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sitting, but more generally while sustaining itself on the wing above its mate, swelling its notes as it ascends, and sinking them as it descends, like the skylark. It is not a settled point whether the skylark or the woodlark has the finest song. That of the latter is universally admitted to be very beautiful, but not so powerful and prolonged as that of the former. When the bird takes the top of its flight,' says Mr Mudie, 'it sends down a volume of song which is inexpressibly sweet, though there is a feeling of desolation in it.' Burns, addressing it as a hapless lover, courts its' soothing fond complaining,' and adds
'Sure nought but love and sorrow joined Such notes of wo could waken.'
'To hear the woodlark,' pursues Mr Mudie, 'on a wild and lone hillside, where there is nothing to give accompaniment save the bleating of a flock and the tinkle of a sheep-bell, so distant, as hardly to be audible, is certainly equal to the hearing even of those more mellow songs which are poured forth in richer situations.'
ABRIDGED FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME FOA.
ON the 3d of July 1660, a young boy, about fourteen years of age, was passing with a light firm step along the broad and dusty road which led from Noyon to Bollot, a little village near Montdidier in Picardy. The costume of the youth was of a simplicity approaching to poverty, and a studious paleness had banished the freshness of early years from his brow, which wore an expression of the deepest uneasiness. At times his large black eyes sparkled with a flash of momentary joy, as he passed some little manor-houses, whose constantly lowered draw bridges bore testimony to the good-natured hospitality of their inhabitants. Sometimes, also, the sight of one of the little white houses which arose out of the midst of a green meadow, drew to the lips of the traveller one of those languid smiles which rather resemble a nervous contraction than an expression of pleasure. But more frequently his downcast eyes and abstracted air denoted that he had some engrossing subject of thought.
The young traveller now struck off into a little rough by-way, bordered on each side by a row of apple-trees, behind which the sun was at this moment setting. Some paces before him trotted an ass loaded with grass and shrubs, and led by a young woman, who was forcing it to quicken its pace, by beating it now and then with a willow branch which she held in her hand. The names of Annette and Antoine escaped at the same time from the lips of both as she turned her head; and the lad forgot his troubles for a moment in greeting his sister.
These troubles were neither few nor light. Brought up from childhood at the college of Noyon, through the benevolence of the principal and a canon of the cathedral, he had now lost both his patrons by death, and after having made considerable advances in learning for his age, was sent back to his poor little village to be a burthen upon his widowed mother.
become the happy possessor. But I have talked enough of myself. What is my mother doing? What has become of my brothers and my other sisters?'
'Oh, Annette,' said he, as he concluded the recital of his griefs, imagine what I felt when, the very day after the death of the good canon, the new principal who had succeeded my first patron called me to his room and said, "As he who used always to pay your pension has just died, have you any one else interested about you who would continue the charitable work begun by the Canon Fernon?" "Alas! sir," said I, "I have only my mother, and she has barely sufficient for her own subsistence and that of her six other children." "I am sorry for it," replied he; "but the college cannot keep you for nothing you must go back to your mother." You see, sister, after that, I could not remain another hour in the college. I set out without even bidding farewell to my companions. I had not courage. I set out, bringing nothing but some of my clothes on my back, a couple of crown-pieces-the last gift of the canon some days before his death-and the few books of which I had, by degrees,
'My poor mother is still a mantuamaker; but as she works only for the poor, it does not bring in much. James is a farmer's boy at M. Perrin's. The cure has taken John to his house as a choir boy, feeds, clothes, and teaches him reading, writing, and Latin. Mary works at Martin's the washerwoman's; and Frances and Genevieve are too young to do anything yet.' The speaker herself was the wife of the village apothecary.
Thus conversing while they walked by the side of the ass, the brother and sister arrived at a small white house at the entrance of the village of Bollot. An aged woman was seated on a stone in front of the door, busily occupied in sewing, who, on raising her eyes, uttered a cry of joy, and her work fell from her as she opened her arms to receive the new-comer. 'My son !'
Some moments passed in tears and kisses.
'Mother,' said the youth sorrowfully, 'here am I again, come to be a burden on you!" And he related to his mother what is already known to the reader.
'God is good, my son,' replied the pious woman sadly but submissively. He will not abandon us. Besides, you are tall and strong. What can you do?' 'Alas! my poor mother, all I know, all I can do, is of little use in a village,' replied Antoine. I know a little Greek, a good deal of Latin, and have a tolerable knowledge of Hebrew.'
And is that all you learned at college!' exclaimed the simple woman in a tone of regret.
Galland spoke of hope-perseverance-trust in God; but the old woman shook her head; and it was not till her son-in-law, the apothecary, came to offer to take Antoine for his shop-boy, that she was reconciled to his learning.
"You say nothing, Antoine,' replied Madame Galland, uneasy at the silence of her son.
'I say that Picard is very kind,' replied Antoine in embarrassment.
'Very kind!' repeated the old woman; why, he is generous, munificent! I never dreamt of half so much for you. Get up and thank your brother-in-law! Tell him that you accept-tell him that you will work hardthat you will be quiet, steady, and obedient.'
"Yes, mother,' replied Antoine in desperation. When he entered the druggist's shop, and saw all the herbs piled on one side, the pots, jars of leeches, and vials on the other-when he saw the back-shop, dignified by the name of laboratory, a dark, dirty receptacle, reeking with all kinds of smells-when he saw the small loft over the laboratory, with a little straw laid down for a bed in one corner, and which showed him it was to be his room-when he saw the place where his life was to be passed-his heart sunk within him. But what were the feelings of the young and studious collegian when his brother-in-law, pointing out to him several caldrons smeared with ointments and cosmetics, said in a tone of gaiety, Come, my boy, off with your coat and clean these caldrons a little!'
Though Antoine felt his heart die within him, he said nothing, but threw off his coat, turned up his shirt sleeves, took the mixture which his brother-in-law gave him to clean the caldrons, and began to rub away as if he had never done anything else in his life.
Bravo-bravo!' exclaimed the enchanted druggist, taking the desperation of the youth for zeal and activity. Bravo! Go easy, my boy. In a few days these little white hands will be as hard as mine, and these beautiful little nails will be as black as my own. Bravo-bravo! If you continue this way, you will become a capital druggist.'
Is this to be the result of my ten years' study?' said the collegian to himself, with difficulty restraining his tears. He continued to work, however, and work hard too; but his heart was not in his occupation, and it did him no good. He grew pale and thin; he lost his spirits and his appetite; and his affectionate sister began to fear that her brother would die.
'Antoine,' said she one day, 'tell me what is weighing on your mind? My husband has often said we ought not to be above our situation. You are above yours, Antoine: is it not so? You were not born for mixing drugs, but to be a learned man: am I not right? Oh, you need not shake your head. I have received no education; I hardly know how to read; and I know no more of writing than suffices to sign my name; and, in comparison with you, who know so much, I am a fool. But I see clearly that here, at Bollot, there is only one person with whom you enjoy yourself, and who brings brightness to your eye or a smile to your lip. It is the curé; because with him you can speak all your jargons of Greek and Latin that you learned at college, and many other languages besides. My poor brother! Let us put our heads together, and devise something to make you happy. Tell me what can I do for you?'
'Nothing, my dear sister-nothing. But listen to me, answer me frankly, but say nothing to any one else.' 'Well, what is it, Antoine?'
'Tell me, Annette, have I dreamt it, or did I not hear it said when quite a child, that we had an old relation in Paris? Whenever I ask my mother, instead of answering me, she bursts into tears. "You want to leave us," she exclaims; "you are not happy here." Happy here!' added the youth bitterly; how can I be so, after having passed ten years of my life in study? And delighting in it, how can I resign myself to scouring and cleaning caldrons, to boiling herbs, and compounding drugs; for this is the extent of my employment with your husband? Annette! I have drunk of the stream of knowledge; and now, with parched lips, I am left to die. I pant for air, for motion, for life. I will leave Bollot; I will go to
'To Paris!' added Annette; for her brother, alarmed at having let his secret escape him, suddenly stopped.
'You are right, sister,' replied he sadly; and even you perhaps may blame me?'
'No-quite the contrary,' said his sister; for I, too, have some ambition for you. I should like to see you rich and happy, and I see clearly that it is not in my husband's shop you will find happiness. You will go to Paris -is it not so? Well, do not be uneasy as to the means of getting there. I have a few crowns which my husband knows nothing about; I kept them to buy books for you to-day at Montdidier. Here they are: but why do you not take them? Do not go standing on ceremony with me, your sister; besides, you can re urn them to me when you make your fortune,' added the kind Annette, putting into her brother's hand, who yielded to the last suggestion, a small leathern purse, but little swelled, alas! by the savings of the druggist's wife.
'It is not much,' replied she, as if ashamed of offering so little; but, however, it is enough to support you for ten days, and before that time you will reach Paris. Once arrived in the town, you can inquire for the Abbé Lecteur.'
'The Abbé Lecour!' interrupted Antoine; "he was a friend of the principal of the college at Noyon. I know him well: but he, will he remember the poor little collegian Antoine ?'
Our Aunt Margaret, our poor father's eldest sister, has been in his service these twenty years,' replied Annette. 'And what is her address at Paris?' No. 16, Cloisters, Notre-Dame.'
And you say she is in service?' Yes; with the Abbé Lecœur.' 'What a sorry patronage!"
Oh, the servant of an abbé is not such a bad relation to have,' said Annette; and with this assurance the thing was settled.
Two days after the conversation just related, Antoine, with his mother's blessing, and a little money (for an addition had been made to Annette's savings by the generosity of her husband), entered Paris on a Sunday, in the month of July in the year 1661. The first inquiry he made on setting his foot on the pavement of the capital of France was for the Cloisters of Notre-Dame. He was directed to them; and the two towers which rise above the city were given him as a clue through the labyrinth
of streets which he must traverse before reaching them. Aided by this kind of compass, he soon found himself in the court of Notre-Dame, just as the bell rang for prayers.
My first visit ought to be to God,' said Antoine, whose heart beat audibly with doubt of his reception elsewhere. Then mingling with the crowd of worshippers who were thronging the gate, he entered the church at the same moment with an old woman, whose costume, that of his native Picardy, attracted his attention. But soon the sound of the organ, the harmony of the singing, the spacious edifice itself, the solemnity of the ceremonies, the multitude of assembled worshippers, the crowd of officiating clergy, the whole imposing scene, so new to him who, for a long time, had seen nothing but a miserable village chapel with its one solitary priest, so entirely absorbed him, that, plunged in devotional ecstasy, he forgot that he was not alone: his eyes fixed on the vaulted ceiling of the building, and his hands clasped, he breathed forth his desires, his prayers, his hopes.
When his devotions were over, he looked again at the old Picard woman, and she at him; and presently they fell into conversation, drawn together by some mysterious instinct, as some might say, but more probably by the consanguinity of their provincial dress. This old woman turned out to be his veritable aunt; and Antoine was hardly released from her embraces, before he found himself in her mistress's drawing-room, formally announced as the servant's nephew.
Madame Lecour looked kindly at the young boy, who remained standing before her, modest and respectful, but unembarrassed. She asked him when he had arrived
'That was my son. He knows you, then?' said Madame Lecour.
'He has seen me, madame; but I think he can scarcely know me from among the crowd of boys that saluted him at his entrance and departure.'
'No matter, my child, I will speak to him about you,' replied the old lady. Tell me what you wish-tell me your plans. Your answers please me-your manners are good; but indeed I should feel interested in you, were it only that you are the nephew of my good old Margaret. I would gladly be useful to you, so speak freely to me. What was your plan, what were your intentions, in leaving home, and coming to Paris on foot, to find your aunt?'
'I hoped, madame,' said Antoine, that, with the recommendation of my aunt to your son, I might succeed in getting into some college; no matter upon what footing-even upon that of a servant.'
And why a servant in a college, rather than elscwhere?' demanded Madame Lecœur.
'Because there are books in a college,' said Antoine hesitatingly, and masters, and lectures, and pupils.' 'Well, my child?' said Madame Lecour, whose curiosity was raised.
Emboldened by the almost maternal kindness of her manner, Antoine replied- For my services, I should receive some recompense either from the masters or pupils.
From the former I should ask permission to listen; from the others youth are kind to each other-I could borrow themes and books.'
'But, my child,' replied Madame Lecœur, scarcely able to conceal the emotion which the answers of Antoine excited, 'you do not remember that your time would not be your own; your whole day would be occupied.'
'But I should have my nights, madame,' replied Antoine quickly.
'Charming-charming, child!' cried Margaret's mistress. Yes, you well deserve that we should interest ourselves for you. My son is well acquainted with M. Petitpied, doctor of the Sorbonne; and through the interest of this friend, I hope you will get a better place than that of a servant. Go, my child-go with your aunt. You have perhaps eaten nothing, and I have thoughtlessly kept you here. Go, give your nephew some refreshment, and prepare the little room opposite yours for him; and as soon as my son comes in, let me know; I myself wish to present Antoine to him.'
Accordingly, M. Petitpied, delighted and interested with the enthusiasm and perseverance of Antoine, was of great service to the little native of Picardy. Thanks to this learned professor, Antoine increased his knowledge of Hebrew and the other Eastern languages. He went through the usual course of the Royal College, and even began the catalogue of the Oriental manuscripts of the Sorbonne. In 1670, he had just entered the house of M. Godvin, principal of the Mazarin College, when M. de Mointel was setting out on his embassy to Constantinople. Having heard of young Galland, who was already beginning to be known for his industry and talent, he took him with him, and employed him in copying, from the Greek churches, formal attestations of the articles of their faith-a great subject of dispute between Arnaud and the minister Claude. Galland accompanied M. de Mointel in his voyage to Jerusalem, and took advantage of it to copy numerous inscriptions. From Syria he went direct to the Levant, with the intention of collecting some new medals. In 1679 he was intrusted with a commission to the Indies, for the purpose of making a collection that might enrich the cabinet of Colbert, the minister of Louis XIV.; and again he undertook a third voyage. Colbert being dead, Louvois, his successor, commanded him to continue his researches, and nominated him to the post of royal antiquarian.
About this time, being still in Smyrna, but on the point of returning to France, he was near being buried alive by an earthquake, which shook the whole town, and even threw down several of the houses, and among others that in which Galland resided. His life was saved by some beams providentially falling crosswise above his head, and thus leaving him room to breathe. He was extricated the next day, though with great difficulty.
On his return to France, living in an easy situation, with a fine library at his command, and a numerous collection of coins, and well versed as he was in Arabic and the Persian and Turkish languages, with which he had become familiar during his sojourn in the East, Antoine made use of his retirement to complete several works; among others, 'The Thousand and One Nights,' better known in England as the 'Arabian Nights' Entertainments.' He had his nephew, Julien Galland, with him, whom he brought up, and to whom he communicated his taste for the Oriental languages. In 1709 he was made professor of Arabic in the Royal College of France. Galland laboured unceasingly in whatever situation he found himself, paying little regard to his wants, and none at all to conveniences. His whole study in his lectures was to come direct to the point, without any regard to encumbering ornament. Simple in his habits and manners, as in his compositions, he would all his life have taught his children the rudiments of grammar with the same pleasure he took in exercising his erudition. He carried his integrity, as every truly honest man will do, even into the most trifling matters; and his accuracy was so great, that, when settling with his employers for his expenses in the Levant, he sometimes only charged them a penny or twopence, and sometimes nothing at all, for days in which, by some
accident, or even by involuntary abstinence, he had not spent more.
Though the author of many learned and important works, that which has made him popular is 'The Thousand and One Nights.' On the appearance of the two first volumes of this work, a singular hoax was played off on the author. One very cold night, in the middle of winter, Antoine Galland was suddenly awakened by several knocks at the street-door. He got up, threw his dressing-gown hastily around him, ran to the window, opened it, and, in spite of the darkness, perceived several persons assembled at his door. Who is there?' said he. Several voices instantly answered, 'Is this Monsieur Galland's?'
Yes,' replied he.
sure?' inquired they again.
Quite sure,' said Galland.
At last all the young people who had disturbed the sleep of the Orientalist joined in one chorus, Ah, Monsieur Galland, if you are not asleep, tell us one of those stories which you tell so well!'
This was in allusion to the two first volumes of The Thousand and One Nights,' in which every chapter begins thus- My dear sister, if you are not asleep, tell us one of those stories which you tell so well.'
Antoine Galland had too much sense to be angry at this sally; he began to laugh, and replying, 'Gentlemen, au revoir!' he closed the window, and returned to his bed, where he was not long, before he regained some of the caloric which he had lost at the window. He, however, profited by the lesson, and published all his other volumes without this exordium. Antoine Galland died at the age of sixty-nine, on the 14th of February 1715.
PROGRESS OF THE NATION. THE Social progress of individuals, families, neighbourhoods, is familiar to us all, and usually forms one of the most common subjects for our inquiries; but when such details as come within the scope of our own personal observation are multiplied, extended, and classified by mathematical minds, so as to embrace the great aggregate of the nation, the result must be a picture of the highest imaginable interest and importance. But it is a picture which comparatively few have leisure, and fewer still are qualified, to examine or enjoy in detail. The salient points are all on which the mind of the many will desire to dwell; and for this reason, we think we shall perform an acceptable service, if we take advantage of the republication of a valuable work to direct attention to the great landmarks of the national progress.* Such a service, too, will be welltimed; for in the ten years just expired, greater advances have been made than in any preceding tenth of a century. The elements of prosperity, commercial and educational, are daily taking new and more active combinations; and it is no longer heresy to consider
cal Relations, from the beginning of the Nineteenth Century. By *The Progress of the Nation, in its various Social and Economi
G. R. Porter. A new edition. London: Murray. 1847.
the welfare of the many as better worth attention than inert and antiquated theories.
Now that the people are not regarded as the material of war-food for cannon; mere hewers of wood and drawers of water-we find them estimated at their true value in all calculations of power and advancement. A hundred years ago, wars and epidemic diseases were considered to be the natural means whereby Providence kept the human race within reasonable limits-a sort of predestinated check to undue increase. It is only from the commencement of the present century that anything like correct population returns have been obtained. The increase in the first half of last century was-omit-perty ting fractions-not more than 17 per cent.; in the second half it rose to 52 per cent. The number added to the population of the kingdom from 1801 to 1841, was 10,700,000, but in 1846, this had risen to 12,000,000; nearly as much as the whole number of inhabitants in 1811. This increase is in a ratio 3 to 1 greater than that of France, which country doubles her population but once in a century, while England doubles hers in fifty years.
In 1801, the number of marriages was 67,288; in 1840, 115,548. The number of houses in the first year of the century was 1,467,870, but in 1841 it had increased to 2,753,295, or nearly double in the space of forty years; the yearly value at the latter period was L.23,386,401, in 1815 it amounted to L.14,290,889. To meet the wants of the rapidly increasing population, an addition of house accommodation to the amount of L.10,000,000, and 1,000,000 tons of shipping, are required annually.
With an increasing population we have a decreasing rate of mortality. In 1700, 1 in 39 died; in 1800, 1 in 47. This effect,' observes Mr Porter, so strongly indicative of amendment in the condition of the people, must be attributed to the coincidence of various causes. Among these may be mentioned the less crowded state of our dwellings, the command of better kinds of food, the superiority and cheapness of clothing, and probably also more temperate habits and greater personal cleanliness. A large proportion of births, it is shown, is not always to be taken as an evidence of prosperity. Late inquiries have made us aware of the prodigious waste of life, particularly in large towns, which more than counterbalances the numerous births. Population does not so much increase because many are born, as because few die.'
The number of persons employed in agriculture has diminished, and in manufactures increased. Where formerly the labour of seven families was required to produce a certain amount of food, the same quantity is now raised by five: an instructive fact, showing that the present rate of progress in manufacturing industry may be kept up, as the tendency is to improve agriculture and augment the supply of food. Between the years 1811 and 1831, the agricultural class increased 7 per cent., and the trading and manufacturing class 34 per cent. The greatest proportion of the latter is found in the counties of Cheshire, Derby, Lancaster, Middlesex, Stafford, and Warwick: the former in Cambridge, Essex, Huntingdon, and Rutland. Mr Porter justly exposes the absurdity and injustice of the old poor-law. Under such a system,' he says, a labourer in an agricultural district was inevitably rendered a pauper; he was deprived of all means for exercising the virtue of prudence, and became almost necessarily improvident; he was brought to look upon the parish allowance as his freehold, and if, under such circumstances, any spark of independence remained unextinguished in his breast, it should have been received as evidence of a degree of innate virtue deserving of the highest admiration.'
Public opinion has now declared so decidedly against a rigid adherence to the workhouse test,' that we are bound to suppose there must be something in that adherence either absolutely wrong, or which jars with existing circumstances. Yet we should not be too ready to
forget the great evil of which the test was the corrector. Mr Woolley says 'Let any man see the straightforward walk, the upright look of the labourer, as contrasted with what was before seen at every step in these counties (Kent and Sussex). The sturdy and idle nuisance has already become the useful, industrious member of society. No man who has not looked well into human nature, and the practical working of the wretched system of pauperism, can form an idea how different is sixpence earned by honest industry, and sixpence wrung from the pay-table of a parish officer. I am fully convinced that the measure has doubled the value of proin many parts of the kingdom.' The saving in the expenditure for the relief of the poor in 1841, as compared with 1811, was 53 per cent. The assessments are highest in Berks, Bucks, Dorset, and Wilts; and lowest in Cumberland, Monmouth, Lancaster, and Stafford.
Among several comparative statements of the means adopted for the relief of the poor in other countries, we find returns from the pauper colonies of Holland. A few years ago, a great deal of interest was felt in these establishments; they have not, however, realised the expectations of their projectors, partly owing to the very inferior quality of the soil on which they are placed, and the great expense attendant on the first settlement of poor families; neither have they sensibly diminished the amount of pauperism with which Holland is oppressed more than any other country in Europe. According to a report published in 1827, paupers comprised one-fifth of the population of the United Netherlands. The effect of isolated pauper communities is said to be bad. Without the example of the better conditions of society, there can be no hope of such a community gradually acquiring those qualities that would fit the members of it for a better condition also.' Every statement shows that English labourers earn nearly double wages to those of other European countries.
Under the head of consumption, we learn that, since the beginning of the reign of George III., 7,076,610 acres have been brought under cultivation; and although the proportion has somewhat diminished in the last forty years, yet such is the improvement in agriculture, that 10,000 acres of land which, on the old method of cultivation, supported but 3810 individuals, now maintain 5997. Mr Porter considers that, for a long period, population is not likely to increase in a greater ratio than the supply of food. It has been affirmed,' he observes, that in Wales the land does not produce half of what it is capable of producing; and that if all England were as well-cultivated as Northumberland and Lincoln, it would produce more than double the quantity that is now obtained.... and when at length the increase of population shall have passed the utmost limit of production, there can be no reason to doubt that we shall still obtain, in full sufficiency, the food that we shall require.'
The greatest progress is seen in manufactures: the exports of woollen goods, which in 1829 were between four and five millions, now exceed L.8,000,000 annually. Between the years 1835 and 1839, one hundred and thirty-two woollen and worsted factories were built in addition to those already existing, and the increase of operatives in those branches of industry for the same period was 15,137. It is well known that the population of some of the Yorkshire towns, the principal seat of the woollen trade, has more than doubled since the commencement of the century.
During the last forty years, a great improvement has taken place in the growth of wool. Sheep which produce long or combing wool have been almost everywhere introduced, while short-wooled sheep have correspondingly declined in numbers. Much of the short wool, it appears, could find no market, but for the importation of long foreign wool to mix with it; there is, however, a still more remarkable importation for this purpose. A curious trade,' says Mr Porter, has of late years been introduced, that of importing foreign
woollen rags into England for the purpose of re-manufacture. These are assorted, torn up, and mixed with English, or more commonly with Scotch wool of low quality, and inferior cloth is made from the mixture, at a price sufficiently moderate to command a sale for exportation. By this means a market is found for wool of a very low quality, which otherwise would be left on the hands of the growers.'
A glance at the tabular statements sufficiently proves that peace is essential to national prosperity. No sooner do we approach a war season, than disturbance and diminution at once appear in the aggregates of quantity and value. Even if no higher motives existed, this alone should be treated with due consideration ere the expensive injustice of war is adopted. Increased production necessarily leads to an abatement of prices; but glass was for many years an exception to this rule. The trade was so overloaded with duties, as to be a virtual monopoly; and the manufacturers were hampered and harassed in every way by absurd excise regulations. An ingenious proprietor, who had succeeded in making great improvements in the quality of bottle glass, was stopped in his operations by the excise officers, on the plea that the articles which he produced were so good in quality, as not to be readily distinguished from flint-glass.' Not the least pleasing, however, among the signs of progress, is the removal of such restrictions. The abolition of the glass duties by the legislature in 1845 has done everything for the relief of the trade, which will doubtless expand in proportion to those we have above enumerated.
classes. This improvement,' he says, 'is by no means confined to those who are called, by a somewhat arbitrary distinction, the working-classes, but is enjoyed in some degree or other by tradesmen, shopkeepers, and farmers; in short, by every class of men whose personal and family comforts admitted of material increase.'
Less than fifty years ago, some of the tradesmen in In 1801, 54,203,433 pounds of cotton were imported; the chief thoroughfares of London had no carpets to but so unparalleled has been the increase in this branch of their floors-no books or pictures--none of those useful trade, that the quantity entered in 1844 was 554,196,602 or ornamental objects which add so materially to the pounds. In the same year the value of cotton goods charm of domestic life. Sheffield is noted for the comexported was L.25,805,348, having increased from fortable manner in which the houses of the industrial L.16,516,748 in 1820. Two pieces of calico per week population are furnished, although the town itself is was the utmost a hand-loom weaver could produce; but not better built or laid out than others. From whatthe steam-loom weaver of the present day produces, ever cause this attention to in-door arrangements may with an assistant, twenty-two such pieces in the same arise, it is one that should be encouraged; and a disspace of time. The article of bobbin-net employs nearly position that way may be classed among the evidences two hundred thousand persons in its manufacture, at of progress. In connection with household reports, it an annual expenditure in wages of L.2,500,000. The may be mentioned that the expenses incurred for dolinen trade of Ireland has shared in the general expan-mestic servants in 1841 amounted to L.38,222,620. sion; the value of linen goods exported having advanced in the first quarter of the century from L.34,000,000 to L.55,000,000.
Travelling, roads, and the iron trade, occupy an interesting section of the work; the benefits they confer are seen to be gradually diffusing themselves through every class of society. Something yet remains to be done for greater cheapness in the carrying of passengers and goods: with respect to the latter, we read that 'the charge made for the cartage of a puncheon of rum from the West India Docks to Westminster, exceeds the charge that would be made for conveying the same puncheon from those docks to Hamburgh!' Among the various schemes for expediting and cheapening the delivery of parcels in the metropolis and the provinces, it is to be hoped that less expensive transport of heavy goods will not be lost sight of. The progress of steamnavigation is striking. In 1814, the United Kingdom and colonies owned but 2 steam vessels; in 1815, they had 10; in 1820, 43; in 1830, 315; and in 1844, 988. Scotland, which took the lead in steam navigation, has ever since shown a large proportional list of vessels. Of the above 988, England had 679, Scotland 137, Ireland 81, Guernsey, &c. 3; and the colonies 88. The total burden was 125,675 tons. The number of steam vessels in all the world besides, is stated in another table at 719, of which the United States had 261, and France 119. It thus appears that Scotland has more steam vessels than all France. Mr Porter discusses the questions of finance, carriage, public income and expenditure, wages, taxes, &c. taking occasion to show the great improvement that has taken place in the physical condition of the people, and the disappearance of some of many unfortunate inequalities among the
The author goes on to treat of all excisable articles: every year's experience confirms the fact, that increased consumption follows diminished price. The true policy of government, he contends, should be to collect no other custom duties than what are required for revenue. Turning to the details respecting crime, we find it intimated that although our disposition is to magnify every present evil, yet we are not proportionately worse off in this respect than our forefathers were. The exploits of highwaymen are within the recollection of persons now living: merchants who lived in the suburbs of London dared not go home from their counting-houses in the evening alone. A certain place was fixed on as a rendezvous where they met, and whence, for mutual protection, they returned in a body to their residence. Individuals were knocked down in the streets, and robbed in broad daylight; no one could ride on the roads in any direction unless well prepared to repel the attack of robbers, or to run his chance of being murdered. However strange it may seem, there are fewer offences against property now than in the days of our forefathers. More perfect police arrangements, better lighting of streets, readier means of communication, have done more towards the repression of crime than all the sanguinary laws of the last century. The diminution in the number of capital punishments is perhaps the most hopeful indication of moral progress. Not more than twenty-five years ago, it was not at all uncommon to hang one hundred criminals in the course of twelve months. From 1805 to 1825 there were one thousand six hundred and fourteen executions; from 1825 to 1845 six hundred and twenty-six. Of the latter, one hundred and eleven have been hanged in the last ten years-less than the number executed in 1813 alone.
The ameliorating effect of education is shown in a series of tables, and the value of good instruction insisted on as the best preventive of crime. But, as Mr Porter observes, there must be something beyond the mere ordinary branches of school learning to render our prisons useless, and shut up our courts of justice. In communities where the great mass of the people are left in ignorance, and only a few comparatively instructed, those few will find themselves in a far better position than the mass for obtaining honest employment, and thus will have fewer temptations to withstand. If all were equally instructed, this condition of course could not exist, and then we might be better able to estimate at its true value the moral influence of instruction. Knowing what we know of the quality of education, as it has usually been imparted to the youth of this country, dare we hope that its restraining influence would be great? It is true we might even then expect to put an end to much of the violence and fraud by which the community is now disgraced. Merely instructed persons would better calculate the worldly advantages and disadvantages of right and wrong con