No. 241. NEW SERIES.

ENEMIES.

MEN are continually heard talking of their enemies. It seems to be universally understood that everybody has enemies. We hear of such and such a person being illspoken of; but then he has many enemies. We hear of some one having been extremely unfortunate-he | had made himself many enemies. I believe there is a great fallacy in all this, and that scarcely any one has enemies worthy of the name, much less that any one is ever seriously injured by them. People are in general too much engrossed, each by his own affairs, to make any very active war against each other. Jealous, envious, rancorous they often are, but to wage positive hostilities, they are for the most part too indifferent. Though it were otherwise, society is not now constituted in such a way as to admit of one man being to any serious extent hurtful to another. When I hear, therefore, of any man attributing his non-success in business, the invariably severe treatment of his books in the reviews, or the rejection of his pictures at the exhibition, to enemies, I feel that a cause inadequate to the effect has been cited, and, while listening politely, do not believe, though I daresay he does.

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The fact is, this proneness to attribute our mischances to enemies is merely one of the refuges of our self-love. Admitting possible exceptions, it may be said emphatically that we are none of us anybody's enemy but our We are all, however, our own enemies. The same is true of corporations and institutions. Hence it is the merchant who effects his own ruin; it is the author who writes himself down. Dynasties, ministries, parties, die not but by suicide. And it is the friends of great causes and venerable systems who are most apt to be the obstructors of the one and the destroyers of the other.

We see this principle hold good in a signal manner in the proceedings of party politicians. The French proclaim a republic. Before it has had a three months' trial, behold a sort of military dictator presiding over it. Whose blame is this? None but that of the men who were most republican. For anything that appears, the moderate people would have sat quiet under the purely democratic rule of the National Assembly, and the very appearance of a soldier might have been dispensed with. But the ardent lovers of democracy contrive to frighten the mass of the community, who consequently are fain to abandon liberty for the sake of personal safety. In the same manner, in England, let a town muster a few hundred people desirous of state reforms, their sentiments and voice are made of no avail, because of there chancing to be perhaps four or five people in the same place who are so much more zealous in the cause, that they would not scruple to use violence in advancing it. It almost would appear to be the final cause of an

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extrême gauche, to raise a salutary terror, and by that means prevent changes being made with inconvenient rapidity. On the other hand, is any institution challenged as no longer consonant with the opinions or favourable to the interest of mankind, we always see that the attacks of those who long for its reformation or removal do it little harm, in comparison with the conduct of its own most zealous supporters. Often we see these act with a folly that makes us say, that if the enemy had their choice of means for ruining the institution, they could select none so likely to be effectual. It seems to be sufficient to summon the fortress, and the garrison immediately act so desperately ill amongst themselves, as almost to insure a speedy surrender, without stroke of sword.

Thirty years ago, a captive prince of singular fortune lived on the island of St Helena, in the Atlantic Ocean. He had risen to the summit of human greatness, and to all appearance had founded a new dynasty more illustrious than that of Charlemagne. He had enemies external to himself, but their petty efforts against him only served to increase his greatness. Napoleon, however, had one enemy truly formidable-he had himself. Through the machinations of this deadly foe was accomplished a ruin which all Europe had vainly conspired to bring about.

The labouring people of this country have a notion that the rest of the community are their enemies. Any one who mingles with the rest of the community must see that these are full of good-feeling towards the labourers, are constantly speculating about the means of benefiting them, and in reality spend largely in their behalf. They are not the enemies of the working-classes; but it is not difficult to see who are. It is the working-classes themselves, who, arrʊgating the privilege of dispensing with forethought and self-denial, and throwing on others the blame of all mischances, subject themselves to such bitter wo in consequence, that if one-tenth of it were really visited on any one set of people by another, the world would ring with it for ever. What should we think, for instance, of a government which should force its industrious millions to spend each a large portion of his gains on indulgences alike injurious to health and morals? Yet this, we know, is done by the working-classes themselves. What should we think of a master who permitted no new entrant into his work without a sum of money being paid to make a feast with, however difficult it might be to raise such a sum? Yet exclusions of this kind are common among the men themselves. A few years ago, in a work in the west of Scotland, each new apprentice paid his fellows about seven pounds for 'leave to toil!' and when six or seven such sums had been amassed, there was a debauch which lasted a fortnight, involving the whole district in vice and wretchedness. There is a

upon his horse, whose sides were protected by the woollen covering passed round its body. While the compressed group thus advanced in our direction, the hunter drew his rapier, and placing one foot upon the woolly shoulders of the bison, plunged the murderous point in at a joint of the neck, and at the instant that the animal made a last effort not to die unavenged, leapt hurriedly to the ground. It was time, for at the same moment my poor horse was lifted on the bull's head and tumbled over. This, however, saved him, as it released him from both his enemies: he rose immediately and gallopped off, followed by the two buffaloes. As for Joaquin, he ran parallel with the horse, still retaining his hold of the leathern thong; and gradually approaching nearer and nearer, caught hold of the mane, and sprang from the ground into his seat with a hurra of triumph.

Our turn now!' said the hunter with whom I had remained, taking his post in sight of the two bisons, which, raging in pursuit of the horse and his rider, advanced towards us with unequal steps, while the troop, deprived of their leaders, fled to the hills. We lay flat down on the inner slope, and waited for the animals, which, somewhat disconcerted, paused for an instant, tearing up the ground with their horns. The hunter agitated the red flag, when, with ferocious joy, they again rushed forwards. Joaquin had retired to one side: his part was played. It would be difficult to form an idea of the terrific aspect of the furious and wounded bison: at every movement streams of blood flowed right and left, dyeing red the black tangle of his mane; a scarlet foam covered his nostrils, whose formidable snort came

every moment nearer. The other buffalo preceded him, glaring with his fierce and heavy eyes on the handkerchief, now shaken alone by the wind; for the hunter and myself waited with carbine in hand. A minute more, and we should have had to defend ourselves against two infuriated beasts; but happily the wounded bison fell heavily, and expired. 'Fire!' cried the hunter. With three balls in his head, the other buffalo stood still, and falling over, struck the ground close to the top of the slope which protected us. Joaquin came up at a short trot, fresh and smiling as a cavalier who has just been exhibiting the qualities of his horse in a riding-school. He stopped to examine the bison last fallen.

Well,' he said, you have lodged two balls in his head, and that is pretty well for a beginner. As for me, in future I will hunt buffaloes only on horseback.'

'Not with mine, I hope,' I replied quickly; for it is a miracle that the poor animal has escaped from the

horns of the others.'

The hunter was saying something in answer, when all at once he exclaimed, My wishes are granted: here is a horse coming for me already saddled and bridled!'

We saw, in fact, a horse thus equipped gallopping towards the river, as though he was pursued by a troop of bisons, and urged to greater speed by the large wooden stirrups beating against his flanks. Judging from the sweat and foam in which he was bathed, his flight had continued some time. We recognised it as the animal belonging to the stranger who had announced the bear's visit to us the previous evening; and Joaquin, with my permission, gallopping off, soon secured the fugitive with his lasso. An ugly scratch down the poor animal's side, as though made by the rider's spur in falling, and the fact that the leathern thongs which held the bag of gold to the saddle were cut, were suspicious indications as to the fate of the owner.

The two hunters shook their heads; and after conversing for a short time, Joaquin, who wished to examine a little into the mystery, offered to ride with me to Tubac. I willingly closed with the proposal; and after washing the stains from my horse's sides, we set off, accompanied by the two dogs. We had ridden for about an hour, when the two animals began to bark, and hurried to the bottom of the little valley which we were then crossing. A sad spectacle met our eyes: in the middle of a pool of blood, his face to the earth, lay the poor traveller whom we had seen depart the previous night in company with the salteador.

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On investigation, however, Joaquin acquitted the latter of the murder. From the marks about the place, it was apparent that several persons had been engaged in the assault, and that the salteador had exerted himself to defend his companion. Doubtless the unfortunate traveller had fallen a victim to the rapacity of the same gang which, as I heard an hour later on entering Tubac, had attacked and plundered the conducta.

CHEVALIER ON THE PLANS OF LOUIS BLANC. SOME weeks ago we presented a familiar exposition of the great scheme of social regeneration as proposed by Louis Blanc in his work, The Organisation of Labour;' and now proceed to notice the arguments of his able and, until recent events, professor of political economy. antagonist, M. Michel Chevalier, an author of repute,

Blanc as radically fallacious, although captivating to M. Chevalier fearlessly denounces the views of Louis the imagination. In his tract, the Question des Travailleurs-(the 'Working-Men's Question')—first published in the Revue des Deux Mondes,' he begins by declaring his attachment to the Republic as an unavoidable necessity, but states his conviction that many of the measures of the revolutionary chiefs, while apparently originating in the best intentions, have been absurd, dangerous, and suicidal. On the part,' he says, of the Parisian workmen, the organisation of labour was demanded, with this commentary attached, that immediately wages ought to be raised, and the time of labour shortened; also that marchandage should be abolished that is to say, that the employment of sub-contractors or middle-men should be interdicted. They demanded likewise the abolition of piecework, and lastly, the expulsion of all English workmen. At this moment an organisation of labour was in progress, under the care of a committee presided over by one of the members of the Provisional Government,

author of a brochure that has excited much attention, under this very title of "Organisation of Labour." As regards marchandage, a decree of the Provisional Government has now interdicted it as being a system of destruction for the labourer. The duration of labour hours a-day for Paris, and eleven for the departments. was the object of a special decree, which fixed it at ten Yet in Paris, in some large establishments, the time is, in practice, only nine hours; and in many of these same establishments piecework is prohibited, although the decree of the Provisional Government permitted it. As regards the increase of wages, many masters have complied with the demand.'

'Let us inquire,' says M. Chevalier, * what an impartial observer, placed out of the vortex, would reasonably think of this movement, and let us speak it with sincerity. In order to appreciate the means by which popular progress can go on, it is useful to throw a glance backward, and to consider how the workmen of our towns and in our fields have arrived at their present condition which, if it leaves infinitely much to be desired still, is yet at least a hundred times preferable to that in which the same classes were in ancient times. At the outset of civilisation, among most peoples, the man by whom the father of a family is assisted in his labour is a slave, who possesses nothing of his own, not even his own person, and who lives in a condition of destitution of which the poor themselves have in these days no idea. The immense majority of men are in this state of things, crushed down by labour, and are allowed no enjoyment. Labour is disagreeable, because man has not yet at his service the inventions which make mo dern industry so effective-tools, machines, roads, &c. Labour produces infinitely little for the slave, because it produces little for the master. The slave lives consequently in a state of abject misery-a thing as regards his body; a brute as regards his mind. How is this? Is it that, in antiquity, masters were tyrants, who, for pleasure, and through selfishness, trampled on all the rights of humanity? Possible; though this was

only true of some. That, however, which is true on the other hand, is this-that society then wanted capital. This was the real cause of the evil.'

'Tools,' continues M. Chevalier, 'machines, apparatus of any kind that assists labour, are capital: the forces of nature, once appropriated, caught in engines, and subjected to the will of man-the wind on the sails of a mill, the fall of water on a hydraulic wheel, the steam in the cylinder of a fire-engine, are capital: the large resources for fabrication on the large scale are capital: the skill of the workman himself, the result of preceding instruction, or of apprenticeship, or of great acquired experience, and which multiplies production, is in like manner capital. Thus the formation and increase of capital constitute the first condition of popular progress. When capital hardly exists, the most numerous class is in a state of abject distress. Without capital, all that men can produce by labour is a coarse subsistence for themselves. If luxury exists, and even in ancient societies it did in a striking degree, it is an exception in behalf of a minority so small, that if the substance of their feasts and pageants were distributed among the entire multitude, the condition of the latter could not thereby be visibly altered. It is only when capital has increased that human labour produces enough to render the life of a large number happy.'

'This fun damental notion, that it is in consequence of the creation of capital that the masses are elevated from the condition of slavery, was anticipated by the great philosopher of antiquity, Aristotle, who expressed it in an original form. If the shuttle and the chisel," said he, "could go alone, slavery would no longer be necessary." Well, since the human species have had capital, the shuttle and the chisel have gone alone. A great progress has begun, and it has been possible for slavery to disappear. According as human societies possess, in proportion to the population, a large mass of capital, the material, intellectual, and moral privations of the majority of men may be diminished, or rather will infallibly become diminished; for the force which pushes forward the majority, and which tends to make them profit by all discoveries, is invincible. For popular progress, therefore, the accumulation of capital is an absolute condition; not the only condition, certainly, but one of the conditions. And thus fall, as castles of cards, all the systems that are founded on a pretended hostility between the interests of labour and those of capital. That there have been, and are, greedy capitalists, that rich men have profited by opportunities for oppressing the poor, I do not deny; but it will not be denied, on the other hand, that the poor have more than once taken their revenge. The fact in question does not invalidate the conclusion at which we have arrived-that capital is the auxiliary of labour; that it is by the preservation and accumulation of capital that hunger and rags disappear from our cities. The amelioration of the condition of society translates itself, in the eyes of him who analyses the facts, into this simple formula-to increase capital, to develop all kinds of capital; comprising, be it observed, those which consist in the skill of men, their activity, and their taste for work; so to arrange, in short, that relatively to the number of the population, capital of all kinds may be as great as possible.' This formula, M. Chevalier says, it is essential that every one should carry in his head, never at any moment forgetting it. Proceeding now to the application to present contingencies of the general theorem that he has been laying down, M. Chevalier examines first the plan, so popular among the revolutionists, of forcibly ameliorating the condition of the labouring-classes by shortening the | hours of work, and raising the standard of wages. On this point his deliverance is distinct and unhesitating. Every increase of wages,' he says, 'not accompanied by an increase of capital proportional to the population, will be ephemeral. All laws for regulating wages and making them constant are absurd. If they operate for a while, it will be by the effect of terror; but con

formity will soon cease. Fraud is the answer given by the governed to those orders of their governors that decree the impossible. It is as impracticable to fix, by the decree of authority, the price of labour, as it is to fix that of bread, or meat, or iron.' The proposition in political economy on which M. Chevalier founds these assertions is that which assigns the law according to which wages rise or fall. What,' he asks, is the law according to which wages are regulated in every country where labour is free? It is by the abundance of capital, as compared with the number of labourers requiring employment. A manufacturer has only capital enough to employ a hundred workmen, at the rate of four francs a day each. Two hundred workmen present themselves. If he must employ them all, he can give them only two francs a day each: there is no alternative. The more, therefore, population increases relatively to capital, the lower wages will fall.' Seeing this truth so clearly, and seeing at the same time the blindness of his neighbours to it, no wonder that M. Chevalier becomes excited. Tribunes, philanthropists, preachers,' he exclaims, 'rack your brains; you will find no other solution than this-frightful misery when there are many labourers and little capital!' It will be said the state will give work to the superfluous hands. Very good; but for these workshops capital is required: where do you get it? People don't get it as Pompey was to get his soldiersby stamping on the earth. That the state may have the necessary capital for its workshops, it must take or borrow it from private industry; but then this latter, having less capital, will be obliged to discharge other labourers. While, on the one hand, you put labourers on, on the other you pull an equal number off, who in their turn will come asking for work. Where will you end? It is Ixion's wheel-always turning.' In a similar manner M. Chevalier pursues his investigation through a variety of other considerations, all tending to show the folly of the measures proposed by those who, designating men like M. Chevalier as the disciples of a political economy without bowels,' might themselves be designated the dupes of a philanthropy without brains.

After discussing such special measures, M. Chevalier passes to the general subject of the 'organisation of labour,' as schemed by M. Louis Blanc; the essential parts of which, as our readers have been informed in a previous article, were to be-1st, The suppression of the system of competition; 2d, The absolute equality of conditions for all, irrespective of ability or activity; 3d, The abolition of all profit on capital above the legal interest; and 4th, The election of masters and foremen by their inferiors. On these points we cannot follow M. Chevalier, excepting to give a few of his remarks. Peoples or individuals,' he says, 'let no one flatter himself with the idea of ever having on this earth a tent laid out for slumber, and haunted by laughing visions. We are here below to struggle, to undergo probation, and progress is the fruit of trials and of struggle. It is necessary not only for the advancement of society, but for its very subsistence, that the social system conform to the fundamental laws of human nature-the system of M. Louis Blanc misconceives it; that it respect equity

his system violates it. Under the régime of liberty and of competition it is the contrary. It remains only to see whether it is not possible to limit the amount of evil with which it is certainly true that in our days liberty and competition are accompanied. And here at last I am on a field where I can expatiate along with the Socialists, and perhaps with M. Louis Blanc himself. I have insisted on the necessity of maintaining competition, even for the sake of the future good of the working-classes themselves; but because a principle is good and excellent, this is no reason for following it indefinitely to its last results, without looking round one. As the principle of political liberty must be wedded to the principle of order, if the results are to be wholesome, so the most notable inconveniencies of competition may be remedied by the intelligent application