was not his fault that
it was not carried; he proposed to extend the franchise, and he was
denounced for doing so by the advocates of universal suffrage; he has
promoted the formation of railways; he has issued a commission to
enquire into the oppressions said to be perpetrated on their tenantry
by the Irish landlords; and he has subjected Irish absentees to the
payment of the property tax.

Whig promises "in favour of Ireland" were used by Mr O'Connell as
arguments to procure the abatement of the Repeal agitation; although
no man knew better than he did, that if his "base, brutal, and bloody"
friends had even the inclination, they had not the power, to carry out
their intentions. Tory promises of a still more conciliatory nature
are used as a stimulus to its extension; although Mr O'Connell
equally well knows that what Sir Robert Peel promises, his influence
with the English people may probably enable him to accomplish. Ay, but
that is just what the sagacious demagogue wishes to prevent. If his
grievances were removed, the pretence for agitation would be
destroyed. If there be real grievances, and if Mr O'Connell wished to
have then redressed, why not attempt to do so? The ministry are
willing to assist him--the public feeling and the opinion of
Parliament are decidedly in his favour; yet what measures have he or
his followers proposed for the adoption of the legislature? The truth
is, nothing annoys him more than the desire manifested by the premier
and the Parliament to remove all just grounds of complaint, and
therefore it is that he has fixed on "repeal of the union," which he
knows to be impracticable. A man's own interest must be considered,
and "the Liberator" is well aware that, if agitation ceased, the
_twenty thousand a-year_ paid him by the "starving people" as a
recompense for having patriotically rejected an office worth but
_five_, would cease also.

We have alluded to the amount of taxation imposed on Ireland, to prove
that injustice is not perpetrated upon her under that most touching
head;--we have exposed the fictitious grievances, and recounted the
measures passed and promised by Sir Robert Peel, to show how
groundless the complaints of the agitators are, and that if there be
wrongs, there is, on his part, a sincere desire to redress them;--and
we have adverted to the manner in which those beneficent acts and
promises, so favourable to their views and injurious to his
administration, have been received by those who profess to be the
friends, and are the leaders, of the people for whose welfare they are
intended--to convince the British minister and the British people of
the absolute impossibility of satisfying men, whose own selfish
interest lies at the bottom of all their actions, and who fabricate
grievances that, under the pretence of seeking their redress, they may
be afforded opportunities of inculcating treason.

What more is there which can be effected by Parliament which would
better the state of the Irish peasantry, _while_ they suffer
themselves to be made the dupes of every headless demagogue, and while
they, by their own atrocities, drive from amongst them every person
who is willing or able to afford them employment? The existing laws
cannot repress the cruel outrages which they commit. Can an act of
Parliament humanize their minds, or impart mercy to their hearts? The
law cannot fix a maximum for rent; and if it could, it would be only
to increase their turbulence, without any mitigating comforts. Extend
the franchise, it will only enable them to accomplish more political
mischief--for they reject as nothing all measures, however beneficial,
which do not tend to the dismemberment of the empire; endow their
church, and they accuse you of corrupting it; truckle to them, and you
but make them more exacting; coerce them, and you benefit themselves
and save the country.

That Ireland does labour under evils, no man can doubt; but they are
evils which have grown up under an exploded system, which all modern
legislation has tended to remedy, but which no legislation can at once
remove. The education of the people, heretofore altogether neglected,
is now being attended to; but years will have passed before any
favourable change can be effected through its instrumentality; and if
things be suffered to progress as they have lately done, evil instead
of good must result from the enlightenment of the people by means of a
system which imparts knowledge without inculcating religion. If you
extend their information, and still leave them under the political
sway of those who induce the more ignorant by the most monstrous
promises, and compel the more instructed and better disposed by
unchecked intimidation, to follow in their wake, it is clear that you
but endow the demagogues with more power, and render the enemies of
order more capable of effecting their designs. The memorable
expressions of one who was the champion of a people's privileges and
the victim of their ferocity, are most true, that "to inform a people
of their rights before instructing them and making them familiar with
their duties, leads naturally to the abuse of liberty and the
usurpation of individuals; it is like opening a passage for the
torrent before a channel has been prepared to receive, or banks to
direct it."[8]

Yes, Ireland is afflicted by evils, but those evils are created not so
much by the defects of the law, or by the neglect and tyranny of the
better classes, as by the total demoralization of the lower. The Irish
peasant, naturally brave, generous, and faithful, is, by the system
under which he is brought up, rendered cruel, merciless, and
deceitful. There may be, and probably are, hardships inflicted by some
of the landlords; but they are produced in most instances by criminal
and precedent acts on the part of the people. In no country in the
world are the rights of property so ill understood or so recklessly
violated: the industrious man fears to surround his cottage with a
garden, because his fruit and vegetables would be carried off by his
lazy and dishonest neighbours; and he is deterred from growing
turnips, which would add to his wealth, from the certain knowledge
that his utmost care cannot preserve them. Amongst no people on the
face of the earth are the obligations of an oath or the discharge of
the moral duties so utterly disregarded: any man, the greatest
culprit, can find persons to prove an _alibi_; the most atrocious
assassin has but to seek protection to obtain it. Where in the
civilized world, but in Ireland, can you find a "sliding-scale" of
fees for the perpetration of murder?

And why is this so? Because the religious instruction of the people
has been totally neglected; because their priests have become
politicians, and stopping at nothing to accomplish their objects, they
teach the peasantry by private precept and example to disrespect and
disregard those doctrines which they publicly inculcate; because their
bishops, pitchforked from the potatoe-basket to the palace, become
drunk with the incense offered to their vulgar vanity, and the
patronage granted in return for their unprincipled political support,
instead of checking the misconduct of the subordinates, stimulate them
to still further violence,[9] and stop at nothing which can forward
their objects; because the opinions of the people are formed on the
statements and advice of mendicant agitators who have but one object
in view, their own pecuniary aggrandizement; because a rabid and
revolutionary press, concealing its ultimate designs under the
praiseworthy and proper motive of affording protection to the weak,
seeks to overturn all law and order, and pandering to the worst
passions of an ignorant and ferocious populace, goads them, by the
most unfounded and mischievous statements, to the commission of crime,
and then adduces the atrocity of their acts as a proof of the
injustice of their treatment. Every murder is palliated, _because_ it
arises from "the occupation of land." Every brutal assassination is
paraded as "a fact" for Lord Devon, and is recommended to that
nobleman's attention; not that the helpless and unoffending family of
the victim may be afforded redress, but that the executioner of their
parent may obtain commiseration. No matter what the conduct of the
tenant may have been--no matter what arrears of rent he may have
owed--to evict him is a crime, which, in the eyes of those
unprincipled journalists, seems to justify an immediate recourse to
"the wild justice of revenge." The rights of property are said to be
guaranteed by the law--while the exercise of those rights is rendered
impossible by the combination of unprincipled men, and the force of a
_morbid_ public opinion. He who would think it "monstrous" that a
merchant should be debarred from the right of issuing execution
against his creditor, shudders with horror at the idea of a landlord
distraining for his unpaid rent. And the individual who delights in
the metropolitan improvements, and glories in the opening of St
Giles's, though it drive thousands of "the suffering poor" at once and
unrecompensed from their miserable abodes, considers the improvement
of an Irish estate as too dearly purchased, if effected by the
expulsion of one ill-conditioned and remunerated ruffian.

But this morbid public opinion only feels for the lawless, the idle,
and overholding tenant; for the landlord it has no sympathy--_he_ may
be robbed of his rights, he may be unable to educate or support his
family, because he cannot obtain his rents, but his sufferings create
no feeling in his favour; his case forms no fact for Lord Devon. The
accomplished, the well-born, and the good, may be driven from the
homes of their ancestors, and reduced to beggary, because the
dishonest occupiers will neither pay their engagements nor surrender
their lands, and no one laments their fate. The gentleman may be
forced to emigrate, and be sent into exile by his necessities, without
any notice being taken of such an event. But let a tenant who has been
profligate, dishonest, and reduced to poverty by his own misconduct,
be dispossessed of the smallest portion of ground on which he eked out
a wretched existence, and which, if he had it in fee, would not be
sufficient to support his family--let such an one be but dispossessed,
and, even though he be afforded the means of emigrating to countries
where land is plenty and wages remunerative, the "Liberal press" will
teem with "the horrors and the cruelties" of "the Irish system!"
Doubtless it would be most desirable that every man should be
possessed of a sufficiency of land, and that he should (if you will)
have it in fee; but how is this to be accomplished? The Irish
population is too dense to be comfortably supported on the extent of
soil which the country possesses, _without_ the assistance of
manufactures; and the conduct of the people, under the guidance of
their leaders, effectually prevents their establishment. There is but
one way, under existing circumstances, by means of which this happy
state could be produced, and that is by following the example of the
French revolutionists, by cutting the throats or otherwise disposing
of the present proprietors, and then selling to the peasantry at the
moderate prices which were formerly fixed on by the Convention.

The Irish gentleman is held up to public disapprobation because he has
a lawless and pauper tenantry; and if he attempt to improve their
moral and social condition, by removing the worst conducted, and
enlarging the holdings of the others, so as to enable them to live in
comfort, his conduct is considered still more odious, even though he
send the dispossessed at his own expense to those colonies to which
thousands of the best disposed of the people voluntarily emigrate.
What, in God's name, is he to do? While all remain, it is an absolute
impossibility that good can be effected for any. The evil is
sedulously pointed out, and the only practicable remedy is resisted by
the same persons--the friends, "par excellence," of the people!

This moral disorganization, and the total disrespect for the rights of
property by which it is accompanied, creates other evils as its
necessary consequences; it produces hostility and ill feeling between
the higher and the lower classes, augments absenteeism, and deprives
the peasantry of the personal superintendence of those who would
really have their interests at heart, and by whose example they would
be benefited. Nor can we be surprised that any person whose
circumstances enables him to do so should reside out of Ireland; when
we see every man of rank and fortune who relinquishes the pleasures of
the capital, and the enjoyments of society, for the purpose of
settling on his estates, and performing his duties, subjected to the
abuse of every scurrilous priest, and the insults of every penniless
agitator. Landlords naturally wish to reside at home where their
possessions, in a wholesome state of society, would secure them local
influence and respect; but unless the Irish gentleman bows to the
dictates of every local representative of the "august leader," he is
deprived of both, and risks his personal safety into the bargain. No
men profess to lament absenteeism more than the priests and agitators.
But how do they act? They declare against the non-residence of the
proprietors; but their sole object in doing so is to rouse the
feelings of their auditors, and thus prepare them for the performance
of what they wish them to effect. What encouragement do they or their
creatures afford to such as do return? We like facts. The Marquis of
Waterford, a bold and daring sportsman, boundless in his charities,
frank and cordial in his manners, not obnoxious on account of his
politics, and admitted on all hands to be one of the very best
landlords in Ireland--in fact, just such a character as the Irish
would admire--he comes to reside and spend his eighty thousand a-year
in the country, and how is he treated? He gets up a splendid sporting
establishment in Tipperary; _his hounds and horses were twice
poisoned_; and this not being found sufficient to drive him from the
neighbourhood, in which he was affording amusement and spending money,
_his offices were fired_, and his servants with difficulty saved their
lives. Compelled to abandon Tipperary, he betakes himself to his
family mansion in Waterford; and how is he received there? Why, in his
own town and within his hearing, we find the "meek and Christian
priest" addressing his tenants and labourers, the men whom he employs
and supports, after the following fashion:--"Men of Portlan! you were
the leading men who put down the Beresford in '26, (_the marquis's
father_.) I call on you now, having put down one set of tyrants, to
put down another set of tyrants," (_the marquis himself_.)[10] Does
such conduct (and this is but one instance of many which we could
adduce) evince a desire, on the part of the "pastors of the people,"
to encourage the residence of the gentry, or a wish to procure for the
peasantry those blessings which they paint in such glowing terms as
sure to ensue from their landlords living and spending their incomes
amongst them? Much as the priests and agitators declaim against
absenteeism, nothing would be more contrary to their wishes than that
the absentees should return. They have no desire to share their
influence with others; and hence it is that an excuse is always made
for quarrelling with every resident who cannot be made subservient to
their wishes; and while they steadily persevere in their system of
annoyance and offence, they as lustily reiterate their lamentations on
a state of things which their own conduct tends to produce.

That we are justified in attributing the poverty, the misery, and the
crimes of the Roman Catholic peasantry to the constant state of
agitation and excitement in which they are kept by their leaders, and
the bad example set them by their religious instructors, and not to
any pecuniary burdens (legislative or local) imposed upon them, we can
easily prove, by a reference to the condition of that portion of the
Irish people who are not subject to their control or corrupted by
their influence. It is well known that in the province of Ulster land
fetches at least one-third more rent than in either of the other
provinces, although the quality of the soil is by no means so good.
Yet what is the condition of the people? what their habits? what the
appearance of the country in this less favoured district? We shall let
an authority often quoted by Mr O'Connell answer our question.

Mr Kohl[11] tells us, that "the main root of Irish misery is to be
sought in the indolence, levity, extravagance, and want of energy of
the national character." And again, in passing from that portion of
the country where the majority of the inhabitants profess the Roman
Catholic religion, to that in which the great bulk of the population
are Protestants, or Presbyterians, the same writer says--"On the other
side of these miserable hills, whose inhabitants are years before they
can afford to get the holes mended in their potato-kettles--the most
indispensable and important article of furniture in an Irish
cabin--the territory of Leinster ends, and that of Ulster begins. The
coach rattled over the boundary line, and all at once we seemed to
have entered a new world. I am not in the slightest degree
exaggerating when I say, that every thing was as suddenly changed as
if by an enchanter's wand. The dirty cabins by the road-side were
succeeded by neat, pretty, cheerful-looking cottages; regular
plantations, well cultivated fields, pleasant little cottage-gardens,
and shady lines of trees, met the eye on every side. At first I could
scarcely believe my own eyes, and thought that at all events the
change must be merely local and temporary, caused by the better
management of that particular estate. No counter change, however,
appeared; the improvement lasted the whole way to Newry; and, from
Newry to Belfast, every thing continued to show me that I had entered
the country of a totally different people--namely, the district of the
Scottish settlers, the active and industrious Presbyterians."

Nor can we be surprised at the condition of this unhappy country when
we see the Executive looking quietly on, when the public press has
become the apologist of crime, and public sympathy is enlisted on the
side of the evil-doers.

_Four murders_ have, within the last month, been perpetrated in
Tipperary, which were all but justified by the local papers, _because_
they were supposed to have been the acts of tenants dispossessed _for
non-payment of rent_. _They_ excited no horror. A _fifth_ was added to
the bloody catalogue, which roused the indignation of the virtuous
_Vindicator_;[12] and why? _Solely because_ it was the result of a
private quarrel.

_"We own,"_ says this respectable guardian of public morality, "_that
such a system of murderous aggression_ AS THIS, _remote from any of
those agrarian causes which may account for crime, is calculated to
fill every mind with indignation._"[13] Are we not justified in
demanding of the government how long this state of things is to be
permitted to continue? how long the lives and properties of the
respectable and loyal inhabitants of Ireland are to be left at the
mercy and the disposal of a ferocious and bloodstained populace? how
much further open and undisguised treason is to be allowed to proceed?

The Taleian policy will not answer. Mr O'Connell may abandon his
plans, falsify his promises, and break his most solemn engagements--but
there will be no relief; he will still be supported so long as his
agitation is unchecked--so long as the people think that through the
instrumentality of _his_ measures _their_ designs may be accomplished.
And if, after a further period of excitement, after a still increasing
belief in their own ability to attain the avowed object of their
wishes, "the free possession of the land," the peasantry should be
deserted or betrayed by their leaders, the best that could then be
expected would be the horrors of an unsuccessful servile war. Mean time
the enemies of Great Britain are openly apprised of the disaffection of
the Irish people, who but bide their time and wait their opportunity.





SINGULAR PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A RUSSIAN OFFICER.


During a twelvemonth's residence in a continental city, I became
acquainted with a Russian officer, whom I will designate by the name
of Adrian. He was a man still in the prime of life, but who had
endured much sorrow and calamity, which had imparted a tinge of
melancholy to his character, and rendered him apparently indifferent
to most of the enjoyments that men usually seek. He was no longer in
the Russian service, did not appear to be rich, kept two horses, upon
which he used to take long solitary rides, that constituted apparently
his only pleasure. He had seen much of the world, and his life had
evidently been an adventurous one; but he was not communicative on
matters regarding himself, although on general subjects he would
sometimes converse willingly, and when he did so, his conversation was
highly interesting. He was one of those persons with whom it is
difficult to become intimate beyond a certain point; and although I
had reason to believe that he liked me, and for nearly a year we
passed a portion of each day together, he never laid aside a degree of
reserve, or approached in any way to a confidential intercourse.

I was one day reading in my room, when Adrian's servant came in all
haste to summon me to his master, who had been thrown from his horse,
and was not expected to survive the injuries he had received. I
hurried to the hotel, and found my unfortunate friend suffering
greatly, but perfectly calm and collected. Two medical men, who had
been called in, had already informed him that his end was rapidly
approaching. He had appeared little moved by the intelligence. I
approached his bedside; he took my hand, and pressed it kindly. I was
deeply grieved at the sad state in which I found him; but time was too
short to be wasted in expressions of sympathy and sorrow, and I
thought I should better show the regard I really felt for him, by
offering to be of any service in my power with respect to the
arrangement of his affairs, or the execution of such wishes as he
might form.

"My affairs are all in order," he said; "my will, and the address of
my nearest surviving relative, are in yonder writing-desk. I have no
debts, and whatever sum is derived from the sale of my personal
effects, I wish to be given to the hospitals of the town."

He drew a ring, set with an antique cameo, from his finger.

"Accept this," he said to me, "as a slight memorial of our
acquaintance, which has been productive of much pleasure to me."

He paused, exhausted by the exertion he had made to speak. After a few
moments, he resumed. "You have at times seemed to wish to hear
something of my past life," said he, with a faint smile. "Amongst my
papers is a small leathern portfolio, which I give to you, with the
manuscript it contains. These gentlemen," added he, looking at the
physicians, "will bear witness to the bequest."

At this moment the Roman Catholic priest, who had been sent for,
entered the room, and Adrian expressed a wish to be left alone with
him. That same evening he expired.

I had no difficulty in obtaining possession of the portfolio
bequeathed to me. In the papers it contained were recorded a series of
incidents so extraordinary, that I am still in doubt whether to
consider them as having really happened, or as being the invention of
a fantastical and overstrained imagination. I kept the MS. by me for
some time, but have finally resolved to translate and publish it,
merely substituting fictitious names for those set down in the
original. The narrative is in some respects incomplete, but whether in
consequence of Adrian's sudden death, or because no further
circumstances connected with it came to his knowledge, I am of course
unable to say. It is as follows:--

I am by birth a Russian, but my childhood and youth were passed at
Hamburg. Owing to the early age at which I lost my father, my
recollections of him are necessarily but imperfect. I remember him as
a tall handsome man, somewhat careworn, constantly engaged in the
correspondence rendered necessary by his numerous commercial
speculations, and frequently absent from home upon journeys or voyages
of greater or less duration. His life had been an anxious one, and his
success by no means constant; but he still persevered, led on by a
sanguine temperament, to hope for that fortune which had hitherto
constantly eluded his grasp.

It was shortly after my tenth birth-day, and we were anxiously
expecting my father's return from a voyage to the East Indies. Before
his departure he had promised my mother, that if he succeeded in the
objects of this distance expedition, he would retire from business,
and settle down quietly to pass the rest of his days in the country.
The letters received from him led her to believe that the result of
his voyage had been satisfactory, and she was therefore anticipating
his return with double pleasure. At last, one evening news was brought
that the ship in which he had taken his passage was come into port,
and just as my mother and myself were leaving the house to go and
welcome the wanderer, my father made his appearance. I will pass over
the transports of joy with which he was received. So soon as they had
a little subsided, he presented to us, under the name of the Signor
Manucci, a dark fine-looking man, who accompanied him, and whom he had
invited to sup with him. I say with _him_, because, to our great
surprise and disappointment, neither my mother nor myself were
admitted to partake of the meal. Hitherto my father's return from his
voyages had been celebrated as a sort of festival. A large table was
laid out, and our friends came in to welcome him, to ask him
innumerable questions, and tell him all that had occurred during his
absence. On this occasion, however, things were arranged very
differently. My father, instead of joining his family and friends at
supper, caused the meal to be served in a separate room for himself
and the Italian; and long after they had done eating, I could hear
them, as I lay in bed, walking up and down the apartment, and
discoursing earnestly together in a foreign tongue. My bed had been
made for that night upon a sofa in one of the sitting-rooms which
adjoined my father's apartment. My usual sleeping-room was given up to
the stranger, who was to pass the night at our house.

My temperament was naturally a nervous one, and my father's return had
so excited me that I found it impossible to sleep, but lay tossing
about till long after every body in the house had apparently retired
to rest. The strong smell of sea-water proceeding from my father's
cloak, which was lying on a chair near my bed, perhaps also
contributed to keep me awake; and when I at last began to doze, I
fancied myself on board ship, and every thing around me seemed
tumbling and rolling about as in a storm. After lying for some time in
this dreamy state, I at last fell into an uneasy feverish slumber. For
long after that night, I was unable to decide whether what then
occurred was a frightful dream or a still more frightful reality. It
was only by connecting subsequent circumstances and discoveries with
my indistinct recollections, that some years afterwards I became
convinced of the reality of what I that night witnessed.

I had scarcely fallen asleep, as it seemed to me, when I was awakened
by the creaking of the door leading into my father's room. It was
hastily opened, and the stranger appeared, bearing a lamp in his hand,
and apparently much agitated. He walked several times up and down both
rooms, as if one had been too small for him in his then excited state.
At last he began to speak to himself in broken sentences, some of
which reached my ear. "I leave to-morrow," he said; "when I return,
all will be over--all--the fool!" Then he took another turn through
the room, and paused suddenly before a large mirror. "Do I look like a
murderer?" he exclaimed wildly, and with a ghastly rolling of his
eyes. Then suddenly tearing off a black wig and whiskers which he
wore, he stood before me an old and greyheaded man. At this moment he
for the first time noticed my temporary bed.

"Ha!" he muttered, with a start, "how imprudent!" He immediately
replaced his wig, and with noiseless steps approached my couch.
Terrified as I was, I had yet sufficient presence of mind to
counterfeit sleep; and the stranger, after standing a minute or two
beside me, went softly into my father's room, the door of which he
shut behind him.

When I awoke the next morning, and thought of this strange incident,
it assumed so vague and indefinite a form, that I set it down as the
illusion of a dream. Every thing was as usual in the house; my father,
it is true, seemed thoughtful and grave, but that was nothing uncommon
with him. He spoke kindly to me, and apologised to my mother for his
seclusion of the preceding evening; but said that he had been
compelled to discuss matters of the greatest importance with the
Signor Manucci, who was then sitting beside him at breakfast. My
mother was too delighted at her husband's return to be very
implacable; and if the evening had been clouded by disappointment, our
morning meal was, to make amends, a picture of harmony and perfect
happiness.

About noon, Manucci took an affectionate leave of my father, and
departed; not, however, till he had promised that he would shortly
renew his visit. The day passed without incident. My father had
planned an excursion into the country for the following morning, to
visit an old friend who resided a few leagues from Hamburg. I was
awakened at an early hour, in order to get ready to accompany him and
my mother. I hastily dressed myself, and went down into the parlour.
What was my surprise, when on entering the room I saw my father lying
pale and suffering upon a sofa, while my mother was sitting beside him
in tears, anxiously awaiting the arrival of a physician who had been
sent for, and who presently made his appearance. He felt my father's
pulse, enquired the symptoms, and finally pronounced him to be in a
state of considerable danger. Each successive half hour increased the
sick man's sufferings, and before the afternoon he was speechless.

In sadness and anxiety we were surrounding my father's couch, when
suddenly a carriage stopped at the house door, and the next instant
Manucci entered the apartment. He expressed the utmost grief and
sympathy upon learning my father's illness, sat down beside the dying
man, for such he now was, and took his hand. My father beckoned his
friend to stoop down, that he might whisper something to him; but
although his lips moved, an inarticulate muttering was all that he
could utter. He then, with an expression of almost despairing grief
upon his countenance, took my hand and that of Manucci, joined them
together in his, which were already damp and chill with the approach
of death, and pressed them to his heart with a deep sigh. The next
instant there was a convulsive movement of his limbs--a rattle in his
throat. My father was dead.

I shall never forget that moment. It was with some difficulty that
Manucci and myself withdrew our hands from those of my father, which
clutched them tightly in the agony of death. It was the first corpse I
had ever looked upon, and although of a parent whom I dearly loved, I
yet recoiled from it with an irrepressible shudder. The stranger, too,
inspired me with an invincible repugnance. I could not forget my
dream, or vision, or whatever it was, when I had seen him changed into
a grey repulsive-looking old man, and the mysterious words--"Do I look
like a murderer?" rang ever in my ears.

My mother's grief at her sudden bereavement was boundless. She was
incapable of arranging or ordering any thing; and as my tender years
prevented me from being of any use, Manucci took upon himself the
management of every thing. Through his exertions, the arrangements for
the funeral were rapidly completed; and I followed to the grave the
body of my unfortunate father, who had died, so said the doctor, of a
stroke of apoplexy. Child as I was, I was greatly struck by the
coincidence between this sudden death, and the singular dream I had
had not forty-eight hours previous to it. I said nothing, however;
for I feared Manucci, and should not have thought my life safe had he
heard that I related my dream to any one. In after years, when I was
better able to form a judgment on these matters, I thought it useless
to renew the grief of my poor mother, then becoming old and infirm, by
a communication of what I had witnessed on that memorable night, or by
inspiring her with doubts as to the real cause of her husband's death.

Meanwhile Manucci busied himself in the arrangement of my father's
affairs, concerning which he appeared perfectly well informed. In the
course of their liquidation, he became acquainted with many of the
chief people in Hamburg, who all spoke very highly of his talents, and
seemed captivated by his agreeable conversation and varied
acquirements. In an incredibly short time he had made himself numerous
friends, who courted his society and invited him to their houses.
Nobody knew any thing more of him than what he himself chose to say,
which was very little. It was rumoured, however, that he belonged to a
religious fraternity--but whether of the Jesuits, or some other order,
no one knew, nor was it possible to trace the origin of the report.
Manucci himself, the object of all these conjectures, seemed perfectly
unconscious of, or indifferent to them. He took a house at a short
distance from the town, close to a small country residence to which my
mother had retired; and in conformity with my father's last and mutely
expressed wish, showed a most friendly disposition towards me,
interesting himself in my studies, and to a certain extent
superintending my education. He visited us very frequently, and
gradually I became accustomed to his presence, and my aversion to him
diminished. The remembrance of my dream grew fainter and fainter, and
the guilty agitation and strange appearance of Manucci on the night of
his arrival at Hamburg, lost the sharp distinctness of outline with
which they had at first been engraved upon my memory. I regarded all
that I had seen that night as a dream, and nothing more.

The house inhabited by Manucci was of handsome exterior, and situated
in the middle of a large garden. The door was rarely opened to
visitors, and, besides the Italian, an old servant-maid was its only
inmate. I myself was never admitted within its walls till I had
attained my seventeenth year; but when I was, the curious arrangements
of the dwelling made a strong impression upon my fancy. The whole of
the ground floor was one large hall, of which the ceiling was
supported by pillars, and whence a staircase led to three apartments,
one used as a sitting-room, another as bed-chamber, and the third,
which was kept constantly shut, as a study. The sitting-room, instead
of doors, had green silk curtains in the doorways. Eight chandeliers
were fixed in pairs upon the wall, and between them were four black
marble tablets, on which were engraved in golden letters, the
words:--Watch! Pray! Labour! Love! In a recess was a sort of altar,
above which was suspended a valuable painting from the hand of one of
the old masters. Behind a folding screen in the sleeping-room, stood
the bed, which was surrounded by sabres, daggers, stilettoes, and
pistols of various calibre; and from this room a strong door, clenched
and bound with iron, led into the study, the interior of which I never
saw. Altogether, the house made such a strange and unpleasant
impression upon me, that I felt no wish to repeat my visit.

Manucci had now been residing seven years amongst us, leading a
peaceful and quiet life, a frequent visitor at our house, well looked
upon and liked by all who knew him. Although there was certainly a
degree of mystery attaching to him, yet no one was suspicious of him,
nor had the voice of scandal ever been lifted up to his prejudice. He
was friendly and attentive to my mother, kind to me, courteous to
every one, seemed perfectly contented with his mode of life, and never
talked of changing it. Our astonishment was consequently so much the
greater, when one morning we learnt his sudden disappearance from the
neighbourhood. Enquiries were made in every direction, but none had
seen him depart. His shrivelled old housekeeper was also nowhere to be
found.

It was within a few weeks after this strange disappearance, that I
obtained the first insight into the character of the mysterious
Italian. After my father's death, and the winding up of his affairs,
his papers and letters had been put in boxes and locked up in a
closet. I one day took it into my head to rummage these papers. There
were vast numbers of bills of lading and exchange, insurance papers
and the like, all matters of no interest to me; but at last, upon
untying a bundle of miscellaneous documents, a small packet fell out
which seemed likely to reward my search. It consisted of fragments of
letters, much damaged by fire, and which, to judge from the size of
the half-burned envelope that contained them, and that had apparently
been originally used for a much larger parcel, probably formed only a
small part of a collection of letters that had been accidentally or
intentionally destroyed by the flames.

Here are some of these fragments of letters.

     "... The society of a man whose acquaintance I have made since my
     arrival here, becomes each day more agreeable to me. He has seen
     a vast deal of the world, and his mind is stored with the most
     varied knowledge, to such a degree that it sometimes appears to
     me as if the longest life would be insufficient to acquire all
     that he has learned. Our acquaintance was made in an odd place
     enough--a gambling-house, to which I had gone as a matter of
     curiosity. He was sitting away from the tables, and addressed
     some trifling remark to me, to which I replied. He then, as if he
     had known who and what I was, began talking of the commerce in
     which I am engaged, and displayed an intimate acquaintance with
     mercantile affairs. Our conversation had already become animated
     and interesting, when it was interrupted by a noise and bustle in
     the play-room; and several 

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