ing shadows of the trees! How the roof, covered with lichens, harmonises with the hue of the stems and the shifting tints of the foliage, which here throws down a moss of the deepest green, and there lets in the sunlight in a flood of floating gold. Even the windows, as they glitter through the openings of the branches, suggest pleasant thoughts; and you think that a sacrifice of many needless luxuries would be cheerfully counterbalanced by the beauty and tranquillity which reign around that rural dwelling-place. Such sweet retirements are assuredly calculated to awaken holier thoughts than the buzzing tumult which breaks the air above crowded cities. Here we seem to stand nearer witnesses of the works of God: there, whichever way we turn, we are reminded of man; his scaffoldings, his piles of bricks, timber sawn, iron beaten-all proclaim the slow progress of labour. Here the flowers spring up, and the leaves shoot forth, and the young branches grow longer every day; but there is no sign of toil, no hand to fashion, no model to work after. The great frame in which the warp and woof of leaves and flowers are woven was touched by an Omnipotent finger in the beginning; and neither day nor night, winter or summer, hath it stood still wholly, or needed human aid. Upon the summits of those hills the sun plants his golden feet amid the trembling dews of the morning, and the moon at night steps down uninterrupted amid the purple twilight: there are no fogged roofs over which to trail the floating silver of her drapery here-nothing but the daisies below and the stars above, and the perfume arising from miles of country flowers around her. How grand and solemn is the avenue that runs along the centre of this old wood, equalled by nothing excepting the vaulted roof of some hoary cathedral! Man needs not a more fitting temple to worship his Maker in than this. Look how those aged stems rise like mighty pillars, and support the airy dome, which looks as if enriched with the most beautiful fretwork: you might fancy that the breeze, which makes a low moan at intervals, was the dying tone of an organ; and the songs of the birds the voices of the veiled nuns, who are chanting somewhere in the hidden aisles of the trees. The rich sunlight that streams through the branches in the distance looks like a deep-dyed window, in which fancy pictures the forms of bearded saints and white-winged angels, and rounded halos of glory, such as encircle the brow of Mary Mother and her God-child. Where yonder white cloud comes in like softened moonlight between the embowered boughs, lighting here and there the pale stems of the birches, imagination sees the silver lamps shimmering before the shrines, and in the blue haze that settles down over the deep sunken dells, traces the faint smoke of the waving incense. brawling of the stream sounds like subdued voices in 'dim oratories,' and where it runs here in light and there in shade, looks like far-off processions seen for a moment, then lost again in the gloom of low-pillared arches. The very It seems a spot where man might sit and weep His petty griefs and childish cares away; Wearied Ambition might lie here and sleep, And hoary Crime in silence kneel to pray. The low-voiced brook, the daylight dimly given, Seem like that starlight land we see in dreams of heaven. Our early poets painted summer as a beautiful woman in the full bloom of life, whose snowy forehead was wreathed with blown roses, which began to die as soon as they reached perfection. They spared her a lingering death, and cut her down like a flower in the night, as if summer could never be old. To autumn they gave the rumbling wain and wheaten-sheaf, and for years bowed her down with the weight of ripened fruit. All animate nature seems now to be keeping holiday; the very water-rat plays over its food, now nibbling at the leaf that is swayed to and fro by the ever-moving ripples, then swimming lazily round it, or making a momentary effort to breast the current, that it may again be borne | along it idly. The black water-hen, followed by her dusky and downy brood, as she paddles along in the shadow of the overhanging willows, seems as if she was taking them out for a day's pleasure, instead of leading them onward in search of insects. The lambs, which have now grown tall and strong, appear to have little more to do than run races with one another, or bleat to their woolly dams to look on while they are displaying their agility. In the air, myriads of insects are congregated in the mazy dance, some high up beyond the tallest trees, as if the broad unbounded realm of space alone was roomy enough for so immense an assemblage to tread a measure.' But let us try how the picture will look in verse: A cottage girl trips by with sidelong look, She parts her loose-blown hair, and wondering, passes by. And thitherward the rustics bend their way, A shepherd lad driving his lambs to sell, Then does his gray old tilted-cart appear, Ere those tall trees attained their giant glory, Or their dark tops did tower that cloudy height. They come from spots which the sweet May-buds light, Where stream-washed willows make a silvery shiver; For years their steps have worn those footpaths bright That wind around the fields, and by the river, With its low murmuring sound, that rolls and sings for ever. Nor are the sounds which give a voice to the landscape less pleasing than the moving figures which fill it with the stir of life, and are so essential to picturesque beauty. The very rattle of the bird-boy's clapper, and the shrill tones of his child-like voice, as he scares the birds from the ripening corn, are in harmony with the great concert of rural sounds. It prevents you not from hearing the jingle of the harness, and the grinding of the broad wheels of the wagon, that is descending the adjoining hill; even the clap of the distant gate falls upon the ear sharp, clear, and audible, as if struck at the true moment of time. The rasp, rasp' of the mower as he sharpens his scythe, drowns not the bleating of the sheep beside the brook, where they are assembled ready for the washing; the song of the milkmaid, whose pail you can just see balanced above the hedge of wild roses, seems answered by the choir of linnets that are singing among the yellow * A kind of basket. gorse bushes, whose armed stems are hung with thousands of little golden baskets; the click, click' of the stonebreaker's hammer from the roadside rings like a heavy cymbal; and the deep lowing of the brindled bull, as it comes across the river from the green marshes, sounds like the loud bass, which folds together every floating sound in the grand anthem. it would have been half a day's journey to have reached; The leavesdrop, drop,' and dot the crisped stream, may THE SUGAR QUESTION. JUDGING from the experience of the last few years, be doubted whether an unreflecting and sentimental humanity is not more harmful than the individual and social miseries which it is professedly designed to alle How different to the rattle and the roll of the lumbering omnibuses, and the groaning drays, which jar the very foundations of our city streets-bursts of unceasing thunder, almost loud enough to break the dull drum of a deaf man's ear! Who would not, at such a season, sit with his crust of bread and cheese, and jug of homebrewed ale, under the porch of a roadside inn, with a landscape stretching before him filled with such sights and sounds as we have pictured, rather than fare sumptuously in a city dining-room, black with the steam of twice ten thousand dinners?' Fancy hot chops, and great smoking potatoes-a dim skylight overhead, and a cook within a few yards of you-a huge fire, and a gridiron that grins horribly' above the ruddy embers-viate. The best feelings, unregulated by judgment and and if you can recall any other images than those connected with martyrdom, or dim glimpses of the fire office Compassion for the poor is a noble and proper feeling; knowledge, may lead to consequences the most disastrous. which a wicked old gentleman is said to have the manage- but how mischievous when assuming the form of indiscriment of below, you are gifted with a power of imagination such as hath not visited your humble servant. Fancy minate almsgiving, in which it breaks down the principle summer spent in London in apartments adjoining a of self-reliance, checks industrial enterprise, and probaker's oven, in a street up which only one vehicle can duces systematic mendicancy. Commiseration for bodies pass at a time; where the pavement is so narrow, that a of workmen temporarily without employment is an equally stout man has either to walk sideways, or stand up under commendable feeling; but how shortsighted that policy a doorway while a cab passes; where the sunshine gilds which, on the plea of finding work for these unfortunate nothing lower than the attic window, and that only for a few minutes during the day; then turn the mind's eye operatives, proposes to exclude certain foreign manufac to'green nestling spots for poets made.' In places like tures from the country. Pity for a large class of young those, you have a pleasant prospect of your opposite females in the metropolis, who undertake to make shirts neighbour washing, drying, and ironing, all in the space at three-halfpence each, is not less a Christian sentiment; of an hour or two, and in the same little room. You see but how absurd to decry the employers of these females, Wiggins put his three potatoes into the little saucepan, when the whole cause of the evil is the too great supply and watch the progress of the small portion of steak he of labour-the excessive competition of hands in proporplaces upon the fire; then witness him enjoying the fresh tion to the work to be executed; and how much more air as he blows his face with the bellows, or revels in a bath holding a quart of Thames water. reasonable it would be in this, as in other instances of You fairly pity the poor boy who has to carry half a hundredweight of hardship, to relieve the labour market by emigration or coals up so many flights of stairs, and think the old lady otherwise, than to raise fresh competition by a public acts wisely who gets her kettle boiled a dozen doors off subscription of funds. In this way it could be shown up the street, and brings it home steaming in her hand. that in very many things affecting general interests, zeal The tripe shop on the ground-floor seems to be visited by without discretion may be most unjust and dangerous in no other customers than Bluebottles, who walk in and its dealings. out, and help themselves without paying. The butter in the chandler's window dissolves while you look at it, the bladder of lard has a lanky and melting look, while the bacon is manufacturing itself into a state of streakings by throwing out quantities of superabundant fat-for a slow cooking process is carried on everywhere. No marvel that the Cockneys rush with a kind of desperate determination to Gravesend, Herne Bay, Margate, Ramsgate, or any other of their favourite watering places, and eat shrimps and lobsters, and take baths, with a perseverance that appears the very opposite of their general natures, as if they endeavoured every way to familiarise themselves to a new element, and were by degrees preparing to become inhabitants of the great deep. Davies the drysalter emerges from his dark-looking house in Upper Thames Street, and mounting his yellow slippers and telescope, sweeps the rounded horizon, and grows eloquent in reefing,' steering,' and 'boxing the compass,' even permitting the ends of his neckerchief to fly out loosely, and blend with Mrs Davies's green veil, because it gives him a kind of sea-going rakish-built look. He thinks it would have been a great improvement to have built all large towns by the sea-side-the houses would then have looked so pleasant in summer. His spouse reminds him that there is no walking on the sands, or going out in sailing-boats in winter. To this he acquiesces, and agrees that London is not so badly situated after all. The railways are working wonders, by carrying out their thousands from London in summer to sweet breathingplaces a few miles out, which only six or seven years ago By far the grandest instance of this well-meaning but questionable policy was the abolition of slavery in our West Indian possessions. The measure itself was only consistent with principles of justice and humanity: it rid the British dominions of a disgraceful stigma; it liberated thousands of beings from compulsory bondage. All that is allowed; but was this great national act not tainted with the vice of imprudence, and have its more special promoters not been chargeable to a great degree with defeating by their zeal the ends which they and all others had professedly in view? It is of no use shirking the matter: the confession must be made. The abolition of West Indian slavery, while communicating freedom to a British population, has vastly increased the horrors of slavery in foreign tropical climes. Such a result never could have been contemplated by Clarkson and Wilberforce. The Anti-slavery Societies could not have anticipated that their doings were to have the effect of increasing the amount of slavery generally, and likewise of rendering the transmission of slaves from Africa more cruel and iniquitous than ever. Yet all this has happened. The public press is full of details respecting the extent and horrors of this post-abolition slavery; and we need not therefore go minutely into the subject. It is sufficient to know that all our expensive and ill-conceived plans for preventing the deportation of slaves to Brazil, Cuba, and other countries have failed; that we are now paying a million and a-half of money annually to suppress the traffic; that this sum is worse than thrown away, for the slave-trade goes on vigorously notwithstanding, and with greatly increased cruelties; that slave-holding states rejoice in our act of abolition, as it gives them a partial monopoly in growing, by means of slave-labour, the sugar and coffee which we, the people of Great Britain, require. As a means of redress for their alleged grievances, the West Indians earnestly request that the imperial legislature shall impose such high duties on the produce of Brazil, Cuba, &c. coming into the home-market, as will give them, the West Indians, a command of our trade. Such duties formerly existed, but by an act in 1846 they were much modified; and now, only for a brief period, is there a small discriminating duty. A return to high protective duties is strongly advocated by some parties unfavourable to free trade; but it is almost unnecessary to say that the realisation of any expectations on the subject is altogether hopeless. The people of England have now had an experience in buying cheap, and they will never willingly go back to buying dear sugar in preference. Sophistries may be employed to show that protection is a good thing, and not a few happen to be deceived by them; but the most illiterate housewife cannot be reasoned out of the evidence of her senses. The most adroit advocate of protection could not persuade her to pay sixpence for a pound of sugar which she was offered by somebody else for fourpence. The propriety of buying sugar, like bread, wherever it can be had cheapest, is now the received doctrine. It may be a vulgar mercenary doctrine, which is very much to be lamented, but sentiment cannot be infused into the buying of sugar. Pity is unknown in the negotiations of the counter. To speak plainly, we are too completely tired, worn out, and impoverished, in taxing ourselves, to think of making sacrifices for any class, colony, or nation. The West Indians may have expected something very different a few years ago, when they embarked their fortunes in sugar-growing property. All very likely; but it cannot be helped. We are in a shifting world; and it is the temper of the times to overhaul the conditions of national intercourse. In short, if the West Indians ever expected that, till the end of time, the people of Great Britain were to give them twopence or threepence a pound more for sugar than they could buy it for else where, or, in other words, tax themselves to the extent of L.3,000,000, for the loss would be to that amount, they were in an unfortunate mistake-that is all. According to the representations of those who seem interested in maintaining differential duties, the saving now effected in the purchase of slave-grown sugar cannot possibly continue; for as soon as, by our proper preference of a cheap to a dear article, we have altogether driven the West Indians from the field, the Cubans and Brazilians will possess so complete a monopoly, that the price of sugar will be raised thus we are now pursuing a most shortsighted policy. This argument has been extensively used at public meetings, and also by a portion of the press; though we should hope without gaining many proselytes. Sugar is not an article of which there can be only a limited produce; and the supply, with some contingent and brief interruptions, may always be expected to be equal to the demand; while the competition in furnishing the supply will in all probability keep the price moderate. It is not to be denied, however, that just in proportion as we throw the trade into the hands of planters, remorseless as to their means of enforcing production, negro slavery will go on increasing in intensity. The Cubans and Brazilians appear to be looking forward to a period when fresh hands must be imported, fresh grounds broken up, and fresh capital employed. Never was the commerce in slaves more brisk, never was the lash plied so fiercely, as at the present moment; and yet a trade greater by far is anticipated. The expectation is founded on a knowledge of the fact to which notice has already been drawn-that a philanthropic zeal without discretion still guides the destinies of the West Indian colonies. We should like to disappoint the hopes of these ruffians. Let the market by all means remain open to importations of sugar, no matter whence it comes; and for the sake of economy and humanity, let us withdraw our costly preventive service from the African coast. If the Cubans and Brazilians will have slaves in spite of us, let us be so far reasonable as to permit them to carry off the unfortunate captives in a manner not revolting to decency. Having thus far returned to common sense, we should desire to go one or two steps further. Supposing the West Indians to stand in need of such supplies of free labourers as would enable them not only to compete with slaveholders, but show to the world that the work of freemen is cheaper than the work of slavesthat it is better to hire than to buy men-let us place no obstruction in their way. What a glorious thing to demonstrate the truth of the doctrine in social economics, that hired is cheaper than purchased labour! and we venture to say that till this be demonstrated by evidence practical and undeniable-undeniable, because felt in the pocket-the odious traffic in slaves will not be abandoned, neither can it be put down. Some years ago, sanguine hopes were entertained that merely by employing the emancipated negroes in the British settlements, the greater economy of hired labour would have been realised. The circumstances which have prevented the realisation of these dreams need not be reviewed; whether employers or employed have been to blame, is now of little conse quence. What concerns the present question is, the complaints by the planters that they cannot procure a sufficiency of labourers at fair wages. We are not without a suspicion that the complaints are for the most part groundless; but unfortunately the mother country is not in a position to disregard them. We avowedly, by our laws, prevent the West Indians from seeking for the assistance of fresh hands: they are not allowed to invite and hire negro labourers from Africa on a scale suitable to their alleged necessities. Inspired by the terror of originating a new slavery in disguise, negro immigration is said to have been checked, and a dearth of labour created. It is not to the credit of English sagacity that what is at the utmost a matter of detail in arrangement, should bring a rational principle to a dead halt. We have no right to prevent our West Indian fellow-subjects from hiring Africans if they choose to do so; all we have to look to is, that the practice shall not be abused. No doubt the ignorant and hapless natives of the African continent might too easily be seduced into bondage, on the plea of being used only as hired labourers for a limited term; but it is preposterous to say that the legislature could not enjoin such precautionary arrangements, both at the ports of embarkation, and within the colonies respectively, as would effectually shelter the personal liberty of the employed. We are at least solici tous that a well-devised plan of immigration should be tried, of course at the expense of the colonies, and with their approval. The direct benefit to be derived from the experiment might possibly turn out to be illusory, but an important object would be gained in throwing the entire cause of failure on those who are now concerned in crying out ruin from a dearth of labour. Were the experiment successful, how greatly should we have advanced in working out the problem of creating a wholesome intercourse with Africa. We are sorry to say that, from all credible evidence, public and private, the present occupants of property in the West Indies are not generally the class of persons who may be deemed capable of grappling with the new circumstances into which the islands have been thrown. Alluding to the evidence on the subject of the sugar duties lately laid before parliament, and from which a select committee inferred that the colonies were ruined, in consequence of the withdrawal of protection, an able provincial print (the Manchester Guardian') sums up as follows: We have carefully examined the evidence, and we find none (if we exclude opinions expressed apart from facts stated) which can be considered as proving that assertion. We find, it is true, abundant evidences of ruin; but in almost every case it appears to have been completed before the sugar act of CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL. 1846, and from causes long antecedent to that mea- It would thus appear that the grand experiment of greatest freedom of navigation, manufacture, and trade, 'OLD WISDOM.' THE environs of Molsheim are amongst the fairest in here is Father Solomon!' The Old Anabaptist!' was re-echoed on every side. 'Oh let us make room for him by all means,' said the giver of the treat; I must have a glass with Old Wisdom.' The new-comer, whose approach had been thus hailed, was a man far advanced in life, wearing the grave and antique garb which is peculiar in those parts to the sect of Anabaptists. He walked with a firm step, which denoted neither haste nor slothfulness, leaning the while nance was venerable, and yet full of cheerfulness. As on a staff formed from a knotted vine. His countesoon as he came within hearing, all the guests began to call to him to join them, and the master of the entertainment rose and advanced to meet him. Good-day to you, Andrew,' said the old man in a friendly tone; and good-day to you, Stephen, and all of you. Is it here, then, my friends, that you pray to God on the Sabbath day?' And you, Father Solomon,' inquired Stephen, 'from what church are you coming here through the meadows?' 'I am coming from the greatest of all earthly temples, my children; even from that whose incense is the perfume of the meadows, and whose music is the harmonious voice of all creation.' That is to say, you are coming from your fields,' Well, sit down there now, good replied Andrew. 'Tell me first of all how you happen to be in the father, and tell us whether your wheat looks well?" country now?' replied the old man as he seated himself at the place which had been left vacant for him. How long has Mr Ritter's mill been able to get on without you?' 'What are Ritter and his mill to me?' exclaimed Andrew, whose countenance darkened at this question. 'I care as much about them as I do about what is passing in the moon.' 'Have you quarrelled with your master, my son?' inquired the Anabaptist. I have no longer any master, Father Solomon,' hastily replied the young workman. I left the mill yesterday, and may it henceforth have nothing to grind, unless it be old Ritter himself! never will it have crushed worse grain.' He then began to recount to the old man the long list of grievances which had finally led to his leaving the mill, of which he had been for ten years the director, mingling his narrative with imprecations against the owner, whom he accused of the basest ingratitude. The Old Anabaptist listened tranquilly to the whole recital, and then calmly replied, 'You have drunk the wine of anger, Andrew, and you see all your master's faults double. All you have now said only acquaints me with one fact-that you are out of place.' And do you think that I am the one most embarrassed by that?' inquired Andrew. 'Ask old Ritter what he thinks about it; see half his mills stopped, and every day that they stand still robs him of fifty crowns -that is, of fifty pieces of his flesh. The old miser will fall sick of vexation even before he is ruined. And this is what makes me so jovial to-day, Father Solomon; because what causes grief to old skin-flints, rejoices the heart of all good fellows. Here, more glasses, my friends, and let us drink to the discomfiture of the Jew of Molsheim.' The Anabaptist took no notice of this challenge, and asked Andrew what he thought of doing. 'I,' exclaimed the young miller; why, I mean to live like a bourgeois. Ritter was obliged to clear off all scores, and to line my pouch well before we parted. So long as any broad pieces remain to me, I mean to have a merry time of it. And you have begun to-day to put this plan in execution?' inquired the old man. As you may perceive,' replied Andrew, whose utterance was becoming somewhat indistinct, we are trying the taste of all the casks in the inn. Hollo! mine host, hast thou nothing new to bring us? Let us have some little liqueur here quickly that may soften the heart of Old Wisdom.' But the old man, as soon as he had tasted the few drops of cherry brandy which he had allowed to be poured out for him, prepared to go on his way. Andrew, however, seemed resolved to detain him. 'Stay, good father,' he exclaimed; there is always both pleasure and profit in hearing you talk.' 'Yes,' said another, 'you must sing us some of the old German hymns.' 'Or you will tell us stories out of the Bible,' added a third. The Old Anabaptist made some attempts at resistance, but they would not listen to any excuse: first his hat was carried off, then his staff, and finally he was forced to resume his seat by the side of Andrew. The old man showed no symptoms of ill-humour at this species of friendly violence which was offered him. 'Everything must give way to youth,' said he cheerfully; but since you will keep me in spite of myself, you must take the consequence, and put up with one of my sermons.' · Preach away-preach away then, Father Solomon,' exclaimed the merry group with one voice; we are all ready to listen.' This willing acquiescence was easily to be accounted for by the knowledge possessed by Andrew and his companions of the nature of the old man's general mode of instruction. What he called his sermons were for the most part histories or parables taken from the Sacred Writings, whence he always drew some useful lesson; and even those who made but small count of this latter part of his discourses, liked to listen to the old man's narratives, even as they would have done to some fireside legend. Father Solomon was in their eyes a sort of romancer, whose inventions amused their imagination, even if they did not enlighten their reason. Andrew filled the glasses once more, and the whole party, each resting his folded arms upon the table, bent forward to listen with the deepest attention. The old man proceeded. I will not relate to you,' said he, this day either any legend of our country or any stories drawn from the Sacred Volume; either one or the other would be too grave for your present mood. I will rather treat you as children, by telling you a nursery tale as it is related on the other side of the Rhine. 'In olden times, then, when everything was different from what it is now-a-days, there lived at Manheim a young man named Otto, who was intelligent and daring, but who never knew how to accomplish one important feat that of bridling his own passions. When he desired a thing, nothing could prevent him from attaining it; and his passions resembled those stormy blasts which sweep across rivers, valleys, and mountains, destroying all that opposes their progress. Being wearied of the tranquil life he led at Manheim, he took it into his head one fine day to set out on a long journey, with the hope that he might discover fortune and happiness in its course. He accordingly swung upon his shoulder a packet containing his best clothes, placed in a belt around his waist all the money he possessed, and started on his way without knowing whither he was bound. 'After journeying on for some days, he found himself at the entrance of a forest, which seemed to stretch on all sides as far as the eye could reach. He here encountered three other travellers, who seemed to have paused, like himself, to repose themselves before plunging into its depths. One was a tall, proud-looking woman, with a threatening aspect, who held in her hand a javelin; the other a young girl, who lay half asleep in a chariot drawn by four bullocks; and the third was an old woman clad in rags, and with a rugged mien. Otto saluted them, and inquired whether they were acquainted with the road through the forest; and on their replying in the affirmative, he requested permission to follow them, lest he should lose his way. "They all three consented, and proceeded on their way in company with the young man. The latter soon perceived that his companions were endued with powers which God has not bestowed on all his creatures, but this discovery awakened no uneasiness in his mind, and he pursued his journey, chatting the while with his three fellow-travellers. They had already gone on thus for some hours together, when they heard a horse's tread approaching. Otto turned round to see who it was, and recognised a bourgeois from Manheim, whom he had hated for many a long year, and whom he looked upon as his greatest enemy. The bourgeois soon gained on the pedestrians, glanced at Otto with a scornful smile, and passed on. All the young man's ire was roused to the utmost. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "I would give all I possess now, and the best part of my future inheritance to boot, if I could only revenge myself on that man for his pride and his malice." "Do not distress yourself about that, for I can easily satisfy your wish," said the tall woman with the javelin. Shall I transform him into a blind and infirm beggar for you? You have only to pay me the price of the transformation." "And what would the price be?" eagerly inquired Otto. "The right eye." Gladly would I give it to be really avenged." The young man had hardly uttered the words, when the promised change was effected in the rich bourgeois, and Otto found himself at the same moment blind of an eye. He felt at first somewhat dismayed; but he soon consoled himself for his loss by remembering that his remaining eye sufficed to give him the enjoyment of witnessing the sight of his enemy's misery. |