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To establish himself still farther in their confidence, innate sentiment of justice which exists even among he also assumed the character of a buffoon, ima- the most ferocious and most savage of men. gining every day some new jest to amuse them. Kascambo had written three letters since his deIbrahim was particularly delighted with his perform- tention without receiving any answer: a year had ance of the Cossack-dance. When any of the in- passed over. The unfortunate prisoner, deprived of habitants of the village came to visit them, they took linen, and in utter want of every comfort of life, found off Ivan's irons and bade him dance: he always did it his health fail rapidly, and was giving way to despair. with a good grace, adding every time some new ridi- Ivan himself had been ill for some time. The stern culous gambol. By such means he obtained the li- and severe Ibrahim, however, to the great surprise of berty of walking through the village, where he was the major, had taken off the young man's irons while generally followed by a crowd of children attracted his indisposition lasted, and left him still at liberty. by his buffoonery, and as he knew already the Tatare The major interrogating him one day on that subject, language, he soon learned the language of the country," Master," said Ivan, "I have wished for a long time which is only a dialect of it. to consult you upon an idea that has come into my head. It strikes me it would be wise in me to become

The major himself was often forced to sing Russian songs with his denchick, and to play on the guitar to amuse that wild company. In the beginning they used to take off the irons from his right hand; but the woman having observed that he sometimes did play with the irons on to amuse himself, they never granted that favour again, and the unfortunate musician repented more than once having shown his talent. To obtain the liberty so ardently wished for, the two prisoners formed many and many a plan, but they were all very difficult to execute. When they had first arrived in the village, the inhabitants used to send every night an additional man to increase the guard. Insensibly this precaution was neglected—the individual very often did not come. The woman and the child slept in an adjoining room, and old Ibrahim remained alone with them; but he used to keep the key of the irons carefully in his pocket, and awoke at the slightest noise. The prisoner was treated every day more severely, and as the answer to his letter did not arrive, the Tchetchenges often used to come to the hut to insult him, and threaten him with the most barbarous treatment. They deprived him almost entirely of food, and he had one day the affliction of seeing poor little Mamet most unmercifully flogged for having brought a few meddlars to him.

a Mahometan."

"You are become mad, I suppose."

"No; it is the only way in which I can be useful
to you, and at least procure you some good food and
some linen-in short, who knows?-when I am free.
The God of the Russians is great !-we shall see."
"But God himself will forsake you, wretch that
you are, if you betray him."

the foaming waters, succeeded in carrying him safely to the opposite shore. The day was then beginning to dawn, and the Cossacks, recognising his uniform, immediately marked him out, and shouted, "A deserter ! Kill the deserter!" His clothes were completely riddled with balls. At last, after having fought with the courage of despair, and burnt all his cartridges, he returned to the village with the glory of having saved the life of one of his companions, and of having made himself useful to the whole troop.

If his conduct on this occasion did not gain over all the party to him, it won him at least a friend; the young man he had saved adopted him for his koniak (a relation held sacred by the mountaineers of the Caucasus), and swore to defend and protect him against each and every one. But this union and friendship were not sufficient to protect him against the hatred of the principal inhabitants. The courage he had displayed, his attachment to his master, increased to a great degree the fears with which he had inspired them. They could no longer look upon him as a buffoon, incapable of any design or enterprise, such as they had supposed him to be till then; and when they reflected on the failure of the expedition, to which he had been admitted, they began to wonder how the Russian troops had come upon them so completely in the opportunity of time, in a place so distant from their ordinary residence, and they suspected him of having secretly communicated with them. Although their conjecture was completely without foundation, they watched him more closely. Old Ibrahim himself, fearing some plot for the prisoner's escape, prevented all conversation between them; and the brave denchick was menaced, and even sometimes beaten, when he wished to converse with his master.

In this miserable and distressing situation, the two prisoners contrived new means of conversing, without raising the suspicions of their keeper. As they were in the habit of singing Russian songs together, the major took his guitar, when he had any thing important to communicate to Ivan in the presence of Ibrahim, and sang out his questions. Ivan answered to the same tune, and his master accompanied him with the instrument; this arrangement presenting nothing new, their enemies never found out the stratagem, to which, besides, they resorted but very seldom.

Kascambo, whilst he was lecturing his servant, could scarcely refrain from laughing at his absurd plan; but when he proceeded to forbid him peremptorily to go on with it, "Master," replied Ivan, "it is out of my power to obey you, and it would be useless to conceal it any longer: the thing is done; I have been a Mahometan since the very day you thought me ill, and my irons were taken off. I am called Houssein now. Where is the harm? I shall become a Christian again whenever I like, and as soon as I am free. See, I have already no more irons on, and I can break off yours at the first favourable opportunity, which I hope will soon present itself." According to the promise made, he was no longer chained, and enjoyed from that moment a greater liberty; but that very liberty had nearly proved fatal to him. The principal leaders of the expedition against Kascambo soon began to fear lest the new Mussulman should desert. The long stay he had made among them, and the knowledge he had acquired of their language, enabled him to know them all by their names, and to give their description at the Russian lines, supposing he should reach them, which would expose them individually to the vengeance of the More than three months had elapsed since the unRussians: and they in consequence highly disapproved fortunate expedition we have mentioned, when Ivan of the ill-judged zeal of their priest. On the other thought he perceived some extraordinary stir and hand, the strict Mussulmans who had favoured him agitation in the village. Some mules, laden with at the moment of his conversion, soon observed that powder, had arrived from the plain. The men were One of these ruffians had intrusted a Russian note when he said his prayers on the roof of the house, as busily engaged cleaning their arms, and making cartof five roubles to a comrade who was setting out for is the custom, and as the Mollah had particularly re-ridges; he soon learned that a grand expedition was a neighbouring valley, charging him to remit it to commended him to do, by way of conciliating the in preparation. The whole nation was to unite in some one there. The fellow went off accordingly, but public good-will, he often happened by mistake to in- attacking a neighbouring tribe, which had placed itself lost his horse, which died on the road, and persuaded termix some signs of the Cross among his prostrations under the protection of the Russians, and allowed them himself that he had a right to keep the five roubles towards Mecca, to which place, by another still more to construct a redoubt on their territory. The object as an indemnification for the loss he had met with. unfortunate blunder, he at times turned his back-a of this campaign was no less than to exterminate the This mode of reasoning, very worthy of the Cauca-series of accidents, which made them rather suspicious whole population, along with the Russian battalions sians, was by no means to the taste of the proprietor as to the sincerity of his conversion. who protected the construction of the fort. of the cash. At the return of the traveller, there was a great uproar in the village.

A very remarkable circumstance in Kascambo's painful situation, was the respect and confidence which his persecutors could not help feeling for him, and the profound esteem with which he had inspired them. While the barbarians heaped on his head every sort of insult, and every species of oppression, they, notwithstanding, very often consulted him in their private affairs, and made him the judge of their differences. Among other disputes of which he stood umpire, the following deserves to be quoted for its singularity.

These two men had gathered around them their relations and their friends, and the quarrel would have terminated in bloodshed, had not the elders of the tribe, after endeavouring in vain to calm them, advised them to submit the case to the decision of the prisoner. The whole population of the village proceeded tumultuously towards his habitation, that they might sooner learn the issue of this ridiculous case. Kascambo was brought out of prison and seated on the small platform, which served as a roof to the house. Almost every house in the valleys of Caucasus is partly dug under ground, and is only elevated four feet above the level of the soil; the roof is horizontal, and formed of hard-beaten clay. The inhabitants, the women especially, are in the habit of reposing upon these terraces after sunset, and frequently even spend the whole night there in fine weather.

When Kascambo made his appearance on the roof, a profound silence ensued. It was, no doubt, a wonderful sight to behold before this singular tribunal, infuriated clients armed with pistols and daggers, submitting their cause to a judge loaded with chains, and half dead with hunger and miseries of all sorts, but who judged, nevertheless, without appeal, and whose sentence was always respected and obeyed. Having lost all hopes of making the defendant understand reason, the major ordered him to approach; and resolved to win the laughers at least over to the side of justice, he put to him the following question:"If, instead of giving you the five roubles, your comrade had merely charged you with his compliments, would your horse not have died all the same?" "Perhaps," answered he.

"Well, then," added the judge, "what would you have done with the compliments? Would you not have been obliged to keep them as a payment, and be content? I order, in consequence, that you shall give back the note, and your comrade shall give you his compliments."

As soon as this sentence was translated to the spectators, a universal roar of laughter proclaimed afar the wisdom of the new Solomon. The defeated man himself, after some farther discussion, was forced to yield, and said, giving up the money, "I knew beforehand that I should lose, if that dog of a Christian had any thing to do with it." That extraordinary confidence shows what an idea these people must entertain of European superiority, and it is also a proof of the

A few months after his feint apostacy, he perceived a great change in the manners of the inhabitants towards him, and could not mistake the manifest signs of their ill will. He was seeking in vain the cause of that alteration, when some young men, with whom he was particularly intimate, came and proposed to him to accompany them in an expedition they were about to undertake. Their plan was to pass the Tereck, to plunder some merchants who were going to Mosdok. Ivan accepted without hesitation. For a long time he had wished to procure himself some arms; and they promised him, besides, a share of the spoils. He thought, also, that on seeing him return to his master, those who suspected him of wishing to desert, would no longer have any grounds to justify their suspicions. However, the major having strongly opposed his joining the party, he pretended to have given up the thoughts of it, when, one morning, Kascambo awaking, saw the mat upon which Ivan used to sleep carefully rolled up against the wall; he had gone off during the night. His companions were to pass the Tereek the following night, and attack the merchants, whose march was known and followed by their scouts.

The confidence of the Tchetchenges ought to have created suspicions in Ivan's mind. It was not natural in men, so cautious and so cunning, to admit so freely a Russian, their prisoner, in an expedition directed against his own country people. It was, indeed, found out some time afterwards, that they had invited him to accompany them with the sole intention of murdering him. As his quality of a convert obliged them to some sort of regard, they had proposed to keep a close look-out upon him on the road, and to make away with him at the moment of the attack, leaving Only a few members of the party were in the secret ; it to be supposed that he had perished in the fight. but the event baffled all their sanguinary designs. Their troop was hardly placed in ambush, to attack the merchants, when it was itself surprised by a regiment of Cossacks, and so vigorously charged, that they had infinite trouble in passing the river again. The intensity of the danger made them forget their plot against Ivan, who followed them in their retreat.

While the panic-struck band was crossing the Tereek in complete disorder, the horse of a young Tchetchenge stumbled in the middle of the river, and was immediately carried off by the rapid stream. Ivan, who was behind him, pushed his horse forward, at the risk of being drowned himself, and, taking a firm hold of the youth, at the moment he was disappearing under

A few days after, Ivan, on leaving the hut in the morning, found the village completely deserted. Every man capable of carrying arms had gone off during the night. In the short turn he took through the village to gather information, he obtained new proofs of the bad intentions entertained towards him. The old men evidently shunned him. A little boy plainly told him that his father was resolved to kill him; and as he was returning, absorbed in mournful thoughts, he saw on the roof of a house a young woman, who raised her veil, and, with signs of the greatest alarm, motioned him with her hand to be off, pointing towards Russia. She was the sister of the young Tchetchenge he had saved at the passage of the Tereek.

When he entered the house, he found the old man busy examining Kascambo's irons. A new comer was seated in the room; it was a man whom a slow fever had prevented from accompanying his comrades, and who had been sent to Ibrahim as an additional guard over the prisoners, till the return of the inhabitants. Ivan marked that precaution, but without showing the slightest surprise. The absence of all the men from the village presented an admirable opportunity for the execution of his designs; but the increased vigilance of their jailor, and the presence of the invalid, rendered their success very uncertain. However, his death was inevitable if he waited the return of the warriors: he foresaw that their expedition would be unsuccessful, and that, in the fury of disappointment, they would not spare him. He had no other alternative than to abandon his master or deliver him forthwith. He would have rather suffered a thousand deaths than adopt the first resolution.

Kascambo, who was beginning to lose every sort of hope, had fallen into a kind of stupor, and preserved calm and more gay than usual; he fairly surpassed a profound silence. Ivan, on the contrary, was more himself in preparing the dinner, and kept singing the whole time Russian songs, in which he introduced some words of encouragement for his master. "The time has come," said he, adding at every phrase the insignificant chorus of some Russian popular song, "Hai luli, hai luli-the time has come to put an end to our misery or to die. To-morrow, hai luli, we shall be on the road to a town, a pretty town, hai luli, which the Russians is great!" I shall not name. Courage, dear master! the God of

and ignorant of his denchick's plans, merely answered, Kascambo, completely indifferent to life or death, "Do as you please, and hold your tongue." Towards

the evening, the sick man, whom they had treated generously to make him stay, and who, besides a very copious meal, had amused himself the whole day eating Chislik, was seized with such a violent access of fever, that he had to give up, and retired to his own house. He was allowed to depart without great difficulty; Ivan having completely removed every fear of the old man by his extraordinary gaiety. To remove more entirely every cause of suspicion, he withdrew very early to the end of the room, and laid himself down on a bench against the wall, waiting till Ibrahim should fall asleep; but the latter had resolved to watch all night. Instead of spreading himself on a mat near the fire, as usual, he sat himself down on a large log of wood, opposite to his prisoner, and sent away his daughter-in-law, who retired to the next room where her child was, and shut the door.

From the dark corner in which he was placed, Ivan observed attentively the scene before him. By the glimmering light of the fire, which flashed at times a transient blaze, an axe glittered in a recess of the wall. The old man, overcome with sleep, would at times let his head fall heavily on his chest. Ivan saw it was time, and rose to his feet. The suspicious jailor immediately noticed it. "What are you doing there, you dog?" cried he, harshly. Ivan, instead of answering, proceeded towards the fire, yawning and stretching himself, like a man coming out of a deep sleep. Ibrahim, who felt overcome with sleep, ordered Kascambo to play the guitar to keep him awake. The major was about to refuse, but Ivan brought the instrument to him, making the usual sign; "Play, master," said he; "I want to speak to you." Kascambo tuned the guitar, and beginning immediately, they sang together the terrible duet which follows:

Kascambo.-Hai luli, hai luli, what have you got to say? be cautious!" (At every question and every answer they sang a verse of a Russian song.) Ivan." See that axe, but do not look at it. Hai luli! It shall dash out that villain's brains. Hai luli! hai luli !"

Kascambo." Useless murder! Hai luli! How could I escape with my irons ?"

Ivan. The key will be found in the rascal's pocket. Hai luli !”'

Kascambo." The woman will give the alarm. Hai luli! hai luli!"

Ivan.-" Never mind, happen what may, will you not perish all the same-hai luli!-of hunger and of misery?"

The old man becoming attentive, they repeated a double allowance of hai lulis, accompanied by a loud arpeggio. "Play, master," added the denchick, "play the Cossack; I shall dance round the room to get near the axe; play boldly!"

Kascambo.-"Well, let it be so, this hell will be

over." He turned aside his head, and began to play

the dance with all his might.

Ivan began the steps and grotesque attitudes of the Cossack, which pleased the old man most particularly, making ridiculous leaps and gambols, and uttering loud shrill cries, to distract his attention. When Kascambo saw that the dancer was near the axe, his heart beat violently in his chest, and he panted with anxiety; that instrument of their deliverance was in a little

silence which had succeeded to such a noise-she said that he was thus laying in a stock of strength to
opened the door of her room. "What are you about fit him for some useful industry; in this case, to the
here?" said she, advancing towards the prisoners; extent to which he lays in strength to render that
"what means that smell of burnt hair? The fire, industry more productive, he may be said to labour.
which had been scattered about, produced almost no
light. Ivan lifted the axe to strike her she saw it Suppose, however, that the individual is paid for
in time to throw aside her head, and received the blow exerting himself in wrestling or gymnastics. Here the
in the chest she fell with a groan: a second blow, occupation entirely changes its nature, and becomes
as rapid as a thunderbolt, caught her in her fall, and to its full extent labour. It may not, to be sure, be of
laid her dead at Kascambo's feet. Frightened and
much ultimate service to mankind; but fashion, cap-
horror-struck at this second murder, which he did not
expect, the major, seeing Ivan proceed to the child's rice, or whatever else may have instigated the desire
room, rushed forward to stop him. "Where are you for it, is to be supposed in such an event to have made
going, wretch?" said he; "would you have the fero-it one of the wants of society; the community are
city to sacrifice also that poor child who has shown ready to give value for it, and the operation through
me so much affection? If you were to deliver me at
such a price, neither your attachment nor your ser-
which the demand is supplied is labour.
vices could save you whenever we reach the line."
"At the line," said Ivan, "you will do as you
please, but here we must put an end to all this.”
Kascambo, gathering his whole strength, caught
him by the collar, as he was forcing his way.
lain!" cried he, "if you dare to attempt his life, if
you touch one hair of his head, I swear here before
God that I shall give myself up to the Tchetchenges,
and your cruelty will be fruitless."

"Vil

"To the Tchetchenges!" repeated the excited den-
chick, raising the axe over his master's head; "they
shall never take you alive again: I shall murder them,
you, and myself, before that shall happen. That child
can ruin us by giving the alarm, and, in your present
condition, a woman might drag you back to prison."
"Stop, stop!" cried Kascambo, out of whose hands
Ivan was trying to escape; "stop, monster; you shall
kill me before you commit this crime!" But alas !
weak as he was, and embarrassed with his irons, he
could not hold the excited young man, who pushed him
violently aside, and he fell heavily to the ground, half
dead with surprise and horror. Whilst, all covered with
the blood of the first victims, he was struggling to get
upon his feet, he cried out incessantly, "Ivan, I en-
treat you, do not kill him; in the holy name of God,
spill not the blood of that poor innocent creature!"
As soon as he could, he ran to his assistance; but
on reaching the door of the room, he knocked himself
in the dark against Ivan, who was returning. "Master,
all is over; let us lose no time, and make no noise.
Don't make any noise," answered he to the bitter and
desperate reproaches which his exasperated master
addressed to him. "What is done, is done; now
there is no drawing back. Till we are free, every man
I meet is dead, or he shall kill me; and if any one
enter this door before our departure, I consider not
whether it be man, woman, or child-I shall stretch

them there with the others."

He lighted a splinter of larch-wood, and to

The demands of society are thus the only criterion to distinguish what is labour in this sense, and what is not. It is impossible to establish any other criterion of utility. A man may be convinced that a certain occupation in which he is engaged will be productive of the greatest benefit to mankind; but if men will not take him at his word, and pay him for his exertions, these exertions are not labour in the sense in which it is necessary here to view it as an article in the market. On the other hand, the quack, whose pills cut off his fellow-beings by thousands, is, in virtue of the credulity to which he ministers, a labourer in the strictest sense of the term. It follows, that certain exertions will be partly labour, partly not: namely, labour, in so far as they are spent on something which is wanted-mere useless tension of mind or muscle, in so far as they are applied to what is not wanted. Thus, the exertion of making tiles for covering houses will be strictly labour; but if the tilemaker should volunteer to spend his time in putting certain ornaments on the interior of the tiles, where they will not be seen, and where consequently they will have no such value in the eyes of the purchaser as will prompt him to make an allowance for them, here is a mere fantastic outlay of time and exertion. Lost labour it would be called; and in the sense in which labour is viewed in political economy, it would be no labour at all.

But let us bring this doctrine to bear more clearly on practice. The loss of labour, in the manner just illustrated, is but casually and rarely exhibited; but there is another form in which it is too common, namely, that where exertion is used in producing something which is in demand, but a greater quantity is produced than what is demanded. Thus, if ten men be sufficient to produce the quantity of shoes are in reality twelve shoemakers at work in it, onesixth part of their exertions is lost. To estimate, however, the number which is required for the wants of a community, there are various circumstances to be taken into consideration. The proportion which any class of labourers ought to bear to the other members of the community, cannot be absolutely fixed; it must bear relation to circumstances. Thus, in a country where there is much capital, and a comparatively small population, the value of every kind of labour will be greater than where the population is large and the wealth small. Let us take two communities, then, in one of which the demand for every kind of labour is double what it is in the other, while the number of labourers is the same in both. If there be ten shoe

search the pouch and the pockets of the dead brigand.requisite for the consumption of a village, while there
The key of the irons was not there. He sought it
also in vain in the woman's clothes, in a trunk, and
every where he imagined it might be concealed.
Whilst he was engaged in this pursuit, the major was
giving way, without any prudence or control, to the
bitterness of his grief; Ivan consoled him after his
own manner. "You ought rather," said he, "to
mourn the loss of the key of your irons, which can't
be found; what can tempt you to regret these
wretches, who have tormented you more than fifteen
months? They wanted to make away with us. Well,
their turn has come before ours. Is it my fault?"

[Here must in the mean time be concluded this singular, but true narrative: it will be resumed and brought to a close in the ensuing number.]

ECONOMY.

FOURTH ARTICLE.-LABOUR.

LABOUR is a word which political economists have
used in two different senses. In its more accurate
application, it refers to the means adopted for obtain-
ing certain ends; but it has likewise been adopted to
designate those ends themselves, or the results of
labour in its more correct designation. Thus, in a
former chapter, capital was spoken of as accumulated
labour. It is in the former sense alone that we have
here to discuss the subject.

press without a door, cut in the wall, but at an eleva-
tion which Ivan could not very easily attain. To
bring it within his reach, he seized a favourable in-
stant, caught it rapidly, and put it on the ground, in
the very shade formed by Ibrahim's own body. When
the latter looked round at him, he was already far
from the spot, and continued the dance. This danger-
ous scene had lasted for some time, and Kascambo,
tired with playing, began to think that his denchick's
courage was failing, or that he did not judge the op- POPULAR INFORMATION ON POLITICAL
portunity favourable. He raised his eyes towards him
at the moment when the intrepid dancer, with the
uplifted axe, was advancing in steady strides to strike
the old brigand. The emotion the major felt at this
sight was such, that he ceased playing, and dropped
the guitar upon his knees. At the same moment, the
old man had stooped, and made a step forward to
push some brambles into the fire: the dry leaves
blazed up immediately, and threw a great light into
the room: Ibrahim turned round to sit himself down.
If at that moment Ivan had persevered in his en-
terprise, a struggle man to man became inevitable,
and the alarm would have been given, which was to
be avoided above all things; but his presence of mind
saved him. He no sooner perceived the major's agi-
tation, and saw Ibrahim get up, than he put down
the axe immediately behind the log he used as a
seat, and resumed the dance. "Play, play!" said he
to his master; "what are you thinking of?" The
major, seeing the imprudence he had committed,
quietly recommenced playing. The old jailor had not
a suspicion, and sat down again; but he ordered them
to stop the music and go to rest. Ivan brought calmly
the guitar-case, which he placed on the stove; but,
instead of receiving the instrument from his master's
hand, as quick as lightning he seized the axe behind
Ibrahim, and struck him such a terrible blow on the
head, that the unfortunate wretch did not even give
a sigh, but fell dead with his face in the fire: his long
grey beard was instantly in flames; Ivan pulled him
aside by the feet, and covered him over with a mat.
They were listening to know if the woman had been
awake, when astonished, no doubt, at the profound

*Mutton roasted in small bits at the end of a sharp stick.

Labour may be defined as the exertion, bodily or mental, expended for the accomplishment of a certain end. In the common use of the word, the result aimed at is not so much kept in view as the extent of the exertion expended in accomplishing it. When a man continuously exerts his sinews, he is said to labour; and if he do so to the production of some end neither useful to himself nor to others, his labour is said to be unprofitable. In considering the nature of labour, however, in connexion with political economy, that kind only can be taken into consideration which is profitable in some form or other; in other words, that which results in some service being done to the community. Whatever a man does for the purpose of procuring food and clothing for himself, is labour. But however energetically a man should gratuitously exert himself in wrestling or gymnastics, he would not be considered as labouring, unless, indeed, it might be

makers in each, though those in the former make double by their work what those in the latter do, yet there is none of the labour of the latter thrown away, because the quantity produced is proportioned to that of other productions of labour. If, however, the shoemakers of the latter could easily remove to the former, and did not do so, they would be throwing away their labour.

There is still, however, another matter to be taken into consideration, before we can estimate whether any particular portion of the labour-market is overstocked, namely, the relative amount of labour necessary for the different trades or professions which are open to a man's choice. In the same town you will find two sets of workmen, the one of which receives a shilling a-day, while the other receives five shillings; and yet each of these methods of occupation shall have just the proper quantity of labour devoted to it, so that none is thrown away. The difference is owing to the intensity of the labour bestowed in the one, in comparison with that bestowed in the other; or, in other words, to the comparative rarity or abundance of the qualifications required for the two pursuits. The edness, or any other description of skill, or in educasuperiority may be in muscular strength, in neat handtion; the result simply is, that the labour in the one case is more valuable than in the other, and for the purposes of comparison it may be talked of as more intense. Here, as in other cases, it is impossible to draw absolute distinctions; they must be left to be arranged labourer who gets five shillings a-day to be a watchIf we suppose the by circumstances as they occur. maker, and he who gets one shilling to be a pavier, then the labour of watchmaking is in that community five times as valuable as the labour of paving, and for the purposes of political economy it is so much the more intense. In other places there may be adventitious circumstances; such as a peculiar abundance of persons possessing the qualities necessary for being

watchmakers, which may make the difference in value less. These circumstances will be more minutely considered when we come to treat of wages.

We are now, perhaps, placed in a position to take a more minute view of the circumstances in which labour may be thrown away or lost through the miscalculation of the labourer. Suppose there are two trades, the qualifications for the performance of which are exactly of the same standard; if there be a greater proportional number of persons employed in the one than in the other, then the former is glutted, as it is termed, and there is so much labour thrown away. Suppose that the trade of shoemaking and that of saddlery require exactly the same qualifications; in other words, that of a certain number of men able to do both, each is able to do either the one or the other. Let us suppose that the quantity of saddlery labour required is just half that of shoemaking labour which is required. Suppose that the number of men capable of performing both is thirty; to make their labour bear to the community its exact value, there ought to be twenty shoemakers and ten saddlers. If, instead of this, there are twenty-five shoemakers and five saddlers, here are five men throwing away their labour, or, a fifth part of the labour of twenty-five men is lost.

If this were merely a theoretic distinction, which did not affect practice, we should not have enlarged upon it. Unfortunately, it is too amply illustrated in daily life. District or family prejudices, and the natural indolence of the human mind, prompt men to follow professions which are much overdone. Apart from greater exertion, mere change of pursuit and habit would often materially increase a man's income; yet the change will not be made. It is thus that generation after generation will follow a trade, for the produce of which the demand once existing has ceased, and they will call it a "poor trade," and consider themselves oppressed by the rest of mankind, forgetting that their hardships are the result of no other combination of circumstances beyond their own foolish choice. The mistake is exhibited, perhaps, most glaringly in the adherence of individuals to localities where their labour is not profitable. Thousands of individuals, who could incalculably benefit their condition by removing to spots where there is a demand for labour, do not dream of adopting the means of benefiting themselves and society, but dose away life in their self-elected poverty, ruminating on a vague conviction that Providence has not destined them for good fortune. In the two subjects of wages and machinery, a little more practical light will be endeavoured to be thrown on this subject. Meanwhile, it is our design, by the above remarks, to bring to the conviction of our readers the circumstance, that the man who follows an unprofitable, instead of a profitable occupation, not only injures himself but society at large. He is like one who should join a multitude of others, to divert their labour from the channel of utility, and employ it in something useless. The supernumerary workman, on the principles above pointed out, is as ill employed as if he were assisting to build a new pyramid in Egypt. Those who take their labour to a wrong market, are thus not merely themselves the sufferers-they occasion a loss to the community. On those who are blind to the dictates of self-interest, this consideration will probably not have much effect; but it is fit that it should be kept in view by those more stirring spirits, whose exertions not only benefit themselves, but are frequently the means of rousing the dormant energies of their neighbours. The indolent and injudicious will be carried forward by the power of public opinion, when nothing else will move them; and it is difficult to form an idea of the amount of good that might be done by the propagation of sentiments tending to counteract the barbarous prejudices which tie people to employments which have ceased to be profitable.

In a commercial and thickly peopled country, the greater part of the labour of the inhabitants will be for sale, and not for home consumption. The expertness acquired by the person who devotes his labour to one object, aided by the facilities which the application of capital gives to the employment of labour in the form in which it is most profitable, tend to place the community in such a position that each man finds he will possess the greatest quantity of the comforts of life, not by making them for himself, but by employing his labour in some one article used by others, by selling which he is enabled to choose from the general market articles produced by others under equally advantageous circumstances. In this country, indeed, the division of labour is carried so far, that we but seldom meet with an article in ordinary use the whole of which is fabricated by one individual. The labourer who thus throws the produce of his exertions into the general market, has thus a perpetual measure of the value of his industry, which he who devotes his time to the production of articles consumed by himself cannot so easily achieve. There are many circumstances in which the produce of labour may be profitably consumed by the labourer. For instance, it would in general be a clear loss were the baker to buy the bread he uses at home, or the shoemaker the shoes he wears. If the former, however, instead of selling his bread and buying shoes, were to make them for himself, bestowing on the work the time he might give to his own trade, he would in almost every case be a loser. There are, at the same time, many descriptions of labour which constitute separate professions, and which, at the same time, in certain circumstances, it may be

more advantageous for a man to do himself than to get done by others. Thus, the farmer bakes his own bread, while the merchant and manufacturer purchase theirs. When we find, however, that even those who sell their labour frequently go to the wrong market, it is still more likely that those who have not the criterion of a price before them should mistake the value of their exertions. Hence, there is much domestic labour wasted. Variety of occupation is sometimes sought as a recreation, and the exertion which may be thus applied is not to be looked on as wasted labour. There is, however, a fallacy in favour of home production, which makes many a man launch into expense under the guise of economy. There is a lurking feeling that the payment of money only is extravagance, and when that unpleasant process can be avoided, the receipts that are sacrificed are overlooked. Many a man who, if he turned his attention to one object, might make a comfortable livelihood, fritters away his time and abilities in multitudinous ingenious pieces of labour, by which he avoids sundry trifling disbursements at the sacrifice of the substantial means of living.

In labour-useful labour, as we have above explained it-we find the great standard by which the value of every commodity is measured. How much of the produce of labour will be given in exchange for it is the simple question by which the value of any thing is ascertained. There are, indeed, just two elements of value-labour and monopoly. That a thing should bear value in the general market of the world, it is necessary that labour should have been expended on it, or that it should be something of which the supply is limited, and for which a certain portion of the proceeds of labour will be given. Of the former, gold itself, as the reader may recollect was shown in the first chapter, is an instance. Of the second, land is the most extensive example in existence. As will be more minutely explained under the subject of rent, the only means of ascertaining the amount of value that is in a monopolised commodity is by measuring it with labour; there is nothing in its intrinsic nature that can indicate the extent. Of three fields, perfectly on a par in their capabilities and proceeds, one in the vicinity of Manchester or Glasgow will bring £12 an acre; a second, in the more remote parts of Perthshire, will bring £2; and a third, in Hungary, may not be worth 58. Here we have an illustration of another truth, to be afterwards more fully explained, that it is only through means of labour that even the monopolised article is made valuable. This latter is, after all, but an instrument in the hands of industry, worthless of itself, but capable of being increased in value to an incalculable extent, when made the subject of man's industrial exertions.

If we

Before leaving this subject, it may be as well to notice a distinction, adopted by Adam Smith and others, between productive and unproductive labourers. "There is one sort of labour," says Smith, "which adds to the value of the subject upon which it is bestowed; there is another which has no such effect." As of the former kind, he classes the labour of the manufacturer; while he says, "The sovereign, for example, with all the officers both of justice and war who serve under him, the whole army and navy, are unproductive labourers." That such a distinction as that between productive and unproductive labour does exist, may be admitted; but a little consideration will show that it is impossible to draw the line. As has been already observed, there are very few articles in common use which are the production of any one man; the greater part are the result of an organised division of labour. admit, then, that the man who hammers out a knife blade, that he who grinds it, that he who whets it, and that he who fixes it to its handle, are each one a productive labourer, shall we deny the same character to the overseer, without whose organisation the labour could not have been thus productively divided, or to the book-keeper, whose daily attention to his duties are necessary to keep the establishment from ruin? If we admit these, shall we then exclude the policeman and the magistrate, whose labour is bestowed in preserving that social order, without which all the manufactories of the district would cease to exist, or the physician, who assists in preserving the health of the workmen? Let us take the distinction in another view. labourer? This, by the way, is an occupation involvIs a maker of children's toys a productive ing more capital and industry than many would readily anticipate. An instance has been known of a glass manufacturer receiving an order for £500 worth of glass eyes. If it be decided that the toymaker is unproductive, what shall we say to the maker of the ornaments which gratify the adult; the painter, the statuary, nay, the builder and the clothier, in as far as their exertions are bestowed on the production of mere ornament? On the other hand, if the maker of toys is a productive labourer, shall we exclude the actor or the rope-dancer, whose exertions are directed to the same end-that of producing amusement? If we take the extremes of the scale, however, the distinction appears very forcible. The baker or the cotton-spinner may be deriving small incomes when compared with that of the rope-dancer; yet there is no comparison as to the respective productiveness of the two, or as to the extent to which their distinct efforts tend to increase the wealth or useful commodities of the community. The rope-dancer, indeed, however large his income, is rather a vehicle through which the productions of

others are dispersed, than himself a producer. He is a means by which the money of his neighbours is spent, neither increasing nor decreasing its amount by his own efforts. He gives amusement, however. The manufacturer loses part of his inducement to exert himself if he have not some means of relaxation; and thus even the rope-dancer is to a certain extent indirectly productive.

SKIMMINGS FROM AN OLD RECEIPT-
BOOK.

THROUGH the kindness of a friend, we have obtained a sight of a manuscript receipt-book, written early in the last century, and which latterly seems to have belonged to the Honourable Margaret Murray, a sister of the first Earl of Mansfield. Such books were to be found in every house of any consequence, before printed manuals of cookery had become common. They were generally compiled from one another, with such additions as each lady housekeeper could give from her own skill and experience, or as could be obtained from the skill and experience of her nearest friends and neighbours. Accordingly, many of the receipts were of indefinite antiquity, while others might be considered as nearly contemporary with the date of the particular manuscript in which they appeared. The book before us contains many curious matters, illustrative of the habits of thought and the habits of common life which prevailed rather more than a hundred years ago.

The receipts in this book are not, it must be ebserved, cookery receipts. They refer to the more refined parts of housekeeping, as the preserving of fruits, the compounding of sweet cakes, and the making of cordials and medicinal preparations. Common cookery would, we presume, be left to servants, who would conduct it according to traditionary rules which no one ever thought of improving; while the ladies themselves would deem it a fair part of duty, to study the mysteries of pastry, preserving, and the concoction of specifics. Not even the highest rank seems to have been exempted from such labours, for, amongst these nostrums, is one entitled "The Countess of Ruthlands Receipt for making the rare Bamburry Cakes qich was so much prais'd att her doughter's wadding." ́ If we might judge from the volume in our possession, we would say that much more attention must have been bestowed by the ladies of those days upon confectionery than upon learning, for the spelling is generally of a very original kind, and the handwriting in many parts by no means distinguished for elegance.

It does not seem necessary to bestow any particular notice on the great mass of the receipts in our volume, these referring only to ordinary objects, as "To make marmollate of oranges," "To make a goosberry Full," "To make Cherrie Water," "To make Gilly Flowr water," "To make Steill Carvie," "To clarifie Sween's Saime," "To make goosberry Wine," "To make Curran Wine," &c. Here the titles, we presume, are enough. Our attention, however, is irresistibly arrested when we come to such a characteristic and peculiar receipt as "To make Oyll of Swallows," which proceeds thus:

"Take swallows as many as you can get, ten or twelve at the least, and put them quick into a mortar; and put to them lavender cottone, speke, cammomyle, knot grass, ribwort, balm, valerian, rosemary tops, woodbine tops, strings of vines, French mallows, the tops of ale hoof [and other ten or twelve like things], of each of thes ane handfull; beat all thes together, and put thereto a qart of neats feet oyll, or May butter; stamp them all together, and beat them with ane or two ounces of cloves, and put them all together into ane earthen pot; stop it verie clos with a piece dough round about, so clos that no air can come out; set them nine days in a cellar, and then take them out and boyle them six or eight hours on the fire, or else in a pan of water; but first open your pat and put in half a pound of vax whit or yellow, and a pint of scllat oyle, and strain them through a canvass cloth." For what purpose on earth could our ladies have designed this unhallowed mixture!

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King Edward's Perfume" is highly characteristic of the age when floors were strewed with rushes, and only cleaned once in a few weeks. "Take twelve spoonfulls of right red rose water, the weight of sixpence in fine powder of sugar, and boyll it on hot embers softly, and the house will smell as though it were full of roses; but you must burn the sweet cypress wood befor, to take away the gross air." "A Cordiall Water of Sr Wallter Rouligh's" is also worth giving. "Take a galloun of strawberries, and put them into a pint of aquavitae: let them stand four or five days. Strain them genteely out, and sweeten the water as you pleas, with fine sugar or with perfume."

Here, however, is a much greater marvel than any of the above, namely, "A Soveraigne Water of Doctor Stephen's, which he a long time used; wherewith he did many cures; he keept it secrett till a little befor his death, and then gave it to the bishope of Canterbury in a writing, which is Take a gallone of good Gascon wine, and take vinegar, gallingall, cinnamun, nutmegs, cloves, grains, annisseeds, fennell seeds, of every of them a dram; then take carroway seeds of red, mintes, rose, tyme, pelletory of the wall, rosemary and wild tyme, camomyle, the leaves if you cannot get the flowrs of small lavender, of each a handfull; then bray the spiret small, and bray the herbs, and put all into the wine, and let it stand twelve hours, stirring it divers times, then still it in a lembik, and kep the first

water, for it is best; then put the second water by itself, for it is good, but not of such virtues." Hear, reader, the virtues of this water: "It comforts the vital spirits, and helps all inward diseases, that come of cold. It is good against the shaking of the palsie. It cures the contraction of the sinews. It kills the worms in the belly and stamach; it cures the dropsie; whosever useth this water morning and evening and not too often, it preserveth him in good liking, and will make him seem young verie long, and comforteth nature marvellously. With this water did Master Stephen preserve his life till extream age wold not let him goe nor stand, and he continued fyve years when all the physicians juged he [wold] not live a year longer, nor did he use any other medicine but this!"

It will be observed that Dr Stephen's sovereign water includes an ingredient which has generally been allowed to have a direct effect in "comforting the vital spirits." The same principle is found in all the other cordials described in our receipt-book. We have "The Lord Spencer's Cherrie Water," the basis of which is "ane pottle of new sack," and which is "good for faintings and soondings;" likewise "The Lady Spotswood's Stamach Water," the basis of which is "white wine ane pottle;" and "Doctor Butler's Cordial Water against melancholy, most approved," which seems at first to be a mere decoction of a great list of gay spring flowers, until, on looking a little closer, we discern that it, too, has a substantial foundation, in "a qart of Canary wine," so that even we moderns may well believe the concluding passage"take of this water at one tyme three spoonfulls thrice a weick, or when you are il; it cureth all malancholy fumes." So also "A Cordial Water called Sanatifera" rests upon 66 a Chopine of Brandie," which is only, as it were, by the bye, ordered to be poured upon "the ingredients," not to speak of the concluding direction to "take a spoonful or two amongst a litle warme ale." There is "A Receipt of Water much magnified by the Hylanders and Italeans, for thikening the hair wher it is, and making it grow wher it is not;" but the ingredients are not to be enumerated before polite society. At the bottom of "a Receipt against Melancholy and Madness," we are informed that "the eating of a roasted magpie is very good against Madnesses, tho occasioned by witchcraft; but if it makes the patient wors, vomiting well will make it good." As further illustrations of the habits of ladies of high rank in those days, we have "To make chees, Lady William Hay's way," "How to make Cherrie Brandie, the Countess of Linlithgow's way," a "Receipt to make Gillie of Hartshorn, my Lady Hyndford's way," a Receipt for Goosberry Venegar, my Lady Ormiston's way," and a rival receipt to the last by "Colonel Keith's Lady." Lady Balcanquhal, Lady Woodhall, and Mrs Isobel Stirling, also appear as authorities on these grave matters. Nor was the sterner sex above lending their aid. The Lord Spencer's Cherrie Water has already been alluded to. We have also "The Lord Barron Halmon's True Receipt of the Queen of Hungarie's Water," and "Lord Neill Campbell's Receipt for a Squinancy, which he bought for 3 guinies from a mason who lived by it when he could not work." This Lord Neill was a younger son of the famous Marquis of Argyll, beheaded at the Restoration. That men of such rank should have put faith in obscure nostrums practised by the humblest and most ignorant of the community, shows in a striking light the imperfect wisdom of those times.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.

PROCRASTINATION.

WE are told by an old proverb "never to leave things till to-morrow that can be done to-day," and many examples are given of persons who have attributed their whole success in life to their attention to this well-established rule. Now-a-days, the proverb requires to be a little more stringent. If we expect to compete successfully in our profession, whatever it may be, it will be necessary not to leave any thing for the next hour, or the next minute, that can be performed in the present-leaving matters till the morrow is now quite antediluvian. Railways, steam-boats, and the penny post, have put mettle in the heels of the public; and he who lags in the old procrastinating fashion-"ay, we'll see about it by and bye"-is pretty certain of getting himself overrun and trampled upon in the onward struggle.

To be serious, the true way of getting through the world with either present or prospective comfort, is to do whatever is required right slick off, as the Americans say-not postponing for a single instant what can be immediately executed, unless prudence should suggest a due measure of delay; and such a suggestion, of course, is always to be carefully attended to. A constant exercise in promptitude of execution has a powerful effect in sharpening the wits. The mind of a man who is every minute called on to decide upon a matter of importance, becomes at length exquisitely acute; while he whose mind is little exercised in this way, becomes incapable of decision without long cogitation. A London merchant, for example, who receives a hundred letters in a morning, will decide on the kind of answer to be given to each almost as quickly as they are individually opened, although they may involve matters of thousands of pounds. A country gentleman would probably require a week for each, and, after all, probably leave some altogether

unanswered. We have never gone to the country without observing this kind of procrastination. A small job that might be done in five minutes, will be pushed off for a day or two, and made a matter of serious consideration. In this dawdling way, thousands of men dream away their existence, and are just as poor and miserable at the end of their days as they were at the beginning.

CORNS THEIR CAUSE AND CURE.

THEinvariable and sole cause of corns is pressure. It has been so arranged in nature, that, when any unwonted pressure upon any part of the body takes place, a thickening of the cuticle or outer skin ensues in that part, for the purpose, evidently, of affording the required protection. This process takes place as a direct consequence of pressure, for when a part is severely pressed, the flux of particles from the interior of the skin is stopped at the outside: the particles, prevented from there flying off, are accumulated, and added to the thickness. This goes on indefinitely, and it would go on in any part of the body. The cheek of the fairest maiden might in time, by the proper means, be thickened to the consistency of the upper leather of her shoe. On any spot where pressure takes place, the thickening is greatest in the centre. At that particular point, at a certain stage of the process, the cuticle assumes the hardness of horn, and this causes great pain in the tender parts beneath, when the external pressure is further continued-unquestionably a warning of kind Nature that her child has persisted too long in an injurious course, which ought as quickly as possible to be stopped, and retraced.

The remedy is to be effected by means the reverse of those by which the evil has been induced. The pressure must be removed, and the very opposite of pressure must be applied to the place. If, while the pressure is altogether removed, a soft or wet substance be laid upon the part, the hardened cuticle will become soft, and in time fall off; and in the course of the ordinary process of waste and supply which goes on all over the body, a new skin of proper character will be supplied. Generally, it is desirable to adopt a quicker mode of cure. The thick skin may therefore be in the first place pared as much as may appear safe or convenient. Let pressure be at the same time as much as possible removed. After two or three repeated parings under these circumstances, the corn will grow out from the bottom. But the quickest, most convenient, and most certain cure, is, to pare, as above directed, and to bind up the place with a rag soaked in melted candle-grease. In this case the application must be repeatedly renewed, and the paring may also be repeated, if the thickness of the integument will allow of it. At the end of about a fortnight, if there be no counteracting circumstance, the corn will have disappeared. It may be remarked, that, if the part be kept well supplied with the softening application, it may be subjected to considerable pressure, and yet the cure of the corn will proceed. Candle-grease is more suitable than any other oleaginous substance, because it does not so readily become absorbed in the cloth.

Supposing a cure effected, the patient will only be able to prevent the recurrence of the evil, by studying as far as possible to prevent a renewal of that pressure by which it was originally produced; and this brings us to consider the form of that article of dress, which is the chief, if not the only, recognised cause of corns. Small feet being usually esteemed an important requisite for a handsome exterior, great anxiety is generally manifested, especially by the fairer part of creation, for small shoes. Shoes, therefore, are often worn too small for the natural size of the foot. In this alone we see abundant cause for corns, for a tight shoe inevitably occasions pressure in one part or another. This is, then, an error to be avoided by all persons accessible to rational ideas-while, on the other hand, a too wide shoe is also to be avoided, seeing that it is sure to occasion friction in some particular place, and thus bring about the same evil result. But it is in the form of shoes, rather than in their size, that the evil most frequently lies.

In the ordinary manufacture of shoes, two leading errors are committed. The first is in a too great contraction of the shoe towards the front. If we look at the foot of an infant or a savage for the natural form of the foot, we find that, from the heel forwards, it gradually widens as far as the situation of the little toe, and from that point, instead of contracting equally on both sides, contracts only on one, namely, from the point of the little to the point of the great toe. The foot is indeed an irregular isosceles triangle, of which the front of the toes is the base, the line from the great toe to the heel the longest side, and the line from the little toe to the heel the shortest side. Instead, however, of making shoes in any thing like this form, they are made with a lozenge-shaped front for elegance, thus crushing the toes into a narrow angular space quite unsuited for their reception. The evil is increased by the second of the two great leading errors the elevation of the heel. It seems strange that, while the exquisite adaptation of all nature's works to purposes and circumstances is so often the theme of remark, no one ever thought of asking why, if high heels were convenient to mankind, nature did not make them so. For certain, if such a peculiarity of structure had been conducive to our good, we should have found ourselves possessed of it. But the truth is, that, so far from being conducive to good, it is quite

the reverse. When we put something under our heels to raise them permanently an inch above the level of the ball of the foot, we lose the power of our limbs to an immense extent. The body is thrown off some of its strongest supporting muscles, upon some of the weakest, namely, those in front of the limbs. The posture becomes constrained, difficult, and imbecile. Free and forcible motion is impossible. No graceful dancing could be executed under such circumstances. In the case of a gladiator or a wrestler, it would decide the day against a man considerably stronger by nature than his antagonist. Its worst effect, in our ordinary modes of life, is to wedge the foot deeply into the angular recess prepared for it in the fore part of our common shoes, and thus to expose it in its tenderest part to all the pressure which it seems possible by any convenient means to create in that region. From this peculiar cause, perhaps, arises the greater part of the calamity of corns.

We do not point out these errors, with any hope of seeing them quickly corrected. There are, however, some rational persons who, if we shall have succeeded in convincing them, may be expected to sacrifice fashion, in some considerable measure, to convenience. They may not altogether and at once go the length of banishing heels from their shoes, and having those articles of dress made in the form of isosceles triangles; but they will at least lower the heels, and widen the fronts of their shoes, as far as they can without making themselves appear odd. It is not unworthy of remark in this place, that the Highlanders of Scotland in former days had no heels to their shoes, to which circumstance may probably be attributed in no small measure the graceful freedom of their motions, and their amazing powers as pedestrians.

A FEW WEEKS FROM HOME.

NEWCASTLE.

NEWCASTLE, in which we have now arrived by the railway from Carlisle, may be described as in a state of transition from a general meanness, or at least mediocrity of aspect, to a condition of great elegance and convenience, indicative of a wonderful spirit of improvement, and of advance in a course of thriving and profitable industry. Some seven or eight years ago, we had made a passing visit to the place, and observed that it had little to distinguish it from some other English provincial towns, whose plain brick edifices are rendered dingy by age, and the volumes of smoke which usually canopy their black-puddled streets. At that period, however, Newcastle was beginning to manifest symptoms of improvement; in one part of the environs, several rows of smart yellow-coloured brick houses were springing up as places of residence for the more affluent class of inhabitants, and nearly in the centre of the town, a large and handsome stone structure had been erected, embracing an arcade of elegant proportions, with lines of shops and a number of public offices. Since that period, a surprising change has been effected. A kind of new town, built of beautiful light sandstone, resembling the better parts of the New Town of Edinburgh, has been placed in the centre of the old; and as the improvements are still incomplete, the houses of various crooked streets and alleys seem in the course of being pulled piece-meal to the ground and cleared away, while fresh and gay lines of building, ornamenting the newly opened broad thoroughfares, are taking their place. tion of the metropolis of the northern counties, can Some little account of this destruction and re-edificascarcely fail to be read with interest.

Those who have never been in Newcastle, may readily imagine the Tyne-here a noble river, double the size of the Clyde at Glasgow-issuing from the beautiful fertile valley on the west, through which we have described the railway as passing, and pursuing its course between high sloping banks towards the east. At the point where the river becomes rather closely overhung with rising grounds, are built the towns of Newcastle and Gateshead, the former on the north, the latter on the south bank, and both stretching upwards from the connecting stone bridge over the superior grounds. The situation on the northern side had been in early times selected by the Roman generals as a commanding point for one of their chief stations along the line of wall from the Tyne to the Solway. During the middle ages, a considerable monastic institution, which helped to attract inhabitants, of Monkchester; but this designation was dropped was planted on the spot, and conveyed to it the name when Robert, the eldest son of William the Conqueror, erected a fortress on the high bluff which overhangs the Tyne, and gave it the name of the New Castle, in contradistinction, it is presumed, to the older castle of Prudhoe, now in ruins farther up the valley of the Tyne. From this time, or about the beginning of the twelfth century, the town grew apace under the shel

ter of the castle, was strongly walled to protect it from the warlike incursions of the Scots, and received from successive kings and Northumbrian princes various privileges. The situation of the town on the river, also, gave it a great advantage over less favoured towns near the Scottish border. We find that, as early as the fourteenth century, it was already noted for its maritime traffic; for in 1346, it furnished 17 ships and 314 men to carry on the siege of Calais. Its prosperity received frequent checks from plagues, onslaughts, and various other tragical circumstances incidental to an age of ignorance and strife; yet its natural or acquired advantages carried it over all difficulties, and rendered it one of our most busy and wealthy pro

vincial towns.

The main cause of both its increasing trade and population, is its fortunate situation in the midst of the great coal-district of Northumberland and Durham, or a large tract on both sides of the Tyne, which affords an ever-ready depôt for shipping, and an outlet for a most extensive traffic. The distance of Newcastle from the sea is only about ten miles, and the volume of water in the river at favourable times of the tide, is sufficient to float craft of from four to five hundred tons burden, up to the quay that bounds the lower part of the town. The coal-field of Newcastle is reckoned to extend to a medium length of 44 miles by 21 miles, forming an area of 924 square miles; and, after making all allowances for breaks or defects, it is understood that over this vast space there is an average depth of ten feet of coal. Deducting a sixth for what is already consumed, there remain upwards of seven billions of tons, which, at the rate of 5,235,602 tons exported per annum (that being the quantity for 1837), will afford a supply for 1450 years. The strata amidst which the coal seams are found, are chiefly sandstone and limestone, with ironstone at no great distance, so that the subterranean wealth of the district cannot be considered as limited to one article. The sandstone, as all the world knows, forms a firstrate material for grinding stones; the lime is of great value for agriculture and other purposes; and the ironstone is now, in some places, beginning to be worked on a large scale for smelting. With an abundance of coal and iron, two of our most valuable materials in the arts, and the best means of export, it would have been surprising if Newcastle and its neighbourhood had not assumed the importance which they now enjoy.

From the lower portion of Newcastle, on the bank of the river, where the business in shipping is carried on, a steep street ascends to the higher town, making

giving promise of respectability, and indications of
power of mind. When his apprenticeship had expired,
his elder brother George, who was a bricklayer, engaged
him to join in an enterprise of his own, pulling down
and rebuilding a small house. George died prema-
turely, and Richard being thrown on his own resources,
was patronised by Mr Batson, an opulent member of
the Methodist body, to which the young builder be-
longed. By Mr Batson he was employed to build some
houses in Higham Place; and soon after he married
a respectable and worthy young lady, with a fortune
of L.5000. Afterwards, he undertook, on his own
account, the erection of several new buildings, mostly,
however, of brick, and in the plain style in which
English towns are ordinarily constructed. Some of
his structures were of a more elegant and important
kind, among which was the Arcade, already noticed,
which alone cost L.40,000. His various undertakings,
up till 1832, are reckoned to have required an outlay
of
L.195,000.

It may easily be supposed that these expensive
speculations were only warranted by the growing
prosperity of the town, and the natural demand for a
better class of dwellings, shops, and warehouses, than
had hitherto existed. Circumstances, as in the simi-
lar case of the New Town of Edinburgh, required
the change, and to Mr Grainger was given the tact
to take advantage of them. The achievements of
this bold designer, were, however, only commencing.
Having, in 1834, purchased the monastery grounds
in the centre of the town, and bought up other old
property adjacent, to the amount of L.45,000, he
brought forward a well-matured plan for opening
communications by handsome new streets through the
district, so as to connect some of the busy parts of
the town, distant from each other, and which could
only be reached by inconvenient circuitous ways. In
the lines which he proposed to execute, were placed
the market and theatre; but, by certain arrangements,
these were removed, leaving a large space open for
thorough improvement. Mr Grainger engaged to
build a new theatre, and to furnish a new market on
a far more splendid scale than the old one, on receiving
an adequate remuneration from the corporation. In
August 1834, he began his operations, which were
rapidly, and without the aid of an act of parliament,
carried into execution. The new market was opened
in October 1835. These extraordinary proceedings,
which were generally popular, did not escape opposi-
tion; but by Mr Grainger's sound judgment and acti-
theatre was threatened with an injunction; but within
vity, all obstacles disappeared. His removal of the
three hours from sealing the contract, the chimneys
were down, and before any message could have reached
London, the whole edifice had disappeared. Another
instance of Mr Grainger's Bonapartean promptitude
has been mentioned. "A house in Grey Street pro-
jected in an unsightly manner, so that it became of
importance to the architect to get possession of it.
The different owners of the house and cellar made
difficulties, and Mr Grainger was longer than usual in
carrying his point. At last he succeeded, but not
before the contract had interested the inhabitants,
who amused themselves with watching whether the
architect's design was to be injured by the projection
of this one house. The purchase being effected, the
tenant's family were, that very evening, removed to a
house which Mr Grainger had made comfortable for
them, and their fires were still burning when the
ing, when crowds came to see how the affair proceeded,
demolition of their late dwelling began. In the morn-
not a vestige of the house remained."*.

in its course a bend round the base of the knoll on
which the ancient fortlet or castle is placed, and still
in a well preserved condition, with a conspicuous
turret rising from the mass of antique buildings which
parasitically surround it. All the lower department
of the town, consisting of business streets and factories,
remains in its former state, and it is only on emerging
from this quarter, and coming to the central thorough-
fares, that the nature and extent of the alterations are
observable. Northwards from the old principal crossing levels, for the scene of operations is principally a
street, in which stands the church of St Nicholas with
its high and elegant tower, the improvements are
chiefly to be found. At the time of our former visit,
a secluded area of ground, measuring twelve acres in
extent, and which belonged to the monastery or nun-
nery already referred to, was unappropriated for any
useful purpose; and at a short distance from it,
there was a large market for meat, vegetables, &c.,
besides a considerable cluster of houses of a mean
order. From the central district, the town expanded,
by slow degrees, in a northerly and westerly direc-
tion, leaving the large monastery grounds in the
condition of an unprofitable wilderness, in the heart
of a busy seat of population. Many efforts were made
to purchase and render useful so valuable a property;
but, from being in the hands of a party unwilling to
dispose of it, all such attempts proved unsuccessful.
At length, it came into the possession of a proprietor
who was willing to sell it, and it was purchased in
1834, for the sum of L.50,000, by Richard Grainger, an
architect, who had already signalised himself by effect-
ing various improvements in the town.

Mr Grainger-as we learn from a memoir of his life in the Penny Magazine, written, we believe, by Miss Martineau-was born in Newcastle in 1798, and such was the humble condition of his parents, that he was educated at a parish charity school. In early life, he was remarkable for nothing but the serenity of his disposition, which has been his characteristic through life. Some of the inhabitants of Newcastle can recall the appearance of the boy in those days, in his green badge-coat, with his round, ruddy, smiling countenance, and his singularly quiet manner. At the proper time, he was apprenticed to a house-carpenter and builder, and won some attention by the remarkable steadiness and easy composure of his character,

Other difficulties consisted in planning and executgentle slope, with a southern exposure, in the middle of the town, and in its former condition it had numerous heights and hollows which it was necessary to transform into an even surface. The digging and carting, exclusive of the cost of deposit, amounted to L.21,500. Sand was procured from some parts of the ground, and in other places the clay was adopted for making bricks. The plans for laying out the new streets involved great artistic skill; but all were projected solely from Mr Grainger's own conceptions and experience, with the assistance of his observations during a visit to Edinburgh, London, and Dublin. He attributes much, we are told, to a visit to Edinburgh many years ago; what he saw there gave him great delight and a powerful impulse. To carry those plans into execution required an enormous capital, and it cannot be supposed that any one individual could have been found to peril so much money on a series of architectural creations, however ostensibly useful. In this department of his undertakings, it is understood that he was powerfully aided by Mr Clayton, town-clerk, and a member of a very opulent and influential family. Through this gentleman's personal and professional assistance, Mr Grainger was enabled to work out his plans; and as many of the new houses were sold or let as soon as they were erected, a much smaller active capital served the purpose than would have been otherwise required.

The result of Mr Grainger's proceedings, as it at present appears to a stranger, has been the erection of eight or ten new streets, varying from about 80 to 500 yards long, and consisting of houses whose fronts are built entirely of a fine yellowish sandstone. The houses rise generally to a height of four floors, reckon

* Penny Magazine.

ing the ground story, and the principal lines are in a most elegant style of architecture, with corner and central buildings of a superior order, and embellished with lofty Corinthian pilasters and cornices. Some of the streets are designed as private dwellings, with sunk areas and railings; but the main division, to which most attention is directed, consists of houses rising from the street, with a ground-floor of shops, and bearing a close resemblance to the buildings of West Strand in London. The names of these principal thoroughfares are Grey, Grainger, Market, Blacket, and Shakspeare Streets. These, as well as other streets, do not run parallel to each other, but are accommodated to the nature of the ground; one makes a bend, so as to present the convex and concave sides of a crescent, and three form a triangular mass of building; and this may be considered the centre of attraction in the newly-modelled district. At the mutual termination of two streets which constitute the triangle, is erected a tall column in honour of Earl Grey, resembling the Melville pillar at Edinburgh, and surmounted by a statue in stone. This handsome structure, which was finished in August 1838, during the meeting of the British Association, makes a good appearance in the general external view of the town, in conjunction with the crown-like tower of St Nicholas and the finely proportioned spire of All-Saints.

In the central part of one of the new lines of street, the new theatre has been erected. It exhibits a portico in front, of the best architectural taste, resting on a row of Corinthian columns, forty-one feet in height. The projection of the portico over the pavement has been objected to as a blemish in the street, but in reality it is a beauty, for it relieves a flat sarneness in the lines of buildings, and offers a pleasing break for the eye to rest upon. The theatre in its interior accommodation is rather smaller than that of Edinburgh, but is more elegantly fitted up, and is well supported. We can speak with pleasure of a remarkably well performed piece in the standard and respectable drama, on one of the evenings during our residence in the town. The manager, Mr Terman, with his wife (late Miss Jarman), sustain this department of the public amusements of Newcastle with great credit to themselves and satisfaction to their audiences.

In the lines of new streets, there are various banks and other establishments of local importance, but none of these demand our notice except the Central Exchange and public market, two establishments each the interior of the triangular mass already noticed, unrivalled in its way. The Central Exchange occupies the facing of which is Grey, Grainger, and Market Streets. The main entrance is undistinguishable in the line of houses, and it is only on going through a lobby that the grandeur of the place is apparent. The interior is a semicircular area, measuring 150 by 95 feet, with a corresponding height, and powerfully lighted by a great number of windows in the roof, supported on flying buttresses. We enter by the flat side of the semicircle, and are immediately struck with the great extent of floor of tasselated pavement, the lofty pilastered walls, the vast roof with its numerous beams, pointed and ornamented, and, above all, by the bold design of a semicircular colonnade of fourteen pillars, painted to resemble yellow-veined marble; this colonnade is a main support to the roof, and encloses a space slightly raised and carpeted on the flat side of the structure, and laid thus, there is an open walk of great breadth on the out as a news-room, with handsome tables and chairs; paved floor of the house round the convex side of the colonnade. Opposite the colonnade, a double stair conveys the visiter to an elegantly fitted up tavern or coffee-room, to which there are other entrances from the adjoining streets. Altogether, this Central Exchange is an exceedingly grand structure, more like what one might expect to form a magnificent temple than a place for merchants congregating, and therefore strongly characteristic of that principle of advancement in society which connects elegance and refinement in architecture with other purposes besides the public offices of religion. The institution is well supported; it has now about 2000 annual subscribers at a guinea each; Mr Grainger remains as the proprietor, and for this work alone deserves a high degree of credit.

The public market, which is across the way from the Central Exchange, consists of a quadrangular area of upwards of two acres, all under one roof, and surrounded by the houses of four new streets. It has entrances from the different sides, and, on visiting it, we perceive that it consists of four principal arcades, crossed at right angles by four equally spacious avenues, the whole lined with open shops or booths, and well lighted from the roof; the length of the has a remarkably clean and neat appearance, expresavenues is 338 feet. The entire length and breadth sive of a correct taste. In the long and broad hall, or spacious arcade devoted to the sale of vegetables, butter, &c., there are placed, opposite cross avenues, two handsome stone fountains, or jets d'eau, with basins capable of holding three thousand gallons each. To appearance, about half the booths in the market generally are not let, but the others are in full operation. Those who have seen St John's market in Liverpool, may have a pretty good idea of the design of that of Newcastle, which, however, is much more spacious, and infinitely more tidy in external aspect. At another part of the town, opposite St Nicholas'

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