Blackwood 485 - 1856.03

THE GREEK CHURCH. — CEREMONIAL. — GOVERNMENT.

There can be no question with the philosopher, that war is one of the great sources of change in the movement of the world. Whether its purpose be conquest or defence, or its stimulant ambition or restlessness, or its immediate impulse the genius of some great leader, urging the rapacity of a people, the changes which it makes in the general mass of society are always more remarkable than those of any other instrument of human impression. Wars are the moral thunderstorms, which either cover the face of society with havoc, or purify its atmosphere. War is the shifting of the channel in which the great stream of society has hitherto flowed on, and the formation of the new course which fertilises a new region, while it leaves the old one barren; or, is like the power of steam, a pressure in its nature explosive, and marking its power only in its ruin, but capable of being guided into a general benefactor of man, and originating effects large and general beyond the means of any other mover.

To the reader of the Scriptures, the question is decided at once. War is constantly held forth as the instrument of Divine action—sometimes as punishment, sometimes as restoration, but always as subservient to a great providential intention. A voice of more than man calls Cyrus from the sands of Persia, at once to smite the pride of Babylon, and to break the chains of the Jew. The same voice summons Alexander from the hills of Macedonia to subvert Persepolis, and be the protector of the chosen people. We have the distinct declaration from the highest of all sources, that the Roman war which closed the national existence of that unhappy but memorable people, was the direct performance of the Divine will by the instrumentality of the heathen sword.

It is true, that in later history we have not the same power of ascertaining the distinct purposes of Providence. We “see through a glass darkly,” through the dimmed medium of human knowledge, through the comparison of things imperfectly shown, and the misty conjectures of man. Yet still it is a study honourable to human intelligence, and we are sometimes enabled, even by flashes and fragments of evidence, to trace without superstition or exaggeration the ways of that great Disposer, who balances the fates of nations, and whose vigilance is as sleepless as His power is immeasurable. No man conversant with modern history can doubt, that the war of the German princes in the sixteenth century sheltered the cradle of the Reformation, until the mighty infant was enabled to quit that cradle and assume maturity; or that the war with Spain and the destruction of the Armada gave English Protestantism an embodying of strength in England, and a renown abroad, which secured it from all assault either at home or abroad; or that the wars of William III., in Ireland and on the Continent, were the virtual throwing of a shield over Protestantism in England, and extinguishing by the sword in France the power which had pledged itself to the extermination of French Protestantism; or that the French revolutionary war, however originating in the national vices, had, in its conquest of the three Capitals of Austria, Prussia, and Russia, a direct connection with the vengeance of insulted justice, and the retribution of outraged humanity on the royal spoilers of unhappy Poland.

Nothing among the phases of human affairs has been a matter of older or more frequent wonder to both the philosopher and the Christian, than the condition of the country ranging along the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. That, within the perpetual hearing, and almost within sight of the civilisation of Europe, with the sounds of its moral revolutions, progress, and discoveries in its ears, it has never exhibited an inclination to try the strength of its own frame in any of the exercises of self-government; that, with a population highly gifted by nature, acute, adroit, and even warlike, fifty-fold more numerous than the Turk; that, with the finest climate of the globe, the richest soil, the noblest historic recollections, the whole region, from Egypt to the Euphrates, should have exhibited its bravery in nothing but the exploits of banditti, its intelligence in nothing but the craft of the trafficker, and its philosophy in nothing but the submission of the slave, seems unaccountable.

Yet especially that Palestine, the land of which we can never speak the name, or remember the afflictions, or revolve the history, without homage, sorrow, and hope; that the soil, with every hill and valley and sea-shore sacred to the Christian heart, and the object of promises, on which we fully rely, yet which transcend all that earth has seen of blessing, power, and splendour,—the land of which Inspiration has pronounced: “Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended. Thy people also shall be all righteous: they shall inherit the land for ever, the branch of my planting, the work of my hands, that I may be glorified. A little one shall become a thousand, and a small one a strong nation: I the Lord will hasten it in his time” (Isaiah, lx. 20); that Palestine, towards which every man, Christian or Jew, looks, as the prophet in the days of the captivity looked in his prayer, should be still desolate; that even Jerusalem, whose very dust is dear to us, should be known as scarcely more than the haunt of obscure superstition, and the squabbles of Greek and Latin monks,—is among the most surprising facts of human annals.

We are by no means sanguine as to the effect of the war, into which Russia has provoked the Powers of Europe. It is an impulse which may pass away—a “wind which bloweth where it listeth, and we hear but the sound thereof”—a form of ambitious frenzy, starting up from the imperial couch, and, in the first moment of exhaustion, sinking back within its curtains. But, notwithstanding all those possibilities, to chide the eagerness of human anticipation, nothing is more evident than that the war has some features which distinguish it from all the wars since the fall of the Greek Empire. It is remarkable that its first quarrel was in Jerusalem, and the express contest was for the possession of the most venerated spot in Jerusalem, the Holy Sepulchre. Whether this quarrel was sincere or a pretence—whether to restore injured rights or to cover a determination of wrongs—is a matter of no moment in presence of the fact that thus began the Russian war. Another obvious fact is, that though there have been expeditions to the Levant within the century, as the march of Napoleon into Syria, and the later assaults on Acre, this is the first war, since the Crusades, which ever poured the weight of the great armies and navies of England and France on the East, which ever planted a solid step on the lands under the Mahommedan rule, which ever exhibited European strength, arts, discipline, and treasure, in their actual and distinct character, to the eye of the Mahommedan. If the European forces should be withdrawn to-morrow, there can be no doubt of their having thrown a new light on the mind of the Mahommedan world. The old generation must soon pass away, and a large portion of its prejudices must pass away with it. The new generation may respect its memory, and act as the pallbearers in its obsequies, but they will not go down into its grave. Already the Turk is becoming associated with the Englishman and the Frenchman; the English discipline of the Contingent must leave its impressions, even when the Contingent shall be broken up. The pay, the punctuality, the good order, and the gallantry of the service, cannot be forgotten; and the man will be cast into a mould, manlier and more capable of progress than any Turk, since the tribe, with the “black banner” before them, descended from the slopes of the Himalaya. The Christians of the Ottoman Empire have obtained new privileges already by this war. Measures are on foot for making their testimony available in the courts of justice. They are to have the right of bearing arms in the Ottoman service—a highly important innovation, and leading to every privilege; and there can be no doubt that the Ottoman government must acknowledge its old power of oppression to be at an end, or that any attempt at persecution or violence to its Christian subjects would be under penalty of provoking resistance from its Christian allies. All those results have their origin in the war, and those are in their nature progressive. Privilege begets privilege, and the next quarter of a century, whether in the struggles of war or the activity of peace, will place the Christians of the East in a position higher than their most sanguine speculation could have contemplated before the war on the Euxine.

Views of this order give additional value to that interesting subject, the character of the Christian Church in the East. It becomes important to know how far that Church is capable of assisting the progress, aiding the energies, or even conforming to the character of a people on the eve of renovation; whether it is to continue the swamp that it has been for the four centuries since the capture of Constantinople, or to be the fount flowing with the waters of national life; whether it is to be regarded as a monument of dreary ceremonial, encumbering the soil with its weight, and of doctrines incompatible with the gospel, or as only waiting to be freed from the barbarian accumulations of antiquity, to show the world an architecture worthy of its apostolic founders, and fit for the reception of enlightened mankind.

The Greek Church has, beyond all question, high claims to the consideration of Christendom as the mother of all the churches,—founded by the Apostles, governed by the last of the Apostles,—the Church of the first Christian empire, and for the first four centuries exhibiting the most illustrious examples of virtue and ability, of patience under trial, and of piety in the propagation of the faith. In the Church of proconsular Asia was the arena in which the strength of revelation was first tried against all the power of imperial heathenism, the severer combats than against the lions of Numidia. To that province was sent the message to the “Angels of the Seven Churches;” in its neighbouring Byzantium was erected the central Church, the spiritual sun, which spread its light through the East and West, through the shores and forests of the North, and through the mountains and wildernesses of the South,—the Church which, resisting the image-worship of the Western nations, and the mysterious mythology of the East, continued for fifteen hundred years the Ark of Christianity.

The subject has been frequently touched on in the rapid publications of our time, but with an inaccuracy of detail, and an obscurity of view, which fully justifies the attempt to rectify the one, and to clear up the other.

From the fourth century, the subtle spirit of the Greeks began to exercise itself in those questions of Scripture, which, being confessedly above the range of the human faculties, are to be received on the authority of Scripture alone, as the objects of faith, and not of experience. The Arian, Nestorian, and Eutychian heresies began to disturb the world. The great Council of Nice (A.D. 325), an assemblage of 318 bishops, declared the voice of the Church against the doctrine of Arius; yet the heresy continued for some ages to distract the empire. When these disputes had worn themselves out, another source of disturbance exhibited itself in the Civil claims of the rival Sees of Rome and Constantinople. The Bishop of Rome demanded the Supremacy for the sitter in the ancient capital of empire; the Bishop of Constantinople demanded it for the sitter in the capital of the actual empire. But the contest was unequal. The Bishop of the West had no imperial figure to thwart his authority; the Bishop of the East stood directly under the shadow of the imperial figure. The former was the lord of the faith to the half-civilised and superstitious millions of the barbarian settlers in Europe; the latter was surrounded with as many heresies as episcopates, with keen inquiries and doubtful fidelity, with philosophy envenomed into scepticism, and with four Patriarchs, sometimes denying his doctrine, and always envying his authority.

The contest continued through two centuries, treated by the warlike emperors with contempt, and regarded by the feeble emperors with alarm. At length it was decided by Justinian, one of those characters who form epochs in history. It is only by such epochs that we can mark the progress of those unvarying years and casual trains of events which form the stream of Time. Remote history is like the remote landscape; we judge of the country only by its mountain-tops. History has done but narrow justice to this restorer of the Roman empire. It has measured his imperial strength on the scale of his personal weakness; but the true estimate of the governor of kingdoms is by what he has done on the throne. Monarchs are actors, with their kingdom for a stage, and the world for their audience. When they throw off the royal robe and the buskin, they are but men; but who has a right to follow them behind the scenes? In the reign of Justinian was reunited the dislocated empire. Italy and Northern Africa were conjoined. The barbarian kingdoms of Europe were reduced into submission, the celebrated Code was established which formed the body of law to Europe for nearly ten centuries, and which exists as the civil law to this day. The noblest temple of Europe (until the sixteenth century), the Santa Sophia, was built by him, and he held the sceptre with undiminished authority to the end of a reign of thirty-nine years, and a life of eighty-three!

The sole imperial weakness of Justinian was his theology; he loved to mingle in the turbid discussions of the time. In one of those discussions, to conciliate the verdict of the Roman bishop, he conferred on him the title of “Head of the Universal Church,”—a title which no man could be guiltless in either bestowing or accepting, the title belonging to Him alone who earned it on Calvary; the bestowal was a usurpation, and the adoption a crime. From this transaction, and from the year 533, the Papacy dates its assumed supremacy over the Universal Church.

The separation of the Greek and the Latin Churches was near at hand. In the seventh century Rome had adopted image-worship. In the eighth century the Emperor Leo proclaimed it an abomination, and ordered that all images should be taken from the altars. The Pope (Gregory II.) answered the command by a challenge. His answer was an Anathema. “You accuse,” said his letter, “the Catholics of idolatry: in this you betray your own impiety. You assault us, tyrant, with a carnal and military hand; we can only implore Christ that he will send you a devil for the destruction of your body and the salvation of your soul. Are you ignorant that the Popes are the bands of union, the mediators of peace between the East and the West? The eyes of the nations are fixed on our humility, and they revere as a God on earth the Apostle St Peter, whose image you threaten to destroy. The remote kingdoms of the earth present their homage to Christ and His viceregent.” A war followed; Gregory sent out his “pastoral letters” through the West. The imperial troops were beaten in Italy by the peasant insurrection. A battle was fought on the banks of the Po, with such slaughter of the Greeks, that for a succession of years the people refused to eat of the fish. Rome was broken off from the empire. The imperial sovereignty of the West was at an end, after a dominion of seven centuries; and image-worship was established as the religion of the Popedom.

The schism of the churches was now begun. But the question had changed from doctrine, which the growing ignorance of the age was unable to discuss, to jurisdiction, a discussion which at once excited the ambition and fed the animosity of a time of darkness. The bitterness of the contest was increased in the ninth century by the elevation of Photius to the see of Constantinople.

This remarkable man was the solitary light of his age in the East. He was a layman, who had passed through the highest offices of the State, and a scholar who has left the monument of his scholarship to posterity in his celebrated Bibliotheca. To place him in the bishopric, the emperor deposed its former possessor, who appealed to Rome. The pope ordered his restoration; the emperor repeated his refusal.

It would be as idle to trace, as it would be difficult to disentangle, the perplexities of a quarrel which continued for centuries. But the consummation was now at hand. The Pope (Leo IX.), and the Patriarch, Cerularius, had excommunicated each other. A conference of pretended conciliation was held in Constantinople with the papal legates. It ended in new claims, met by new resistance: the legates, at last, went solemnly to the church of Santa Sophia, publicly read the letters of excommunication, placed the document of anathema on the high altar, and then departed from Constantinople! Thus in 1054 was completed the Schism, which had been commenced in arrogant ambition, and continued in priestly rancour; which had scandalised Christendom, and libelled Christianity; and which, in Asia, was punished by the conquests and conversions of Mahommedanism, and in Europe by the increased power, the darker superstition, and the sterner severities of Rome.

From this period we may state the doctrines and practices of the Greek Church, as an independent community.

The doctrine of the Holy Trinity is established. But the Holy Spirit is assumed to proceed from the Father only; in this point differing from the Popish and the Protestant Churches. This difference was the subject of long controversy between the East and the West, but, with the usual fate of ancient disputation, leaving both parties more confident in their own opinions.

On the doctrine of Redemption, its language is that of Scripture; Christ is acknowledged to be the Regenerator of our fallen nature. Justification by Faith includes the works which prove the sincerity of the faith, without which “faith is dead.”

Regeneration is regarded as essential, but this Church admits of no Indulgences; on this point differing totally from the practices of Rome.

The Church acknowledges no purgatory. But it holds an “intermediate state of the departed;” the spirits of the wicked remaining in a place of sorrow and comparative suffering, and those of the virtuous in a place of rest and comparative happiness; and both thus remaining until the Resurrection. But it admits “prayer for the dead;” not for the redemption of the spirit from a place of purification or partial penalty, but from a consideration of the Divine mercy. In those doctrines it makes some approach to Protestantism, though in praying for the dead it obviously goes beyond the only authority to which we can look for the condition of man after death—namely, Scripture.

In its ritual, the Church more nearly approaches Rome. It acknowledges as Sacraments, Marriage, Confirmation, Extreme Unction, Ordination, and Penance, in addition to Baptism and the Lord’s Supper.

Baptism is administered by trine immersion.

Infants are baptised on the eighth day.

Chrism, or anointing with holy oil, which is regarded as confirmation, is administered soon after baptism.

The Lord’s Supper is administered under both forms, the bread and the wine, to both priest and laity. But the Church holds transubstantiation, or, in the words of the Confession, “when the priest consecrates the elements, the very substance of the bread and wine is transformed into the substance of the true body and blood of Christ.”

The ceremonial of the consecration is worth remarking, as it seems to have been taken in some degree as the model for the modern innovations in the English Ritual. The elements are first carried round the church on the head of the deacon; then the priest prays that the Almighty may convert them into the substance of the body and blood. He then prays to the Holy Spirit for His gift. He then prays to Jesus Christ, as sitting on the right hand of the Father, and yet invisibly present, to impart to the receivers “His immaculate body and precious blood.” Still, there are some distinctions in the Eastern and Western practice. The same degree of worship is not offered to the Host as in the Romish Church. It is not carried in procession, nor is it offered to public adoration, nor is there any festival in its honour. It is carried to the sick, but the priests do not prostrate themselves before it. All this ceremonial the Eastern Church pretends to justify on the ground of antiquity, where it was not to be found in the purest and most primitive centuries. The Protestant looks to the original solemnisation, and takes his practice from Scripture. What common sense can believe that Jesus of Nazareth gave His actual body to be eaten before His eyes, or that the Apostles, while at supper, believed that they were eating flesh and drinking blood, and this without a sign of repulsion and reluctance, or without even a remonstrance or an inquiry? The words, “This do in remembrance of me,” are a sufficient declaration that neither His flesh nor His blood was to remain on earth; for remembrance implied departure. And that the remembrance was the express purpose, is distinctly declared in the words, “As oft as ye eat this bread and drink this cup, ye do show the Lord’s death till He come;”—thus extinguishing at once transubstantiation, and the more diluted doctrine of the “Real presence.” St Paul (A.D. 59) describes the Sacrament as still the bread and the cup (1st Corinthians, xi. 26), the popular dishonour of which would involve dishonour to the body and blood of which they were the representatives. And he further states, that when the “Real presence” shall have come, the representation shall pass away; as in the instance of the Jewish sacrifices, which represented the offering of Christ, but when the real offering was come, the representation naturally passed away, the Temple was overthrown, and sacrifice was no more. And this was the language of the great Apostle of the Gentiles upwards of a quarter of a century after the Crucifixion. If St Paul believed in Transubstantiation, it is impossible to doubt that he would have scrupulously avoided any mention of the “bread and the cup,” particularly on an occasion when he was warning the dissolute and disputatious Corinthians of the danger of disrespect to the Sacrament.

The Greek Church holds the doctrine of Penance, Absolution by the priest, and Auricular Confession, as a consequence of the doctrine of Absolution, “the priest not knowing what to absolve until he knows the state of the penitent.” Absolution and Confession are held to be of the highest importance, and of the most general application. They have been termed “the axle on which the globe of ecclesiastical polity turns;” and beyond question they have been the most extensive sources of power and revenue to both the Greek faith and the Roman.

The Ritual of the Eastern Church is even more laborious than that of the Roman, both churches in this point straying from the simplicity of Scripture. The elaborate ritual of the Jewish dispensation was for a Divine purpose—the separation of the people from Heathenism; but when that purpose ceased with the cessation of the national privileges and the coming of Christianity, ceremonial perished, as being unnecessary to a religion whose laws were to be “written in the heart,” and as inconsistent with the nature of a religion which was yet to be universal. Christ came to redeem mankind, not only from the yoke of sin, but the yoke of ceremonial. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden,” was the language, not merely of help to human nature, but of relief from the weight of ordinances. Christianity has no ceremonial, and but two rites, Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. It has forms, for forms are essential to order, but it prescribes no system of worship, no locality, and no labour of devotion.

The Greek Church abounds in Fastings, and those of the severest order. Besides the Lent of the Western Church, it has three seasons of public abstinence within the year—one from St Whitsuntide to St Peter’s Day, one from the 6th to the 15th of August, and one during the forty days before Christmas. In the monasteries, to this number is superadded one for the first fourteen days of September, in honour of the “Exaltation of the Holy Cross;” and those unnatural and unnecessary abstinences are practised, in general, with extreme severity, even to the rejection of all fish. On the other hand, the festivals of their saints are literally feasts; thus producing, in the one instance, hazard to health, and in the other, hazard to morals. These feasts, however, and their attendant levities, have the presumed character of religion; and the saint of the day is especially invoked as an intercessor, equally in contradiction to common sense and the Gospel,—the first telling us the folly of appealing to beings of whom we cannot possibly know whether they can hear or answer prayer, and the second, declaring that there is but one intercessor between God and man, Jesus Christ.

Image-worship is held in abhorrence by the Eastern Church, yet it pays the same species of adoration to pictures; on the idea, that while images represent the inventions of man, pictures represent some real existence; or that, in the words of St Paul, “An idol is nothing in the world” (1st Corinthians, viii. 4), while a picture is the adumbration of some true transaction,—as the existence of Christ, the Virgin Mary, the saints, &c. But, for the purpose of preserving their devotion as pure as possible, they make those pictures generally the most unattractive possible. With the higher orders the picture may serve only as a stimulant to devotion, but, with the peasantry, the adoration is probably complete.

The Greek priests of the higher order generally exhibit a reluctance to acknowledge the reality of this worship, this “pinakolatria,” if we must coin a word for it. They acknowledge the popular homage, but excuse it on the ground of respect for memorable names; as in common life we preserve the pictures of memorable persons, and value those of our departed friends. But the Eastern homage goes wholly beyond this grateful observance. We do not make genuflections to the pictures of our great men, nor pray to those of our friends, nor send those pictures to assist women in the sufferings of childbirth, nor place them on the beds of the dying, nor believe them to work miracles.

In fact, this worship of resemblances, whether pictures or images, is one of the most general, and yet most improbable, delusions in the world. To imagine that the statue which we carve, or the picture which we paint, the actual work of our hands, is gifted with powers above the man who has made it; or can have a holiness which he has not, or faculties of which he is unconscious, or a spirit which he can approach only with homage,—is an absurdity which tasks the utmost credulity of man. Or if he be willing to try the effect of this contempt, he may fling the statue from its pedestal, or take down the picture from its shrine, with the most perfect impunity. And yet, what millions have worshipped the statue and the picture, and worship them still!

In the first ages of Christianity, worship was exclusively given to the God of the Gospel; the objects of heathen adoration were an abhorrence, and the ceremonial of the temples a theme of perpetual scorn. At length, however, the influence of heathenism returned; Christian corruption adopted its emblems, and the images of Christ and the Virgin were surrounded by the sicklier devotees or more fanatical formalists of the Church. Then came miracles. The perils of the Greek Empire required supernatural protectors; and the Greek, unused to arms, and trembling at Saracen invasion, gladly committed the hazardous trust of defending his battlements to the saint in his hands. The city of Edessa was thus saved! by the sight of a napkin, marked with the face of Jesus. These cheap defences finally failed, and Mahomet was lord of the Empire; but the passion for the picture still lived among the serfs of the Caliph; and while Europe, looking on the remote danger with secure contempt, multiplied her idols, Greece, under her Arab scourge, cherished her pictures as the source of her consolation.

The chief treasure of her mythology, the Veron Eikon, or true resemblance, was a picture of our Lord, supposed to bear His impression from having wiped His face on Calvary. This He gave to a woman, who gave it to the Emperor Tiberius, whom it cured of the gout! But as the napkin was triple-folded, it carried three impressions, which were impartially divided among the faithful; one being sent to Constantinople, another to Paris, and the third being already in the hands of that rather hazardous guardian of relics, Tiberius. The Veron Eikon has seen a great deal of service since, and its last exploit was its attempt to rout the French column advancing to Rome in 1796, an attempt in which it unhappily failed. Such is the history of the most authentic, renowned, and sacred relic of the Greek and Popish world. The historian^[13] gives the hymn of Byzantium to the Veronica (for they changed it into a female, and the female into a saint) in the sixth century. “How can we with mortal eyes contemplate this image, whose celestial splendour the host of heaven presumes not to behold? He who dwells in heaven condescends this day to visit us by His venerable image. He who is seated on the Cherubim visits us this day by a picture; which the Father has delineated with His immaculate hand, which He has formed in an ineffable manner, and which we sanctify by adoring it with faith and love.” Such is idolatry everywhere at this hour!

The “sign of the Cross” is universal, and almost perpetual. The Cross itself is frequently addressed in prayer, and in language applicable only to the Divine Being. A quotation from Stourdza, a man of intelligence and learning, in his defence of the Greek Church, will show to what an extent this mysticism can be carried.

“The Cross is the representative of the structure of man. It seems to have been formed expressly for man, and its punishment explicitly to serve as the emblem of his misery and his grandeur. Standing erect, looking down on all surrounding things, the arms extended as if to embrace the immense space of which it appears the King; the feet fixed in this valley of tears, the brow crowned with thorns, signs of the cares which surround man even to the tomb. Behold the Man! Ecce homo—behold the adorable attitude of the God-man upon the earth. The more we contemplate, the more we must feel that it is only by the punishment of the Cross that Jesus Christ could express in Himself all the woes and all the transgressions of man, expiate them, ransom them, and exhibit collectively the human race under one form alone.”

The use of tapers and torches in daylight services is defended, not on the Popish principle of emblematising the Holy Spirit, but on the more plausible ground of imitating the primitive ages, when the Christians met only before daylight and in caverns. Both are equally presumptuous, as unauthorised by Scripture; and both equally profane, as palpably adopted from heathenism.

The services of the Greek Church are wearisomely long; they are in Hellenic, and therefore almost wholly unintelligible to the people, and they are intolerably laborious to the priest; the whole body of the services occupying twenty folio volumes, with an additional volume of directions!—a study to which the time of the priest is almost wholly confined, not for its knowledge, but for its manipulation; the selection of the services appropriate to the day, which change every day, and even in the course of the day. The Liturgy, so called, is limited to a small portion of those labours, namely, the Communion.

Ambition in a priesthood and ignorance in a people always produce superstition; the priest eager to extend his authority, and the people unable to detect the imposture. The natural results are, the Legend and the pretended Miracle. These practices in the Greek Church take a colouring from the picturesque region and the romantic fancy of the people. Every island, and perhaps every hill and valley, has its sacred spot, to which the population approach in long processions on any remarkable public circumstance, whether of Nature or the Calendar. To appease an epidemic, to still an earthquake, to make the skies propitious after a drought, or to call down the peculiar aid of the Virgin, who usurps, in the Greek mind, the whole power of intercession, and thus effectively possesses the sceptre of Omnipotence, summons the multitude in all their pageantry.

The services of the Church being performed in a tongue comparatively obsolete, and being recited by the priest habitually in a tone of mystery, which renders them scarcely audible, if they were understood, leave the people in almost total ignorance of their meaning, and of course indifferent to all but the forms of devotion. Like the priest of Rome, the Greek priest is the presumed mediator, not the leader of the popular devotion; his prayers are for, not with, the people. Thus his performance of the service is supposed to answer its purpose, whether audible or whispered. One portion of his duty, however, addresses itself to the general ear,—the reading of the “Lives of the Saints,” entitled “The Tablet of the United Worthies,” a record of 365 lives; all equal to gorge the most ravenous credulity. Greece, once the land of invention, is now the land of imposture; the original talent of the soil is now exhausted on dreary fiction. Still believing in magic, charms, the influence of dreams, and the inspiration of the “genius loci,” they are prepared to welcome every folly of fanaticism, and submit to every artifice of superstition.

The four Patriarchs, of Constantinople, Jerusalem, Antioch, and Alexandria, are the religious rulers of the Greek Church; the three latter being, in a certain degree, subordinate to the Patriarch of Constantinople, without whose consent nothing of general importance can be effected. This Patriarch is elected by the votes of the neighbouring bishops; but he must be presented to the Sultan for institution; and as nothing is done in Turkey without a present, the fee on this occasion amounts to 20,000 or 30,000 dollars, the Sultan still retaining the power of deposition, banishment, or even of death. The Patriarch possesses the considerable privilege of naming his brother patriarchs, but the rescript of the Sultan is still necessary for their confirmation, and even to that of every bishop who may be appointed by the Patriarch. Thus the Greek Church exhibits none of the “supremacy” of the Roman. It has since the reign of Constantine claimed no “temporal sovereignty,” and it has thus in some measure been freed from the intrigues, violences, and crimes, which form so large a part of the history of priestly ambition.

Another important prevention of those evils was the marriage of the parochial priesthood. In the earlier periods of this Church, marriage was commanded to the priest, and was considered so necessary to his office that on the death of his wife he must give up his parish. Even now, notwithstanding the example of Rome, the secular clergy are permitted to marry, though only once. The regular clergy (monks) are not permitted to marry, on the absurd principle that their lives are an offering for the popular sins, and that celibacy belongs to holiness. The marriage of the priesthood had the natural effect of rendering them loyal, by the connection of their children with the country, of preventing the irregularities to which constrained celibacy inevitably gives rise, and of preventing that ambition for the influence of their class which naturally exhibits itself in great bodies who have no tie but to the head of their order. Constrained celibacy is, in fact, a conspiracy against human nature, which always transpires in a conspiracy against human Allegiance.

Monasticism forms a prominent feature of the system. The Greek convents are numerous, powerful, and in some instances opulent. Their inhabitants are divided into Caloyers (monks) and lay brethren. The lives of the former are comparatively indolent; of the latter, comparatively laborious. But the Caloyer has his peculiar round of irksome occupations. Matins begin at four in the morning, and last until dawn. The performance of the Liturgy is followed by reciting the life of some saint, and that is followed again by nine hymns, six of which are to the Virgin, and three to the saint of the day. In Lent, his task is wearisome: he must go through the whole Psalter every day, and perform the Metania, which consists in kissing the ground three hundred times in the twenty-four hours. To this employment four hours of the night, of which two are immediately after midnight, are devoted. How any human understanding can conceive that this drudgery is connected with virtue, is productive of good to man, or is acceptable to his Creator, must be left to the reveries of the monk, and the recorded absurdities of human nature.

The lay brothers are the farmers, the shepherds, the tillers, and the traders of the convent. They are industrious, and so far they remove the stigma from the general uselessness of conventual life. Some of those communities are largely endowed. The monks of the well-known brotherhood of Mount Athos have twenty convents, and possess extensive lands. Their Turkish taxation is generally moderate, and indolence never had an easier form than in the shape of the Caloyer.

The state of the Russian Church would lead us too far into inquiry; but it has a history of its own, some remarkable peculiarities, and some prospects well worthy of examination. Those who feel an interest in the subject may be referred to Stourdza, Considerations sur la Doctrine, to King On the Russian Church, and to the brief but exact Treatise on the Greek Church by the present learned Dean of Durham. The subject may well interest us, when it involves the religious welfare of the millions inhabiting the Eastern provinces of Europe, the Danubian provinces, the length of Asia Minor, a portion of Syria, Assyria, and Africa, and the sixty millions of Russia—an immense extent of human existence, which a few years may open to a purer faith, and which is already qualifying, by the effects of knowledge, suffering, and war, for the Gospel.

NICARAGUA AND THE FILIBUSTERS.

It is a fixed idea with the American people, that in due course of time they are to have the control of all the North American continent, and of the Island of Cuba; they consider this their “manifest destiny,” and any movement in that direction is looked on by them as a matter of course, and deserving of encouragement.

The popular name for the agency by which such a state of things is to be brought about is “filibusterism.” The word “filibuster” is a French and Spanish corruption of the English word freebooter, an appellation which, in former days, from its being frequently assumed by a certain class of men, who disliked the harsher name of pirate, became familiar to the inhabitants of the West India Islands and Central America; but as filibusterism is now used, it expresses the action of the American people, or a portion of the people, in the acquisition of territory which does not belong to them, unrestrained by the responsibilities of the American Government.

The sovereign people of the United States, and the United States Government, are two distinct bodies, influenced by different motives. The Government is obliged to maintain the appearance of keeping faith with other friendly powers, but at the same time is so anxious to gain popularity at home, that it does not take really effectual measures to check any popular movement, however illegal it may be, if favoured by the majority of the people.

The manner in which the State of Nicaragua has been reduced, or, it should rather be said, raised to her present position, by being occupied and governed by a large body of Americans, affords an instance of the truth of this statement.

For the last two years the American and English Governments have been exchanging diplomatic letters, arguing at great length on the abstract meaning of certain words of a treaty, by which either power was equally bound not to occupy, fortify, colonise, or take possession of, any part of Central America. In the mean time a party of American citizens, under command of a certain Colonel Walker, have virtually taken possession of, and do now govern the State of Nicaragua, one of the States specially mentioned in the treaty. When they first landed in Nicaragua, not ten months ago, they numbered only fifty-six men; but in as far as they had the good-will of the majority of the American people, they represented the nation as truly as General Pierce and his Cabinet. Colonel Walker was merely the practical exponent of a popular theory, and his success has been so rapid and decisive, and such is the position he now holds in Nicaragua, strengthened by daily accessions to his force from California and from the United States, that the Americanisation of Nicaragua may be almost considered an established fact.

Should the Americans in that country be able to maintain their position, of which, at present, there seems to be every probability, the successful filibustering of Nicaragua will be but the beginning; the end will be the occupation, by Americans, of all the Central American States, and, in due course of time, of Mexico and Cuba.

In order to show why the filibustering energies of the Americans have been specially directed to Nicaragua, and how it is that so small a party of them have so quickly got control of that State, and also to appreciate fully the position which their leaders occupy as members of the newly-formed government, it is necessary to give some information on the political condition of the country, and on recent events there, which the writer, while a resident in the country during the greater part of the revolution, had good opportunity of acquiring.

On the discovery of gold in California in 1848, when there was such a rush of gold-hunters to that land of promise both from the Old and the New World, the route generally followed was that by Panama, as the most expeditious—lines of steamers being established by American companies from New York and New Orleans to Chagres, and from Panama to San Francisco.

The supply of steamers, however, was never sufficient for the accommodation of the crowds of eager emigrants; the profits of the steamship companies were enormous, and American enterprise was not long in discovering and opening a new, and in many respects superior, route to the golden regions of the Pacific.

The new route lay through the State of Nicaragua, one of the five States into which the Central American Confederation was dissolved in the year 1831.

It was to the advantages offered by its geographical position that Nicaragua owed its distinction. The Lake of Nicaragua, a splendid sheet of water ninety miles long by about fifty broad, lies within the State. Its most western extremity is only twelve miles from the Pacific, and at its eastern extremity about one hundred and fifty miles from the Atlantic: it empties itself into that ocean through the river San Juan, which is navigable all the distance for small vessels, and forms at its mouth the harbour of Greytown or San Juan del Norte. An inter-oceanic canal was first talked of, but it was found that it would take all the gold in California to construct it; so that idea was for the time abandoned, and a New York company, styled the Accessory Transit Company of Nicaragua, got a charter from the State, granting them for considerations the exclusive privilege of steam-navigation of the river San Juan, and of the Lake Nicaragua, for a period of ninety-nine years.

Steamboats of various capacities, to suit the navigation of the river and of the lake, were sent out—a road over the twelve miles of land, between the lake and the harbour of San Juan del Sur on the Pacific, was commenced—steamships were put on between that port and San Francisco, and between New York and Greytown, and a large share of the Californian emigration began to stream through the country.

The difficulties of the route were at first considerable, owing to the number of rapids in the River San Juan requiring boats of peculiar construction for their navigation, and from the fact of the country through which lies the road to the Pacific being a mountainous wilderness, the greater part covered by a dense tropical forest.

In the rainy season, which lasts for about five months, the road was so bad that a mule would sink to his belly at every step; the twelve miles were not unfrequently a two days’ journey, and many a poor mule, after vainly struggling to extricate himself, succumbed to his fate, and was absorbed in the mud, leaving his rider to fight his own way through, which he generally did without much trouble. Such little difficulties were not thought much of by Californian emigrants in those days.

The Company, however, soon completed the road, and so far perfected their arrangements that the passage from ocean to ocean is performed in two days.

The travel to and fro between California and the Atlantic States is not confined to any particular class of the community. Capitalists, merchants, professional men, mechanics, labourers,—in fact, people of all classes, are constantly going and coming. For the last five years an average of two thousand Americans per month have passed to and fro by this route, and, during the few days occupied in transit, have had ample time to admire and covet the splendid country through which they passed, to look with utter contempt on the natives, and to speculate on what a country it would be if it were only under the Stars and Stripes.

The country, its climate, its advantages, resources, and social and political condition, have thus been gradually made familiar to a constantly increasing proportion of the people of the United States and of California.

It is in natural consequence of all this, and of the apparent hopelessness of immediate success in Cuba, that the attention of the filibustering portion of the American community has been gradually directed to the State of Nicaragua, and the late civil war in that country offered too favourable an opportunity to be lost for making a beginning in furtherance of the cherished idea.

The constitution of Nicaragua, like that of all the Spanish-American States, is republican—that is to say, in name; in effect it approaches more nearly to a despotism, a mode of government much better adapted to a people the majority of whom are quite incompetent to form any idea on the subject of self-government.

Since the dissolution of the Central American Confederation the country has been in a constant state of revolution. Two years is about the longest period of peace which has intervened. The people are wantonly destructive and cruel in their civil warfare; and having been so actively employed for nearly twenty years in cutting each other’s throats, battering down each other’s cities, spending their money in gunpowder, and ruining all producing interests by taking the labourers from the field to serve as soldiers, they had managed to reduce themselves and their country to such a wretched state of misery, that it really appeared to be the duty of some civilised nation to step in and keep them all in order.

In passing through the country, one cannot but be struck with the ruin and desolation everywhere apparent, and with the remains of bygone wealth and grandeur, but little in accordance with the poverty and listless indolence in which the inhabitants are now contented to live.

Their cities are half in ruins, and the churches, which, in their mode of warfare, they use as fortresses, have come in for their full share of destruction. Those which remain are peppered all over with cannon balls. The ruins on the old indigo and cotton estates give one an idea of the different way in which the people once employed themselves; but now, in a country capable of producing in the greatest abundance indigo, cotton, sugar, rice, coffee, tobacco, and nearly every other tropical production, little else is to be seen but plantains and Indian corn, the two great staple articles of food. The tobacco grown in the country is good; the people, men, women, and children, are inveterate smokers, but they do not even raise sufficient tobacco for their own consumption. The “cacao,” or chocolate, raised in the neighbourhood of the town of Rivas, is the finest in the world: it is a national beverage, and the greater part of the crop is consumed in the country; a small quantity is exported to the neighbouring States; but with the exception of a few bullock hides and deerskins, which are sent to New York, the country cannot be said to have any exports.

The climate generally is by no means unhealthy. It varies very much throughout the State, being in some parts much tempered by a constant breeze off the lake, while in the high lands of Segovia and Matagalpa, the temperature is so moderate that most of the grains and fruits of the north can be raised in great perfection.

The rainy season commences about the end of July, and continues till November or December. During this season it rains in torrents for days at a time, and the roads become almost impassable. The most sickly periods of the year are the beginning and the end of this season; fever and ague are then very prevalent, but the natives suffer more than foreigners, chiefly owing to the wretched way in which they live, the habitations of the lower orders affording generally but poor protection against the weather.

In the mountains of the district of Matagalpa, which form part of the great range which traverses all the North American continent, are mines of gold and silver. They have hitherto only been worked by the Indians in a very rude manner, but sufficient has been done to prove that they are rich: if scientifically worked, they will no doubt prove very productive.

The forests abound in rosewood, mahogany, and other beautiful woods, and throughout the State many valuable medicinal gums and plants are found.

The scenery is varied and very beautiful; at certain seasons the trees are completely covered with flowers, and the forests are a confused mass of luxuriant vegetation.

There are several volcanic mountains in the country, all of great similarity of appearance: the finest is Ometepe, which rises out of the lake, in the shape of a perfect cone, to the height of many thousand feet.

The people are very deficient in ambition and energy, and have a very decided objection to labour. As long as a man has sufficient to supply his immediate wants, he cannot be induced to work, but will devote himself to the passive enjoyment of swinging in his hammock, and smoking a cigar. In this way they pass the greater part of their time, as very little labour is requisite to provide plantains, beans, and Indian corn, which are the principal articles of food.

Gambling is a prevailing vice, cards and dice being chiefly played. Cockfighting, however, is the great national sport, and at this the most money is staked. The fight is never of very long duration, being generally nothing more than a flutter of wings for a moment, when one cock crows over the other lying dead at his feet, nearly cut in two by the long sharp knives with which their heels are armed.

They have celebrated breeds of chickens, on which they pride themselves, and in almost every house in the country may be seen one or more gamecocks tied by the leg in a corner. The owner is always ready to fight a cock on any occasion, but Sunday afternoon is the time generally devoted to this amusement, which is patronised by all classes.

The people possess a great deal of natural grace, and are extremely polite and formal in their manners; even the lower orders are remarkable for their gracefulness of gesture, and for their courteous phraseology.

The principal cities of Nicaragua are Granada, on the northern shore of the lake, and Leon, about a hundred and fifty miles to the north, and not far from the Pacific coast. They are both fine cities, built in the usual Spanish-American style, with narrow streets, and large houses of a single storey, covering an immense area, and built in the form of a square, the centre being an open space, generally planted with trees and flowers, and all round which is a wide open corridor. The houses are very spacious and lofty, and admirably adapted to the climate.

The population of Granada is about 15,000, that of Leon is rather more. Between the inhabitants of these two cities there has always existed a bitter feeling of jealousy and enmity, and in most of their revolutions the opposing factions have been the Granadinos against the Leoneses. So it was in the revolution which is only now terminated, and which commenced in May 1854.

The government at that time was in the hands of the Granada party. The president, the late Don Fruto Chamorro, was a man of great energy and determination, but unfortunately also of most stubborn obstinacy. He would listen to advice from no one, but blindly insisted on carrying out his own ideas. After being a little more than a year in power, and becoming more despotic every day, he issued a decree, declaring himself president for four years more than the usual term.

The Leon party of course immediately got up a revolution, of which the leaders were a few prominent men, whom Chamorro had a few months before banished from the State, on suspicion of their being engaged in a conspiracy against the government. At the head of them was Francisco Castillon, a man of superior education, and with much more liberal and enlightened views than most of his countrymen, having spent some years in England as minister for Nicaragua. The object of the revolution was to place Castillon in power, and the party professed to entertain liberal ideas, and styled themselves the Democratic Party. They commenced their operations at Realejo, a small port on the Pacific, at the northern extremity of the State, where, with a small force, they surprised the few soldiers of the garrison. They proceeded to Chinandega, a considerable town about six miles on the way to Leon. Here they met but slight resistance, the majority of the people being favourable to them; and with a large addition to their force, they marched towards Leon, distant about thirty miles, where they established their head-quarters, after fighting one battle in the neighbourhood with the government forces under Chamorro in person, who was defeated, and retired to Granada. In Leon they remained some time recruiting their forces, before venturing to attack Granada, which is the great stronghold of the government party.

The system adopted of recruiting is very simple indeed. A few soldiers with fixed bayonets are sent out to bring in fresh men, or, to use their own expressive term, to “catch” men. When the unfortunate recruit is “caught,” a musket is put in his hands, and he becomes a soldier. Soldiering is by no means a popular occupation: during a revolution, at the approach of forces of either party, the peace-loving natives, in order to escape being “caught,” and forced into the service, will remain hidden in the woods till they are nearly starved. The lower orders take but little interest in the revolutions, or in politics, and from troops raised in this way, of course very valorous deeds are not to be expected. They generally desert on the first opportunity; but, if they do not take their muskets with them, it is of little consequence, as other men are soon caught, and made to carry them. Sometimes, however, men become scarce, the able-bodied having emigrated to some more peaceful locality; in such a case one-half of a garrison is placed to keep guard over the other half, to prevent their running away.

There is consequently no mutual feeling of confidence between officers and men. During impending danger of an attack, the officers will keep their horses saddled all night, and sleep with their spurs on, ready to cut and run at a moment’s notice, and leave their men to take care of themselves. The men, in their turn, when led into battle, will turn round and desert their officers at the most critical moment. There are exceptions, of course; and during the late revolution, many, both officers and men, fought well and bravely; none more so than the late President Chamorro.

While the Democrats were recruiting in Leon, Chamorro was busy collecting his forces in Granada, and preparing to stand a siege.

In all these Spanish towns is a large public square called the Plaza, in which are generally the principal church, the barracks, and other public buildings. The Plaza, in case of war, becomes the citadel, the streets leading into it being all barricaded, and cannon planted so as to command the approaches. Chamorro enclosed within his barricades the Plaza, and a considerable portion of the city immediately surrounding it. The streets being narrow, barricades were soon made of logs of wood and “adobes,” a sort of sun-dried bricks, of which the houses are built.

Double and triple barricades of this sort, eight or ten feet high, presented a very effectual resistance to anything which the enemy had to bring against them. The Democrats soon made their appearance, and taking possession of all that part of the city not enclosed in the barricades, they fixed their head-quarters in an elevated situation, from which they could pop their cannon balls into any part of the Plaza.

Neither party were well provided with artillery. They had each three or four guns, twelve and twenty-four pounders, with which they blazed away at each other for nearly a year, and between them managed to lay about three-fourths of the city in ruins.

The city was never completely invested, and occasional skrimmages between small parties of the opposing forces took place outside the town, but nothing worthy the name of an assault was ever attempted. The Democrats soon became masters of the entire country, with the exception of the besieged portion of the city of Granada occupied by Chamorro and his party, the Legitimists, as they called themselves.

When a small detachment of the Democratic army marched upon Rivas, the only town of importance in the part of the country through which the Transit road passes, the inhabitants, being mostly in favour of the Chamorro government, fled en masse, taking with them all their valuables and movable property, to the neighbouring state of Costa Rica, the frontier of which is within twenty miles.

The few who had the courage to remain were not molested, but the Democrats appropriated to their own use as barracks, &c., whatever private houses suited their convenience, and commenced levying contributions on the inhabitants; but as they had fled, and were not present to respond to the call, their property was advertised for sale, their stores broken open, their goods sold, and sundry other forcible measures taken to raise funds.

The mode of financing in time of revolution is equally simple with that of recruiting.

When a contribution, as they call it, is levied on a town, the principal inhabitants are assessed arbitrarily by the officers in command for as much as each is supposed to be able to pay. The unfortunate victims have then to fork out the dollars; there is no help for them. If they refuse, or plead poverty, they are perhaps imprisoned and kept on low diet: a few days of this treatment has a wonderful effect on the memory, and frequently enables a man to remember where he has buried his cash, or to discover some means of raising the needful, to be handed over for the support of the party, to which probably he may be opposed. When his own party come in to power again, they will make him disgorge to double the amount by way of punishment. For these forced loans he may get some sort of debenture, worth about as much as the paper it is written on. In such times the people are afraid to let it be supposed that they have any money at all; they feign poverty, burying their money secretly, and the houses of foreign residents are lumbered up with all sorts of chests and boxes, sent there stealthily by the unfortunate natives, in order to keep them safe from the rapacity of their countrymen.

The Democrats from the first were eager to obtain the good-will of the American residents; and as they professed to be fighting in the cause of liberty and progress, against tyranny and old-fogeyism, they succeeded in enlisting a dozen or so of Americans in San Juan del Sur and Virgin Bay. The latter place is a small village on the lake, where the passengers by the Transit route embark on the steamers. They paid these men about a hundred dollars per month, gave them commissions as colonels and captains, and sent them to Granada to pepper the Chamorro party with their rifles.

With the aid of some Americans, they also took possession of San Carlos, which is an old fort situated at the point where the lake debouches into the river San Juan. It is a position of great importance, as it commands the entrance into the lake, by which is the only communication between the interior of the country and the Atlantic. They also occupied an old Spanish fort about fifty miles down the river, called Castillo, where there are a few hotels kept by Americans for the accommodation of passengers by the Transit route.

In Leon, the head-quarters of the Democrats, they proclaimed their government, declaring Castillon president. They appointed all the necessary government functionaries throughout the State, and in fact were the virtual government of the country.

The Legitimists remained in a state of siege in Granada, and would have had to surrender for want of ammunition, had they not succeeded in retaking San Carlos from the Democrats, and thereby opening their communication with the Atlantic; they then procured a large supply of powder and shot from Jamaica.

During the siege the besieging army of Democrats numbered about fifteen hundred, while the Legitimists did not number more than a thousand.

The Democrats were assisted by the state of Honduras to the extent of two hundred men; and the Legitimists were long in negotiation with the government of Guatemala, which was favourable to their cause, but they did not succeed in getting any material aid from that State.

After ten months’ vain endeavour to take the Plaza of Granada, the Democrats, last February, broke up their camp, and retired to Leon. At a town called Masaya, about half-way from Granada, they were overtaken and attacked by the opposite party. A bloody fight ensued—the thickest of it took place in the church, in which some three hundred men were killed.

The Granada party now regained possession of the southern part of the State, while the Democrats continued to hold Leon and all the northern portion.

During the time that the Transit route had been held by the Democrats, they had been most active in their endeavours to enlist Americans in their cause. Cash was scarce, but their offers of lands to those who would join them were very liberal; and it soon became known, both in Nicaragua and in California, that a negotiation had been concluded between Colonel Walker in San Francisco, through his agent in Nicaragua, and the Democratic government, whereby large tracts of land were granted to him, and other privileges guaranteed to him, on condition of his coming down with a certain number of men to serve in the Democratic army.

This Colonel Walker had already distinguished himself as the most daring filibuster of the day. In the month of October 1853, he was the leader of an expedition which sailed from San Francisco, with the intention of taking possession of Sonora, a northern state of Mexico, adjoining California. He landed at a small place on the coast, with some fifty or sixty men, where he met but little resistance. He proclaimed himself president, and appointed each one of his party to some high office of state. He very soon, however, had to evacuate the premises, and escaped to California, with but a small portion of his original band; and on his arrival in San Francisco, was tried for a violation of the neutrality laws: he conducted his own defence, and of course was acquitted. The people of California are not disposed to judge very harshly of such an enterprise, and from the larger portion of the community he met with more sympathy than condemnation.

It was so publicly known in San Francisco that Walker was fitting out his Nicaraguan expedition, that the authorities were of course compelled to interfere. Their endeavours to stop the sailing of his brig, however, were not very effectual, as Walker, having embarked all his small party of fifty-six men, managed to get under weigh during the night.

In the month of May they arrived in the port of Realejo, and marched to Leon to join the head-quarters of the Democratic army.

The Legitimists were now in a perpetual state of consternation: during the siege of Granada they had learned to appreciate the efficacy of an American rifle in American hands; and in their frightened imaginations, Walker’s modest force of fifty-six men was augmented to 500. They made active preparations, however, to give him a warm reception: proclamations were issued with the object of rousing the patriotism of the people, calling on all to be ready to take up arms to save the independence of the country, and ordering all the inhabitants, on the approach of Walker, to retire to the nearest garrison. However, excepting among the political leaders of the party, and those compromised with them in the revolution, the prospect of Americans gaining the ascendancy in the country seemed to be regarded with indifference. Indeed, many of the upper classes, tired of their constant revolutions, and the ruin and misery attendant upon them, longed secretly for the presence of any foreign influence which should guarantee peace in the country.

The first active service in which Walker and his men were engaged was in an expedition which was formed by the Democrats to recapture the town of Rivas. About the end of June, the expeditionary force, consisting of Walker’s party, and two hundred native troops under the immediate command of their own officers, embarked at Realejo in two or three small vessels, and landing in the neighbourhood of San Juan del Sur, marched across the country upon the town of Rivas, distant about twenty-five miles.

The people of Rivas, when the Legitimists retook the town in February, had returned from their voluntary exile in Costa Rica; and feeling, no doubt, ashamed of the inglorious way in which, a year before, they abandoned their town to the Democrats without ever firing a shot, they roused themselves now to make a stout resistance, their spies having given them ample warning of the enemy’s approach.

When the Democrats arrived, and the fight began, Walker was most shamefully deserted by the whole of the native troops, and he found himself, with his fifty-six Americans, opposed to a force of about four hundred.

His party, however, had taken up their position in a house, from which their rifles dealt sudden death most profusely—all the natives killed were hit in the head; but at last they expended their ammunition, and the Legitimists setting fire to the house, they were obliged to cut their way through them, and retired to San Juan del Sur, which place they reached unmolested, the natives not caring to follow them.

The loss on Walker’s side, in this affair, was six men killed; while the Legitimists lost about seventy.

At San Juan del Sur they found a small schooner to take them back to Realejo; and before sailing, Walker performed an act of summary justice, which raised him highly in the opinion of many people in the country. He and his men had all embarked quietly in the evening on board the schooner, which was lying in the harbour, and were waiting till morning for a breeze, when, about midnight, two Americans, who did not belong to Walker’s party, and were well known to be bad and desperate characters, set fire to a large wooden building which was used as a barrack: their object was to burn the town, and take the opportunity of the confusion to rob and plunder the inhabitants, expecting, no doubt, that Walker’s party would join them.

They made a great mistake, however; for, on going on board Walker’s vessel, and boasting of what they had done, he immediately arrested them, and as there were no authorities ashore to whom he could hand them over, he had them tried by a court-martial at once, by which they were sentenced to be shot. One was shot while endeavouring to make his escape in a boat; the other was taken ashore to be shot, where, in the darkness of the night, he managed to escape from his guards.

About a month before this time General Chamorro died of an illness, under which he had been for some months gradually sinking. He was succeeded as General-in-chief of the Legitimist party by General Corral, who had already been actually in command for some time.

Walker did not attempt another descent on that part of the country till the month of August, when he landed at San Juan del Sur with about seventy-five Americans and two hundred native troops. There he met with no opposition, the forces of the Legitimists being all concentrated in the town of Rivas. He shortly marched to the village of Virgin Bay on the Lake: while there he was attacked by a vastly superior force of Legitimists under General Guardiola. The fight lasted several hours, but Walker succeeded in driving them back to Rivas with considerable loss. The casualties on his side were, two Americans wounded and half-a-dozen natives killed. After this he again returned to San Juan del Sur, where he remained quietly receiving reinforcements from California, and enlisting from the passengers passing through the country.

Virgin Bay and San Juan del Sur are two small villages, called into existence by the establishment of the Transit route. They form the termini of the land travel, and are composed principally of American hotels for the accommodation of passengers; the requirements of the Transit route also furnish employment to a small number of Americans at these two points.

About the middle of October, Walker—now holding a regular commission as Commander-in-chief of the Democratic army, and having gradually augmented the number of Americans under his command to two hundred, and having a force of two hundred and fifty native troops—proceeded to Virgin Bay, and, taking possession of one of the Transit Company’s steamers, he embarked his whole force. After a few hours’ passage he landed his troops about two miles from Granada, and marched directly on that stronghold of the Legitimists. General Corral, the Commander-in-chief, was in Rivas with the greater part of his forces, expecting that Walker would make that the first point of attack. The garrison in Granada were completely taken by surprise, and, after firing but a few shots, Walker had full possession of the city. The inhabitants were at first greatly alarmed, expecting that the Democrats would commit all sorts of excesses; but Walker quickly issued a proclamation, promising protection to person and property. As the people found that he maintained such strict discipline among his troops as to be able to keep his word, tranquillity was soon restored; and no doubt favourable comparisons were drawn between the order and quiet which prevailed on the taking of their city by the Democrats under Walker, and the scenes of plunder and excess which had ensued on such occasions in their former revolutions.

During the months of July and August, the country had been visited by cholera in its most deadly form. Many small villages, Virgin Bay and San Juan del Sur among the number, were almost depopulated. In the town of Masaya, with a population of about ten thousand, nearly one-third of the number perished. Castillon, the Democratic president in Leon, fell a victim to the disease; and Walker, being General-in-chief, was now at the head of the party. He was offered the Presidency, which he judiciously declined, retaining his more effective office of General-in-chief.

The Commander-in-chief of the Legitimist party, General Corral, being at Rivas with his forces, it was proposed to offer him terms, as it must have been evident to him that his cause was now hopeless. Colonel Wheeler, the United States Minister resident in Nicaragua, was induced, at the urgent solicitation of the people of Granada, to undertake the duty of negotiating terms, assisted by Don Juan Ruiz, a man of great influence in the Rivas department.

On their arrival in Rivas, in pursuit of their pacific object, Colonel Wheeler very soon found himself a prisoner in the hands of the Legitimists. Some days afterwards, his non-appearance causing alarm to his friends of the other party, a schooner was despatched to make a demonstration before Rivas, which is situated about a mile from the shore of the Lake. After a few guns had been fired, the Legitimists took the hint, and set Colonel Wheeler at liberty.

A negotiation was afterwards entered into, which resulted in a treaty of peace being agreed upon, and signed by Walker and Corral, as the representatives of their respective parties.

By this treaty, which was concluded towards the end of October, it was agreed that the two governments which had existed in the country since the commencement of the revolution, should cease. Don Patricio Rivas was declared provisional President for fourteen months, and General Walker was acknowledged General-in-chief of the army, who, with four ministers to be appointed by the President, were to form the government.

According to the stipulations of the treaty, General Corral, a day or two afterwards, entered the city of Granada with his troops, and was received by Walker. The two generals then went through an imposing ceremony of solemnly ratifying the treaty in church. A Te Deum was sung, the Legitimist troops were joined to the Democrats, and became one army under command of Walker, and the following government was proclaimed:—

Although the Democrats had gained the day, the new government was composed of men of both parties.

Rivas the President is a gentleman much esteemed and respected; he is the head of an influential family, who have always been opposed to the Democratic party. For some years he has been collector of customs at San Carlos.

General Walker, commander-in-chief, filled the same office in the Democratic government.

General Maximo Xeres, minister of state, was Walker’s predecessor in command of the Democratic army, he and Corral, the new minister of war, having been the generals of the two hostile armies during the greater part of the revolution.

Colonel Parker H. French, minister of the Hacienda, is an American who distinguished himself some years ago in the intestine wars in Mexico, and has latterly been conducting a newspaper in California.

Don Fermin Ferrer, minister of public credit, is a wealthy citizen of Granada, who took no active part in the late revolution.

A very few days after General Corral had so solemnly ratified the treaty, letters were intercepted, written by him to some other leaders of the old Legitimist party, from which it was evident that he was conspiring with them to upset the government, of which he had just become a member. He was immediately tried by court-martial for treason; and being found guilty, he was sentenced to be shot next day. With his party he was immensely popular, and during the revolution had displayed great ability as a military leader; but the evidences of his treachery admitted of no doubt, and he was shot according to his sentence, in the Plaza of Granada, in presence of the whole army. His summary execution will no doubt have a beneficial influence on the people, by inculcating on them the necessity of acting with sincerity, in whatever obligations they come under.

The new government was now formally acknowledged by Colonel Wheeler, the American minister, the only foreign minister resident in the State. The president was also visited by the captain of the United States sloop of war Massachusetts, then lying in the harbour of San Juan del Sur.

The natural consequences of a restoration of peace, after a year and a half of revolution, were soon manifested in the return of many of the inhabitants, who had absented themselves, to avoid the horrors of civil war, and in the impulse given to all peaceful pursuits.

The power of the press is such an acknowledged fact in the United States, and the establishment of a newspaper follows so closely on the advance of civilisation, that wherever half-a-dozen Americans are settled together in the backwoods, one of them is sure to publish a newspaper for the edification of the rest.

So in Granada one of the first things the Americans did was to bring out a weekly paper, called “El Nicaraguense”—“the Nicaraguan,” half English, half Spanish. It is a very respectable sheet, with a good deal of its space devoted to the enlightenment of the public regarding the natural advantages of the country, its fertility, its delightful climate and great mineral wealth. The only thing in the shape of a newspaper hitherto known in Nicaragua, had been a mere Government Gazette, published once a-month or so.

The State of Costa Rica, adjoining Nicaragua on the south, is the most flourishing of all the Central American States. It has been for many years free from revolution, and the people are comparatively thrifty and industrious. The finances of the State are in a good condition, and in military matters it is far in advance of Nicaragua, having a well-organised militia of 4000 or 5000 men. A certain proportion of the troops are armed with the Minié rifle, and they are well provided with artillery. There are great numbers of Germans in the country, many of them in the employment of Government, and it is to them that the people are indebted for the effective state of their army. The principal production of the country is coffee, of which the export is large, the greater part being sent to England. The Government were in great consternation at the success of the Walker party in Nicaragua, thinking, no doubt, that their turn would soon come. They made active preparations to resist invasion, but it is not likely that they will attempt to act on the offensive.

Honduras, which adjoins Nicaragua on the north, was favourable to the Democratic party, and has acknowledged the Americo-Nicaraguan Government. The president of that State lately visited Walker in Granada; and as Honduras is threatened with a renewal of hostilities by Guatemala, Walker is about to assist the former State with a portion of his American forces. The fact of Walker taking half of his force from Nicaragua to the assistance of a neighbouring State, is a convincing proof of his confidence in the security of the position which he has attained. In Honduras, of course, the same game will be played as in Nicaragua. In fighting for the people, the Americans will gain the ascendancy over them, and will keep it.

Guatemala, which lies to the north of Honduras, is the largest and most important of the Central American States, and is also the most hostile to American influence.

But whatever be the feelings of the other States towards Americans, it is not to be supposed that, having gained the foothold they have in Central America, they can be restrained by the weak and indolent people by which they are surrounded from extending their dominion. In whatever way they may come into contact, whether in war, diplomacy, or peaceful competition in mercantile and industrial pursuits, the superior boldness, energy, and perseverance of the Anglo-Saxon character is sure to assert its supremacy.

The spirit of filibusterism is not confined to any particular class of the American community. Among the small party with which Walker originally sailed from San Francisco were several lawyers and doctors, and others holding a respectable position. General Walker himself is of a respectable family in Alabama. He is about forty years of age, and is a man of superior education, the greater part of which he received in Europe. He originally studied medicine, but afterwards became a member of the legal profession. For some years he conducted a newspaper in New Orleans; but when the California excitement broke out, he went to that country, and for some time edited a journal in San Francisco, and has latterly been practising his profession in Marysville, a city of some importance in the northern part of California.

In personal appearance he is not at all what one would suppose such a daring and successful filibuster to be, being an exceedingly quiet man, with a mild expression of face, and very decidedly Saxon features. His followers hold him in the utmost esteem and admiration; and his conduct, since his accession to power in Nicaragua, has been such as to inspire with confidence in his judgment and abilities many influential theoretical filibusters in California, who are not likely to allow the present flattering prospect of the realisation of their ideas to be lost for want of support.

He has been receiving continual accessions to his force, and now the Americans in Nicaragua under his command amount to upwards of 900 men.

The following article from the San Francisco Herald of the 6th October gives a very good idea of the popular feeling in favour of Walker, even before the achievement of his success in Granada had become known. The inefficiency of the executive to repress such a wholesale shipment of recruits and arms is also remarkable:—

“The Departure of the Walker Reinforcements from San Francisco.

“Exciting Scenes along the Wharves—Ineffectual Attempt of a Party to board the Steamer in a Sailing Vessel—Three Hundred Stand of Arms for Walker’s Army—Proceeding in the Twelfth District Court—The Sheriff’s Party too late—Incidents, &c.

“The current rumours of the past week relative to the number of adventurers who intended to embark on the steamer Uncle Sam, to join Walker at Nicaragua, served to attract a large crowd in the vicinity of the steamer on the occasion of her departure yesterday. The vessel was advertised to sail at 9 o’clock A. M., and long before that hour Jackson Street wharf was filled with spectators and those interested in the embarkation of the Expeditionists. It is stated that nearly four hundred through passage tickets were sold before the appointed sailing hour, but, as will be seen, various circumstances compelled the agent of the line to postpone the steamer’s departure until four o’clock P. M. Officers were stationed in every part of the vessel, with positive orders to allow no one on board unless provided with a passage ticket. There seemed to be no disposition to infringe this order, and everything went on quietly until about noon, when it was discovered that some of the passengers were in possession of arms belonging to the ‘San Francisco Blues’ military corps. A search-warrant was immediately procured, and twenty-nine muskets, identified by members of the company named, were recovered. The warrant was executed by a single officer of the police, who received no molestation, but was permitted to make a thorough search of every quarter of the vessel. During this investigation two large crockery crates, full of arms, were discovered, but as the officer had no authority to seize upon these, they were left undisturbed, although information of the fact was immediately given to the Quartermaster, General Kibbe of the State militia, who soon after ascertained, by means of the telegraph wires, that the armoury of the Sacramento rifle company had been entirely divested of every weapon and round of ammunition. General Kibbe at once commenced suit in the Twelfth District Court to recover the arms belonging to the State, on board the Uncle Sam. The business of the suit was despatched with all possible haste; but before the necessary documents could be procured and placed in the hands of the sheriff, the hour had arrived for the sailing of the steamer. As the lines holding the vessel to the wharf were cast adrift, there was some indication of trouble between the officers of the vessel and those on the wharf anxious to obtain passage. The wharf was densely packed with men, and at the first move of the steamer’s paddles, a general rush was made to board her. The officers of the boat resisted, and the body of the crowd was driven back, at the imminent risk of their being crushed between the vessel and the wharf, or launched overboard. The scene was frightful, indeed; but fortunately, and singularly enough, no one sustained serious injury, as far as could be ascertained. About fifteen or twenty succeeded in getting on board, and the vessel shot out into the stream, where she came to, evidently with the view of compelling those to return on shore who had succeeded in boarding the vessel by force. By this time the expeditionists, to the number of three hundred, had chartered a large schooner lying convenient to the wharf. This movement was seen on board the steamer, and as the schooner spread her canvass, the steamer’s paddles were again put in motion; but she had not proceeded far when she again lay-to. The schooner was now under full headway with a fine breeze, and tacking quickly, she came up under the lee of the steamer, when she was ordered to keep off, and at the same time the steamer commenced moving ahead. It was now beyond the power of the schooner to work up to the position of the steamer until the latter would have sufficient time to send the intruders ashore and get under way again. Still the schooner persevered, and stood off for another tack. In the meantime a posse of Sheriff’s officers, headed by Mr Dowdigan, with the writ of restitution, had procured a rowboat for the purpose of boarding the steamer. This they were unable to accomplish, as the steamer got under way just as the Sheriff’s boat reached her side. The schooner was at this time within a few cables’ length of the steamer, but, coming up under the lee of Telegraph Hill, the breeze died away, and all thought of boarding was at once abandoned, as the steamer was by this time under a full head of steam, with her bows directed seaward. The schooner landed the disappointed expeditionists at Jackson Street wharf; and a large number of ships’ launches and other small craft filled with men who evidently intended to take the first opportunity to board the steamer, put back to the shore. It would be useless to attempt a description of the scenes along the wharves. From Jackson Street to North Point, every place of observation was crowded with eager spectators of the movements of the two vessels. It seemed to be the universal impression that the schooner load would be permitted to board, as it was rumoured that they had obtained passage tickets by some means just as the steamer left the wharf. No foundation for this rumour could be ascertained, and it was undoubtedly erroneous. The city Marshal, with several policemen, remained on the steamer until she was fully under way. Among the number who attempted to board in small boats, was a man named Henry Gray, who strenuously persisted in his endeavours to board the steamer, although forcibly resisted by officer Connelly. At last Gray drew a revolver and pointed it at the officer, who also drew his pistol, when the boatmen in the boat with Gray covered his person with their own. Gray was subsequently arrested by the police and placed in confinement. It is generally believed that the Uncle Sam carried away about three hundred stand of arms for the use of Walker’s army. It is known that a large quantity of arms and ammunition had been purchased in this city to be sent to San Juan by this steamer. Just previous to the sailing of the steamer it was ascertained that a number of percussion lock muskets, belonging to the Manhattan Fire Company of this city, were taken from the engine-house during the night. The rifles taken from the Sacramento military company are said to be excellent weapons, and they will, undoubtedly, be a valuable acquisition to the armament of the Nicaragua republican troops. Many of those who failed to procure passage on the steamer yesterday had placed their baggage on board. This baggage will unquestionably be landed at San Juan, and kept for them by their more fortunate comrades until such time as they shall be successful in their endeavours to join Walker.”—San Francisco Herald, Oct. 6.

This is the way they do things in California, affording a striking contrast to the very imposing demonstration made in New York about two months ago in support of the neutrality laws.

Shortly after the formation of the Walker government in Granada, a decree was issued, granting two hundred and fifty acres of land to every emigrant who would come and settle on and improve his grant; and in consequence of advertisements to that effect, inserted by the Nicaraguan government in the New York papers, great numbers of men intended sailing for that country in the regular steamer of the Nicaragua Transit Company.

Proclamations were issued by President Pierce, warning the citizens not to violate the neutrality laws; and when the steamer was on the point of leaving the wharf, the government officers made an attempt to arrest her. The captain, however, disregarded them, and got under way, but was brought up, while steaming down the harbour, by two or three shots from a man-of-war. The steamer was searched, but no evidence of the violation of the laws was found on board of her. The company, however, requested the assistance of the government officers in putting ashore about two hundred men who had not paid their passage. This was done, and the steamer went on her way, carrying two or three officers of government to see whether, on using up the coal, some cannon might not be found at the bottom of the coal-bunkers.

At this time, also, Colonel French, who had resigned his seat in the Walker cabinet as minister of the Hacienda, presented himself at Washington as minister-plenipotentiary from the State of Nicaragua; but the American Government refused to receive him. Colonel Wheeler, the American minister in Nicaragua, had already formally acknowledged the Walker government immediately on its formation, and as he visited Washington in the month of July, it is hardly to be supposed that he returned to his duties in Nicaragua, without acquainting himself with the views of his Government on the course to be pursued in event of the success of the Americans in that State. But Colonel Walker had already so firmly established himself in Nicaragua that any want of countenance from the American government could not weaken his position; the President’s message also was soon about to appear, and too cordial an acknowledgment of the Americans in Nicaragua would not have been consistent with the tone observed in that document in regard to the enforcement of the Clayton-Bulwer treaty.

The Mosquito protectorate question is being practically settled by the Mosquitians themselves. Mosquitia is a strip of land on the Atlantic coast, part of which has always been claimed by Nicaragua, and which, from its geographical position, seems naturally to belong to her. Since the establishment of peace in that country, the government have sent commissioners among the Mosquito Indians in the neighbouring parts of Mosquitia. The natives are reported to have expressed great dissatisfaction at the exactions of the king, and to have declared their readiness to come under Nicaragua. So the Mosquito kingdom seems likely to revert to Nicaragua, the State to which it originally belonged.

The success which has attended Walker’s enterprise offers a strong contrast to the failure of that which, for the attainment of a similar end, was originated in New York towards the end of the year 1854.

A company was started under the name of the Central American Land Colonisation Company, or some such name. The ostensible object was the colonisation and cultivation of the Mosquito territory, more especially a certain portion known as the “Sheppard Grant,” a large tract of land acquired by a Mr Sheppard from the King of Mosquitia. A certain Colonel Kinney took a prominent part in the organisation of the Company, which was supported by many capitalists in New York and other cities of the Union. The government also professed to be favourable to the scheme, and preparations were commenced on a large scale for carrying it out. A great deal was said about the promotion of agriculture on the Mosquito coast; but it was pretty generally understood by the public, that the real object in view was to filibuster the State of Nicaragua, or at all events to establish a depôt in that part of the world, from which, when all should be ready, a descent upon Cuba might be conveniently made.

At the remonstrances of the Nicaraguan minister in Washington, the administration were compelled to open their eyes to the true nature of the expedition.

A great fuss was then made; proclamations were issued, warning the people not to take part in the hostile invasion of a friendly State; a large steamer, chartered by Colonel Kinney, and all ready to take down several hundred agriculturists to cultivate the pestiferous swamps of the King of Mosquitia, was seized by the authorities; several men of war were stationed in New York harbour to watch her, and Colonel Kinney himself was arrested and held to bail.

Many of the supporters of the enterprise now withdrew; but Kinney was not to be deterred; and as he could not go in his steamer with several hundred followers, he modestly started, about the month of May, in a small schooner, with a couple of dozen men. He was wrecked somewhere about the West Indies, and was finally brought into Greytown, his original destination, by an English brig, which had picked him and his party off the rocks.

About this time the Accessory Transit Company of Nicaragua raised a little army in New York, on their own account, of fifty men, principally French and German. These they sent down in one of their steamers to Nicaragua, and stationed at Castillo, on the San Juan River, there to stop the advance of foreign invaders. This is the French legion referred to in the treaty of peace.

It was given out that Kinney and his small party were only the pioneers; that reinforcements were coming from New Orleans and other ports, but they have never yet made their appearance; and Kinney and his men still remain in Greytown, where, with the exception of starting a newspaper, they have as yet done nothing.

This Walker business in Nicaragua has been much more cleverly managed. The Americans in that country appear in the light of men who have gone there at the request of a party which constituted the majority of the people. They became citizens of the State, fought for it, and have risen to power.

The United States have themselves been to a certain extent filibustered in the same way. The Irish party has of late become so formidable, that the native Americans have had to form a league to counteract the Irish influence; and even if the American Government were opposed to the present movement in Nicaragua, they cannot prevent individual citizens from emigrating to, and becoming citizens of, that State.

It cannot be doubted that the advantages to Nicaragua, in consequence of the introduction of American influence, will be very great.

The constant fear of revolution being removed, the people will have more confidence in carrying on agricultural and commercial undertakings. The Americans will do away with all the antiquated absurdities of Spanish law, and amend a ridiculous old tariff, whereby many of the commonest articles of civilised life have been virtually prohibited; foreign capital will be freely employed in the cultivation of sugar, rice, tobacco, indigo, and other valuable crops, in the production of which Nicaragua can compete with any country in the world; and the resources of the mining districts will be developed by energetic and experienced miners from California.

THE SCOTTISH FISHERIES. [14]

The Fisheries of Scotland constitute her most valuable and important interests, and form, in some of their features, the only really national undertaking in which our people are engaged. Of the benefits arising from agriculture and manufactures, we have, of course, our share; although our colder climate, and less affluent natural resources, make our merit all the greater in reaping in both of those departments such redundant harvests. But what is often wanting on the surface of our sterile land, is compensated by the products of the exhaustless deep. A hardy and athletic race is thus maintained in useful independence—a race for whom, but for this so frequent occupation in the great waters, nothing would now remain save expatriation or the poor’s-roll.

When mention is made of the vast importance of our fisheries, and of their increasing prosperity, it must, however, be in no spirit of boastfulness, nor with any very buoyant feelings of continuous and assured success. The fisherman’s vocation is at the best one not only of perpetual toil, but of frequent peril; and truly, while engaged in it, no man knows what even an hour may bring forth. The brightest day, with its calmly glittering sea, and sky as clear in its cerulean depth as ever fondly brooded over the “cloudless Parthenope,” may be followed by the thick darkness of a night of storm and terror; and instead of another gladsome sunrise, with hopeful mothers and happy children scattered in expectant groups along some sheltered semicircular shore, the wild waves are coursing tumultuously over the lifeless forms of many whose places will henceforward know them no more for ever. Let any kindly and considerate person pass even an hour or two in one of our fishing-villages, and converse with the inhabitants, whether old or young. Strong stalwart men of iron mould, enduring and unbending as the gnarled oak, and in no way given to that sickly sentimentalism which we sometimes meet with elsewhere, become softened and subdued when the dark remembrance of some great bereavement comes back in bitterness upon them,—in earlier life the loss of fathers and elder brothers,—in later years that of sons and helpmates, fellow-workmen in the world of waters. How many hearths are cold or cheerless, how many homes desolate, or the forlorn dwellings of the widow and the fatherless! Women may be seen seemingly intent upon the preparation of hooks and lines; but there is not one among them that cannot tell some heart-rending tale of sudden and unlooked-for death; and as they cast their melancholy eyes over the then gently heaving sea, they never cease to feel, because they too sadly know, how wrathful and ruthless is the power of that dread destroyer.

A seafaring people are proverbially subject to calamities of the most fatal and almost irremediable kind, such as no exercise of skill or caution on their own part can possibly provide against, and which befall no class of artisans or agricultural labourers. The sea, like the land, has also its barren and unproductive places; and even its richer fields are not seldom those of death and desolation. Therefore, whatever tends to ameliorate the condition of such of our people as are engaged in the fisheries should be carefully encouraged, and any sudden, especially if doubtful, changes in their relationship to the rest of the world, considered with the greater caution, even although certain existing conditions should not altogether conform to those general principles of political economy which it might otherwise be prudent to apply.

but seldom fails to find it. The

and soft is the mossy bank beneath him, and sweet the air around, redolent with the balmy breath of flowers, and filled with the melody of birds singing their evening hymn. How rarely does the extinction of life from other than natural causes overtake these dwellers on the land, compared with the frequent fate of those who do business in the great waters! How astounded would be the natives of our inland vales, and the shepherds on a thousand hills, if ever and anon their hitherto steadfast and enduring boundaries were rent by earthquakes, and, literally “adding field to field,” one fine piece of pasture was lifted up and laid upon another, entombing for ever alike the corn and its cultivators, the shepherds and their sheep. No very pleasant greetings in the market-place would ensue among the grain-merchants, wool-growers, and cattle-dealers, when the morning’s news might chance to be—that the Lammermoors had subsided 1500 feet, and were entirely under water; that “Eildon’s triple height” had been turned over, peaks downmost; that the debris of Penicuik was scattered over the vestiges of Peebles; and that the good town of Dalkeith was lying (its fine body of militiamen fast fossilising) at the bottom of a coal-pit. Yet equally disastrous, though not quite similar, calamities not unfrequently befall those whose precarious lot it is to cultivate the sea.

The formation of more commodious harbours, and of substantial and efficient piers, and whatever other accommodation may be most required, along our rock-bound shores, may therefore surely be regarded as emphatically a work both of necessity and mercy, without which the bountiful gifts of nature are either useless, or obtained at such fatal sacrifice of life and property as it would be painful to contemplate. It has been sometimes said, that as the coast proprietors are benefited by an increased success of the fisheries, the duty of erecting harbours or other shore-works is chiefly incumbent upon themselves. It is true that, when a proprietor builds a farm-steading or a porter’s lodge, he is bound to pay for it, as he may be presumed to reap the chief advantage, and, at all events, is entitled to debar others from any participation of profits. But a building which abuts into the region of the sea-shore is so far public property, is under certain Admiralty supervision and control, and cannot be used exclusively for individual interests, although a reasonable power of regulation, in the way of imposing harbour-dues, may very properly be agreed upon as between proprietors and the public. The existence or non-existence of such works is often as the difference betwixt life and death to those who seek some shelter from the sea. Their construction is a great and indispensable public benefit, and therefore necessity; and a proprietor need no more be grudged the individual advantage which undoubtedly, and we think fortunately, accrues to him, than he can be grudged the corresponding advantage (which he shares with the general community) of those public roads and bridges which intersect or span the more inland portions of his property. It is, therefore, a very narrow and unpatriotic view which would saddle the expense of sea-works, of whatever kind, upon the immediate local owners of the land. Let them bear their share, as they are assuredly much benefited by the increase of fishing or other commercial intercourse, both as direct advantages, and as almost necessarily leading to the improvement of property and a rise of rents; but considering the wild and unstable nature of the elements with which we have to deal, and the almost incalculable general benefits which result from all such works, when skilfully planned and substantially executed, let the public also largely and ungrudgingly join in the required expenditure.

As Captain Washington has well observed, it is not one or more great harbours of refuge on our north-eastern shores that is now required. The Bay of Cromarty, the Portus Salutis of the ancients, one of the finest and most secure harbours in the known world, lies not more than fifty miles to the southward of Wick, while the safe anchorage of Long Hope, in the Orkneys, is only twenty miles to the northward of that great fishing capital of Caithness. These are accessible at all times to every kind of shipping. But it is not so much shelter for the general trade, as security for fishing-boats, and coasting vessels connected with the fisheries, that is so imperatively needed. In proof of this we shall here briefly record the great catastrophe which befell a portion of our fishing population of the north-east coast of Scotland in the autumn of 1848. It is known that at this time upwards of 800 boats, manned by 3500 men, were engaged in the fishery from the Wick district alone. On the afternoon of Friday the 18th of August of that year, the majority of these fishing-boats (all open ones) left Pulteneytown harbour soon after high water, and remained in the Bay of Wick. Towards evening they stood out to sea, and when about ten miles off the land, as usual, shot their nets. The afternoon was fine, though the evening had somewhat of a threatening aspect, yet not such as to deter a fisherman from the pursuit of his accustomed calling. At midnight, much wind and sea having risen, many of the boats ran for the harbour, and got safely in about high water, which occurred at half-past one o’clock. By three in the morning the wind had increased to a gale from the south-east, with heavy rain. Most of the remaining boats then bore up for the Bay, which they reached between four and five o’clock; but by this time the tide had fallen one-half, and therefore there was not more than five feet depth of water at the entrance of the harbour, so that, with such a sea running, no loaded boat could enter. Some, however, made the attempt, and were either thrown up at the back of the north quay, or wrecked on the south pier, or swamped upon the bar. In this disastrous way 25 men perished, besides 12 others whose boats were swamped at sea; thus, in the brief period of about three hours, occasioning a loss of 37 men drowned, leaving 17 widows and 60 children utterly destitute. There was a destruction of property in boats and nets of about £1600.

Dunbeath lies some sixteen or eighteen miles to the south-west of Wick. It is a favourite fishing-station, and much resorted to, having about 106 boats and 410 men. Its creek is slightly protected on the east by a promontory, and some detached rocks, which partially throw off the sea, and direct it into the west side of the bay; but it is much exposed to the south-west and southerly winds, and the fishermen have twice built up a breakwater of loose stones on the south side, near the burn-mouth. Not only is the violence of the waves to be dreaded, but after much rain in the interior, heavy fresh-water spates descend suddenly, and cause great destruction among such boats as have not been hauled up to a place of safety. Thus in the storm referred to, 18 boats were drifted out of the harbour by the river flood, and were smashed upon the beach. Still more unfortunately, a Lybster boat, while making for the harbour, was upset, and three men drowned.

Helmsdale, in Sutherlandshire, is fifteen miles farther to the south-west. It has made wonderful progress within comparatively recent years—is in a very thriving condition, and possesses some of the best curing establishments in all Scotland. But there is great want of accommodation both for men and boats, and the crowded state of the river is disadvantageous. There is also a bar at its mouth, and the harbourage, moreover, suffers much from the inland spates. During the autumn of 1848 there were 177 boats fishing from Helmsdale. Of these, 130 put to sea on the evening of the 18th of August. In the disastrous gale of the ensuing morning, two boats were upset while running over the bar for the harbour, and four men were drowned. Two other boats were either run down or foundered at sea, when 5 men perished, and another man was washed overboard while endeavouring to haul his nets,—making a loss of 10 lives.

On the southern side of the Moray Firth, Buckie is known as a most important, though exposed and almost shelterless station. It puts out about 160 boats, and its fishermen are noted as among the most daring as well as industrious on our coasts. They pursue the deep-sea fishing, and so labour not during the herring harvest alone, but all the year round. In the gale of the 19th of August, 12 of its boats were wrecked off Peterhead, 8 were sorely damaged, and their nets carried away, while 11 men were drowned. Port Gordon, Portessie, and Findochtie belong to the same quarter. They lost among them 5 boats wrecked, and 10 men drowned—making a total loss, for that limited district, of 17 boats and 21 men.

Peterhead occupies a commanding and well-known position on a projecting and very exposed portion of our coast, and the stations included as in the same district, extend southwards as far as Aberdeen. It has about 60 boats of its own, while those of the entire district amount to 262, with 920 men and boys. But while these are the numbers belonging to the district, the actual amount at work within it, during the season of 1848, was 437 boats, employing 2185 men. Peterhead has the advantage of both a north and south harbour, each of considerable extent. The south harbour is dry at low water, but the outer portion of the northern has from six to seven feet at low water of spring-tides, and eighteen feet at high water. During the gale of the 18th and 19th of August, the boats began to run for shelter about eleven o’clock at night, and continued to do so until half-past three o’clock in the morning, at which time it was high water. But while endeavouring to make the harbour, 30 boats were totally lost, 33 were damaged and stranded, and 31 men were drowned.

Stonehaven is the principal station of the next and more southern district, which extends for about fifty-five miles from Girdleness to Broughty Ferry on the Tay. This district furnishes 306 boats, manned by 1160 fishermen. Of its 23 fishing stations 17 have no piers. Findon, so celebrated for its smoked haddocks, has 14 boats, but no pier. Portlethen, somewhat sheltered by a ledge of rocks, has 20 boats, but no pier. Cowie, under a similar precarious shelter, has 18 boats, but no pier. Auchmithie, with 37 boats, and Johnshaven with 10, have nothing like a pier. In many of these places the shore is steep and rough, with loose though heavy shingle. The boats, when they get in safely, must often be hauled well up for a continuance of protection. This, with relaunching, is most laborious and exhausting work. The women labour in and out of water, whether deep or shallow, as well as, sometimes even more assiduously than, the men. They carry the wet nets up the steep banks to be spread and dried, and they are not seldom seen bearing the wearied men out of the boats upon their backs, and landing them, high and dry, upon the beach. But these are savage customs, and lead to or perpetuate an uncouth and indurated, if not savage life. Yet before we can “excavate the heathens,” and ameliorate their manners, we must excavate their beach, and build them substantial piers of stone and lime. On the miserable morning of the 19th of August, 6 boats belonging to this district were totally lost, and 19 men drowned.

The following is a brief summary of the loss of life and property which was suffered in the course of a very few hours during this disastrous gale:—

A calamity so great and sudden forcibly drew the public attention to the subject, and the Lords of the Admiralty were induced ere long to depute Captain Washington to inquire into and report regarding it. His report was printed by order of the House of Commons, and contains many most valuable observations and suggestions.^[16] We cannot here enter into technical details, but may quote one of his concluding paragraphs.

“In reviewing the evidence adduced on the present inquiry, it cannot fail to strike the most cursory reader that the want of good harbours, accessible at all times, is the grand cause of the loss of life and property, and the increased risk connected with our fisheries. It is not the construction of two or more large central harbours (as has been suggested) that is wanted, but a general deepening and improvement of all the existing harbours and rivers along the whole eastern coast of Scotland. Nor would the improvement of these harbours be attended with any very considerable outlay. It is scarcely credible that the small sum of £2500 a-year, which Parliament has devoted [through the Board of Fisheries] to building harbours and piers in Scotland for the last few years, should have given so great a stimulus to important local improvements as those grants are found to have done. But they are quite inadequate to grapple in earnest with the want which exists: four times their amount, or £10,000 a-year for a few years, steadily laid out on piers and harbours, would do much to remedy the want, and to place the fishermen of the east of Scotland on a par with those of more favoured coasts. It would be an act of mercy to a race of hardy, industrious, frugal men—to 10,000 fishermen of one of the poorest and most unproductive districts of Scotland, who are not at sea as occasional passers-by, but are constantly hovering off the coast in pursuit of their calling for three months together, exposed to the suddenness and violence of north-east gales—such as that of August 1845, and again in August 1848—without the common shelter that all mariners are entitled to look for in the hour of need.”—Report, p. xvii.

Here we seem to have a distinct statement of what is most required,—an equally distinct recognition of the great benefits which have already resulted from small means,—and a strong recommendation of a large increase of those means, to be administered, we may presume, through the same medium and machinery as heretofore employed, and of which Captain Washington so much approves.

The harbour of Lybster lies in a sheltered situation, about half-way between Wick and Helmsdale. The best localities for the herring fishery are only a few miles off; and it had thus risen from a creek, scarcely navigable by small boats, to a fishing-station of very considerable importance. More than twenty years ago, Mr Sinclair, the proprietor, erected a pier on the west side of the harbour, at an expense of about £7000. Above 100 herring-boats were in use to frequent it during the season; many coasting vessels entered in; the quay-dues produced a revenue of £130, and a large and thriving village became established. All this time the harbour accommodation was limited and incommodious, consisting only of the channel of the river; and its increase of trade cannot be explained in any other way than by the safety experienced by boats in consequence of the entrance being well protected from the worst and most prevailing winds. Such being the case, Capt. Washington thought it highly desirable to profit by the advantages which nature had bestowed upon this creek; “or rather,” he observes, “it becomes an imperative duty to do so, when we consider the number of lives endangered, and the value of the property at stake, on the sudden springing up of an easterly gale, such as that of August 1845, and again in August 1848, which strewed the coast of Caithness with wrecks.” We may add, that the Lybster district comprises also Occumster, Clyth, Latheronwheel, Forse, &c., and that these places yielded, during the few weeks’ continuance of the fishing of 1854, as many as 41,550 barrels of herrings. In consequence of Captain Washington’s recommendation, and other patriotic influences, the Treasury advised a grant of £6000 for the improvement of the harbour of Lybster. The sum was voted by Parliament, and has since been successfully administered under the superintendence of the Board of Fisheries. The advantageous effects of this well-managed grant are manifest from the following facts. The number of boats that fished from the old harbour of Lybster in 1850 was 97, but the number that has fished from it since the basin was enlarged, is 174 boats in 1853, and 171 boats in 1854. But the difference in mere numbers of these two years, as compared with 1850, does not exhibit the actual alteration and improvement; for since the disastrous gale of 1848, the boats have almost every year been of larger build—so much so, that the fishermen consider that the old harbour would not have held above 80 boats of the existing size, and that 180 of these boats are now harboured in greater safety than 80 could have formerly been. The amount of fishermen employed in 1848 was 418; during the past season (1855) it was 920. Had this increased accommodation existed in 1848, there is no saying what saving of life and property might have been accomplished. During the gale so frequently referred to, of the 34 boats which fished from Forse, 9 were totally lost, with all their nets, and 11 were severely damaged. Some of those Forse boats did, however, run for Lybster, and were saved; and all would have done so, but from the fear of want of room. It was this fear, unfortunately, that induced one of the Lybster boats, as already mentioned, to run for Dunbeath, where she was totally wrecked, and three of her crew drowned.

Our notices have hitherto been of a very casual kind, drawn out by the sympathy which cannot but be felt for the disastrous death of intrepid men and the destruction of property, which inevitably leads to such severe and long-continued suffering on the part of the survivors, haply but little thought of during the first wild wailings of the widow and the fatherless. But poverty sorely embitters grief; and the amount of prolonged misery involved by destitution so often consequent on death, can be in no way conveyed by the mere recital of the facts, however harrowing these may be. But it is cheering to know that the occasional disbursement of sums, which, to the greatest maritime nation that ever existed on earth, or made its undisputed home upon the deep, are only as a few grains of sand to the shores of the immeasurable sea, may produce the most obvious, immediate, and permanent advantage, and actually go far to convert a life of danger and difficulty into one of comparative security and ease. In reference to this view of the subject Captain Washington has well observed:—

“Besides the invaluable boon on this (the Caithness) coast of a harbour that might be fearlessly run for at all times of tide, and within which the fisherman might land his cargo immediately on his arrival, and rest quietly at his home until the moment of sailing arrives (instead of the anxious hours now often spent off a harbour’s mouth, waiting for the rise of tide), such a harbour would probably lead to a larger and safer class of fishing-boats (those now in use being adapted to a shallow dry harbour), and induce the fishermen to follow the deep-sea fishing all the year round, instead of merely the herring fishery for the season; and thus cultivate habits of steady industry and occupation, which could not but be beneficial to himself, his family, and the community.”—Report, p. viii.

“Nor could such an outlay,” he afterwards adds, “be considered in any other light than as sound economy. By the exertions of the British Fisheries Society, and of individuals, a vast public interest has been created on this coast within the last half-century. A fishing village has been raised into a comparatively opulent town, wealth has been diffused, and civilisation has followed in its wake. The example here set has had a most beneficial influence on a large portion of the Highlands and islands of Scotland, and habits of industry and the best mode of fishing have been taught to the Highlander. The large amount of 126,000 barrels of herrings, or one-fifth of the whole produce of the Scottish fisheries, was cured at Wick during the past year, in addition to 12,000 barrels otherwise consumed.^[17] The total value of the boats, nets, and lines employed exceeded £61,000, while the catching and curing the fish occupied 5600 persons; and the carrying of salt, and the export of the fish to Ireland and the European markets, gave occupation to 16,700 tons of shipping. These are great public interests, which are entitled to be considered. They are the results of spirited enterprise that may fairly claim to be encouraged, not by bounties and protection duties, but by placing these industrious and hardy Caithness fishermen, as far as possible, on a level with those of more favoured coasts, by the construction of a low-water harbour, to which they may confidently resort in the hour of need.”—Ibid. p. ix.

There can be no doubt that the formation of a capacious, easily accessible, and well-sheltered low-water harbour, in a central portion of the great fishing district of the north-east of Scotland would be of infinite advantage; but it is equally certain (and Captain Washington, as we have already shown, is likewise of that opinion) that the improvement and increase of the smaller, even the creek harbours, and the precarious piers of such as have any such erections, would be of incalculable service. It is a well-known fact, and one worthy of being held in remembrance, that during the lamentable gale of the 19th of August 1848, thirty boats ran for Keiss Bay, where there is a harbourage built or enlarged by the Board of Fisheries, and were saved. We may here add, what is well known, that where there are no harbours, the boats must be drawn up and beached in creeks and bays. Their size, therefore, in these cases, corresponds not to the wilderness of waves which they have to encounter, but to the nature of the situation on which they can be drawn up and placed in safety. We thus frequently find a great contrast between the size of boats where harbours or other sheltering fabrics have been built, and those frequenting places where there are none. It is also well known that the boats engaged in the cod and ling fisheries, &c., now require to proceed farther out to sea than formerly; and as they are necessarily constructed of a larger size, and so draw more water, they also need deeper harbourage than of old.

We may now briefly notice the commercial value of our fisheries. The capital embarked in the trade is not less than two millions seven hundred and thirty thousand pounds. It is chiefly distributed among a people inhabiting wild and barren districts of the country, where the climate is cold and moist, employment precarious, labour poorly paid, and all creature-comforts few and far between. Their real resources lie in the sea, the products of which, unlike the cereals, are fortunately not very materially affected by a somewhat cloudy and uncomfortable climate. Many years ago, views of this kind were propounded by a Scotchman, Mr David Loch, the father, we believe, of the late lamented M.P. for the Wick burghs. He writes rather critically regarding the natives of the Western Highlands:—

“I am sorry to observe that the fishing is greatly neglected at this and the harvest seasons, as most of the people are farmers as well as fishermen; so that their time being divided between the two branches, the great object, fishing, has not that time and attention paid to it which is absolutely necessary. It is true that the country is not unfavourable to the breeding of sheep, not only on account of the pasture in general, but also as the snow never remains long on the ground; and as the farmers, very judiciously, use no tar, they sell their wool at 14s. the stone. The fisheries, however, should be their first care; and I declare, from my own knowledge, that a few boats’ crews of our east-country fishers would make rich here, and realise more money than half the farmers in this quarter. What a pity it is the inhabitants should be so blind to their own interest, and neglect to avail themselves of the advantages which their local situation offers to them! A boat’s crew of six men would make more money in one month than any farmer here can off the produce of a hundred acres of his best arable land, after deducting the value of the seed and the expenses attending its culture; and the former could, from the proceeds of their fish, furnish themselves with meal, flour, malt, barley, and vivers of every kind, on easier and much better terms than the latter can possibly raise and supply themselves with from their own farms. Fish is the natural produce of their seas, with which they abound, and to which they are contiguous; and grass, for pasturing sheep and black cattle, the natural produce of their lands. Nature, in denying them the means (of grain culture), has given them the fisheries, which is their natural staple, and is more than an equivalent for the deprivation of the other.”^[18]

A higher and more recent authority, Sir John M‘Neill, G.C.B., Chief Commissioner of the Poor Law Board for Scotland, has borne corresponding testimony to the value of our fisheries, and their great advance during our own days. In reference to the county of Caithness, he observes:—

“Nearly the whole sea-coast of the county, including the towns of Thurso and Wick, is inhabited by persons more or less directly dependent upon the fisheries. In the rural parts, the fishermen have generally attached to their dwellings small farms or lots as they are called, varying in extent from two to ten acres of arable land. These, however, do not afford them the chief part of their subsistence. They rely upon the fisheries, and regard the cultivation of their lots as a secondary and comparatively unimportant part of their business.

“At the end of the last century, the value of the cured fish annually exported from Caithness did not exceed £13,000, and it then consisted almost exclusively of salmon. The cured herring, cod, and ling, exported from Wick and Lybster for the last ten years, gives an average annual value of not less than £130,000, according to the Returns of the Board of Fisheries. The annual value of the whole land in the county was returned in 1843 at £66,000. The population in 1841 was 36,343.

“The Caithness fisheries have thus not only become a source of prosperity to the county, but have also become an object of national importance; and their further extension appears to be in a great measure dependent upon the increase of suitable harbour accommodation for the boats engaged in them. Harbours, more or less secure, have been formed from time to time at different creeks along the coast, from Wick southward, and the number of boats appears to have increased in the ratio of the accommodation provided for them. There is no reason to believe that the limit has yet been reached, or that, if the harbour accommodation were increased, the fisheries, more especially of herring, would not receive a corresponding development. But even now the population of the county is not nearly sufficient to supply the demand for hands during the fishing season, and some thousands of men from the west coast, find in Caithness, during that season, employment and wages, without which they could not subsist. The increase of harbour accommodation in Caithness, besides increasing the general amount of production, would thus afford additional employment to the inhabitants of the West Coast and Islands of Inverness, Ross, and Sutherland, who frequent the east coast fisheries because they cannot find sufficient employment at home.”^[19]

We may add in connection with the above, that about 10,000 Highlanders pass across from west to east during the continuance of the autumnal fishery, in which they find, for the time being, their sole refuge from destitution. It is estimated that from 7000 to 10,000 Highland women of the poorest class, and otherwise most forlorn condition, are likewise beneficially employed in gutting and packing herrings.

Great improvement and increased activity have been manifested in the fisheries of late years, and the facilities afforded by steam-navigation and the formation of railways have no doubt given a decided impulse to that department, as to so many other branches of commercial occupation. The value of our materials alone, in the way of boats, netting, and lines, now amounts to upwards of £580,000, minutely portioned out as the property, we need scarcely say in many cases the sole property, of a very poor though industrious part of the population.^[20] There are nearly 11,000 boats employed in the Scotch fisheries (including a few hundred from the Isle of Man), giving permanent employment to about 40,000 fishermen, besides occupying, as coopers, gutters, and labourers, towards 30,000 other persons. Of the higher class of merchants or fish-curers, there are considerably above 1100 engaged in the trade.^[21]

In estimating the money-value of the products of the Scotch fisheries, each barrel of cured herrings may be regarded as equivalent to £1, 1s. The price is sometimes higher, as in 1854, when it often reached to £1, 4s.; but it is also occasionally lower, when there is a large stock in hand, and the foreign markets are sluggish. The fishing trade is more than most others liable to fluctuations,—the supply itself varying from glut to scarcity. Thus the average profits are probably very moderate to all concerned. But taking the sum first mentioned as a fair price, it has been ascertained, that, upon the most moderate computation, the herring fishery of 1855 will produce—

The price, however, of cured fish being actually up, and as the returns of fresh fish are always much below the mark, we are informed, on the best authority, that the real value of the preceding season’s capture will exceed one million sterling. This is a great thing for so poor a country, and especially for the poorer classes of that country. That our wealthier neighbours over the Border are made large partakers in our scaly spoils, is obvious from what appears to us to be a remarkable though distinctly ascertained fact, that in the course of a few weeks of last season, 5053 tons of fresh herrings were transmitted, chiefly southwards, from the Dunbar district, by the North British Railway alone. The take of herrings in 1849, for Scotland and the Isle of Man, was 942,617 barrels. The season of 1853 was also very productive, yielding, exclusive of the English stations, 908,800 barrels.

Of the cured fish a very considerable portion is exported to Ireland and the Continental kingdoms. Thus during the immediately preceding season (fishing of 1855), it is estimated that out of a total cure of 705,109 barrels, 100,000 barrels were sent to Ireland, and 338,360 barrels to the Continent. To Stettin alone we have this year exported close upon 155,000 barrels, almost all guaranteed as in prime condition, and skilfully cured, by means of the Fishery crown brand impressed by burning on the staves. This process of branding is regarded as of great importance by the foreign merchants, more especially by such as have afterwards occasion to consign their stock to others for inland transportation. The crown brand is our Government official mark, and testifies that the contents have been carefully examined and approved of by the appointed Fishery officer of the district where the fish were caught and cured; and so great is the confidence now placed in the skill and integrity of these experienced and faithful functionaries, that barrels so marked pass from hand to hand, without examination, into the very heart of Europe, and onwards to the shores of the Black Sea. We need scarcely say how deteriorated the contents would be if the barrels were opened and the fish inspected, as they passed from country to country, or from one purchaser to another. By the present practice this loss is avoided, and great advantage gained.

A single sentence may suffice for cod and ling. Stornoway in Lewis, and the Orkney and Shetland Islands, are the chief stations for these fine fish. In 1854 the amount cured at these and the other places in the north was 115,850 hundredweight. Besides these, there were caught and disposed of fresh, 58,042 hundredweight. The quantity of individual fish of the cod and ling kind, killed in the north of Scotland during the season of 1854, was three million five hundred and twenty-three thousand two hundred and sixty-nine. Of these, 1,385,699 were caught off the Shetland Islands. What a boon to a people who can scarcely grow grain, and cannot live on grass!

The preceding facts seem, on the whole, to indicate a rather pleasant and prosperous condition of affairs, for which we ought to be unfeignedly thankful, and with which it might not be deemed advisable to intermeddle, at least in the way of sudden and unsought-for change.

Our fishery affairs, we may now observe, are at present managed, so far as legal rules and regulations are concerned, by a certain number of Commissioners, who constitute the “Board of Fisheries.”^[22] The functions of that Board are chiefly as follows: To obtain for Parliament accurate statistical returns of the cod and herring fisheries,—of the seafaring and other persons employed in those occupations,—of the number, computed tonnage, value, &c., of the boats and other vessels engaged, and to give clearances for the same. In the herring fishery, to see that the measures for the delivery of fresh herrings, as between purchaser and seller, are of the legal standard size; and when the fish are cured, to ascertain that the barrels in which they are packed are of the full dimensions, and not fraudulently made, and to apply the official mark, called the Crown Brand, to whatever barrels contain herrings so cured and packed, and of such superior quality as to entitle them to receive it; to enforce the fishery convention between Great Britain and foreign countries, and guard the coast of Scotland against the intrusion of foreigners during the fishing season; to act likewise as a home police among the multitudinous masses of fishermen and other natives collected for the herring fishery along the coast, or in the numerous narrow firths and sea-lochs of our country, where there is often scarcely room to hold them; and to see that the boats in all such cases take up their proper stations, so as to prevent fouling of gear, and unseemly, sometimes dangerous, brawls; finally, to erect piers and quays, and to make and maintain harbours on the coasts with aid from the proprietors and fishermen, with whom the Commissioners are in frequent communication, and to protect the boats and property in those harbours.

Of course these important and multifarious duties cannot be performed but at some expense; yet when we consider the deep interests involved, the vast capital embarked, the steady and increasing occupation of a remunerative kind afforded to so great a mass of our poorer population, and the difficulties and dangers which naturally beset this adventurous calling, we think the sum is very small compared with the advantages which its expenditure insures. The police department, especially on the western shores and islands, is chiefly maintained by the Princess Royal cutter, of about 103 tons burden, and a crew of 20 men and boys, including an experienced commander, and mate. This vessel is under the exclusive control of the Board. During the height of the fishing season, one or more small steam-vessels are placed by the Admiralty under the direction of the Board, and one of these vessels is usually continued in the Firth of Forth, for the protection of the winter fishing, so frequent there. The entire coast is divided into districts amounting, with the Orkney and Shetland Islands, to 22 in number, managed by a general Inspector, and 25 resident officers, whose sole occupation consists in the direction and encouragement of whatever may tend to the improvement and increase of the fisheries, and their products. It is imperative that these men should themselves have served for three years in the practical performance of the cooper’s art. They are selected on account of their probity, sobriety, assiduity, and intelligence, and they are not raised to be the responsible officers of a district till they have acquired the requisite knowledge, and given proof of their capability, as assistants and nominees, for the higher situations. They reside among, and habitually mingle with the people of the fishing stations, and keep up a friendly and uninterrupted intercourse with them. That they skilfully and faithfully fulfil their functions, may be inferred from the very few instances in which, during a long continuous course of years, and almost countless series of transactions, any complaint of defective cure in any barrel bearing the brand has ever been presented to the Board.

The mere bestowal of the brand is, however, by no means the sole, though it is the final act of those officials. They are on the alert wherever fish are landed from the exhaustless deep. They encourage and hasten the immediate application of the most approved modes of handling, assorting, gutting, rousing, salting, re-pickling, packing, filling up after sinking, and so on, and are thus actively engaged among all the various classes of people, whether of the sea or shore, explaining what is right, and checking what is wrong, from the first moment that the fish are landed from the boats, like glittering and gorgeous heaps of silver, till the full barrels are finally fixed down, and the brand applied. They also ascertain that the measures used as between the fishermen and the curers, and between the curers and the public, are properly constructed, and of just dimensions. To do this effectively, in a station such as that of Wick, where many hundred large boats are discharging their almost living freight nearly at the same time, it is obvious that energy, activity, and considerable sharp-sightedness, are indispensable to see that all is open and above board among such an innumerable and multifarious crew from all quarters,—counting among them, no doubt, as in all other trades, those who are not so scrupulous as to debar their being somewhat greedy of gain. We have been told, from the highest source, of how many evils that fatal though frequent passion is the root.

The expenses of the Board, as above constituted, are the following. There is a special grant of £3000 (by Act of Parliament) for the erection of piers and quays, or other harbour-work. There is a further sum granted, by the annual votes of supply, of £11,000 for the general expenses of the Board, their head office in Edinburgh, their establishment of district officers throughout the country, the general superintendence of the fisheries, and the maintenance of the cutter and her crew. The Commissioners of the Board act gratuitously. We presume that the functionaries last alluded to, although unpaid, assiduously perform the duties required of them, and to which they are pledged. The following is Mr John Shaw Lefevre’s testimony in their favour, as well as in advocation of the continuance both of the brand and Board:—

“Having arrived at the conviction of the necessity of maintaining at present the system of branding herrings, it appears to me that this would of itself require the continuance of the Fishery Board, independently of the question of the general utility of that establishment. I conceive that the superintendence of that system, and of the officers conducting it, could not be better or more satisfactorily executed than by that Board, which is thoroughly conversant with the subject, as respects the Scotch fisheries, to which the branding system is practically limited, and far more conveniently situated than any Central Board in London.

“Having had the opportunity of inspecting the correspondence and proceedings of this Board, it would be unjust not to take this opportunity of adverting to the important services which the Commissioners, acting themselves gratuitously, and with a moderate establishment, have rendered to the public in assisting for a long period of years in the development of this branch of national industry, and of expressing my belief, that, in the present condition of the poorer classes in Scotland, the question of the continuance of the Board of Fisheries is not merely to be regarded in reference to measures of economy,—that it is impossible to doubt the social and moral advantages which may and do result to this class of the population, from the attention bestowed upon their welfare by a body of eminent persons, distinguished by their rank, position, and knowledge, and who are constantly endeavouring to obtain and disseminate information useful to those employed in the fisheries, to encourage their enterprise, to stimulate their industry, and to promote their physical and moral welfare.”

We quite agree with Mr Lefevre in the opinion expressed above, and especially in his belief that a Scotch Board, necessarily conversant with the subject of the Scotch fisheries, will exercise a more effective and satisfactory superintendence, and perform its functions much more conveniently and economically, than could any board in London, so far removed from the scene of action.

The general importance of our present subject is too obvious and admitted to be argumentatively insisted on. If we have writ our annals true, it cannot be doubted that the British fisheries, as the great nursery for seamen of habitual hardihood, and fearless of “the lightning, the fierce winds, the trampling waves,” are altogether invaluable, and, in a national point of view, far transcend the mere direct pecuniary advantages, however great, which may so easily be shown to spring from them. It is long since Sir Henry Wotton maintained that there was something even in the capture of fish, viewed simply as a trade, which tended to improve the moral, if not the intellectual character of men, and to bring them up for the most part a humane as well as hardy race; and more recently, Baron Cuvier, so well acquainted with both man and beast, and every other thing that dwells on this terraqueous globe, has recorded his opinion, that all nations possessed of any sea-coast where the herring occurs, have given great encouragement to its capture, wisely regarding that occupation as the most natural nursery for the bringing up of robust men, intrepid sailors, and skilful navigators, and so of the highest importance in the establishment of maritime greatness. Lacepede goes so far as to regard the herring as “une de ces productions dont l’emploi décide de la destinée des empires.” We know that during the palmiest days of the States-General, out of a population of 2,400,000 persons, 450,000 were either fishermen, or connected with the building and equipment of ships and boats pertaining to the fisheries; and so the Pensionary De Witt was not far wrong when he stated that every fifth man in Holland earned his subsistence by the sea, and that the herring fishery might be regarded as the right hand of the republic. Indeed, the Dutch nation, so wary, considerate, and persevering, have always admitted that their wealth and strength resulted from the sea; and hence the old saying still in use among them, that the “foundation of Amsterdam was laid on herring-bones.”

Seeing, then, that we are surrounded by so great a mass of witnesses, testifying to the importance of this trade, and knowing to what height, after so many years of toil and trouble, we have now attained, ought we to put in peril our present most advantageous position, by venturing upon any fanciful alteration of that familiar machinery which has hitherto worked so well?

It is, however, rumoured that Government proposes, we presume by way of mending these matters, to abolish the Board of Fisheries, collect the statistics, and exercise the superintendence, after some other fashion, cast the brand into oblivion, withdraw the grant for the building of piers and quays, and so dispense, in toto, with the advice, assistance, or intervention of the old and experienced authorities. This proposal, of course, proceeds upon the assumption that the brand may now be advantageously done away with, and the principle adopted which has so long been applied to the linen and woollen manufactures, which are not now stamped officially, but depend for preference on the character and merits of each particular maker. We understand it to be alleged, that this so-called sounder system should be applied to the Scotch fisheries, with a view to assimilate them, so far, to those of Ireland. We shall now consider this proposal, which, we need scarcely say, has sorely perplexed and alarmed the people of our coasts. They almost feel as if the fate foretold by the Prophet Isaiah was now in store for them, and that the time is at hand, when “the fishers also shall mourn, ... and they that spread nets upon the waters shall languish.”—Isa. xix. 8.

We shall now, as briefly as we can, take up the subject under the different heads into which it naturally divides itself.

In the first place, we can bear testimony, from personal knowledge, to the fact, that great importance is attached by our fishing population to the existence of the Board. They view it as a body to whom they can have easy access, through the resident Fishery officers at the various stations. Their impression is that their interests are cared for by it, and hence their willingness, in cases of difference or dispute, to be regulated by the friendly interposition of the official superintendents. Innumerable cases might be cited of aid afforded by the captain and crew of the Princess Royal fishery cutter, as well as by the effective influence and authority of the naval superintendent, with his Queen’s ship. But the great advantage of the former vessel is, that she is under the entire control of the Board for the whole year, whereas the war-steamer is only given for a time, and is of course always under Admiralty orders. There is also additional benefit found to flow to the Highland population of our insular and other western shores, from the easy intercourse they can have with the Gaelic-speaking boats’ crew of the cutter, compared with the utter and irremediable absence of all intelligible intercourse, which not unfrequently occurs, between that population and the unalloyed Saxons of a steamship from the south.

We doubt not that the Board of Fisheries believes itself, and on good ground, to be, from the very nature of its constitution, in a more favourable position than any other body of men can be, to ascertain and judge of the local requirements of parties applying for additional accommodation in the way of piers and quays. Their accurate statistical returns enable them to know whether a given station is on the increase or otherwise, and their local officers having necessarily an intimate acquaintance with the character of the fishing population of each district, can testify to their activity and success. They can thus give information which it would be extremely difficult to obtain in any other way, but without which the propriety of erecting, or repairing and extending, any of these shore-works, could not be so satisfactorily determined.

In respect to the proposal to assimilate the Scotch to the Irish fisheries, we believe the fact to be, that the Irish Herring Fishery has actually no existence as a national undertaking. Let any one read over the Reports of the Irish Commissioners, and he will perceive at once that their functions are confined almost exclusively to the regulation and improvement of the Inland Fisheries; that is, those of salmon and white trout. Any mention of herrings is, in truth, of the most casual and unimportant kind. There is, no doubt, a somewhat regular herring fishery off a portion of the eastern coast of Ireland, the boats sailing, for the time being, to and from the harbour of Howth. But it is very well known to every person in any way conversant with the subject, that these boats consist of about 140 from St Ives, in Cornwall, of towards 100 from the Isle of Man, and of some 20 from Campbeltown in the west of Scotland. Scarcely any native Irish boats frequent that fishery. We believe that a few come off from Arklow,—we presume very few, as they are not enumerated by the Irish Commissioners. These Commissioners, however, state, that of all the boats above mentioned, the Scotch “are invariably the most successful,” owing to the superior nature of their nets, and no doubt more skilful mode of management. So backward, in truth, is the condition of the Irish herring fishery, and those connected with it, compared with the Scotch and its conductors, that a very few seasons ago a set of cooper’s tools for the manufacture of barrels could not be found at any curing-station in all Ireland, and there had to be sent over from Scotland, at the request of Mr Ffennel, one of the Irish Inspecting Commissioners, a few skilled artisans, with the necessary implements, to instruct the establishments of the sister isle, and aid those concerned in their pursuit of knowledge under difficulties. Now, we should certainly be very sorry to be assimilated to anything of that kind, although we can easily conceive that the assimilation of the Irish fisheries to those of Scotland would be of great advantage to the former.

We are willing to make every allowance for the difference in the character and disposition of the Scotch and Irish (although the majority of the one, so far as fishers are concerned, are as Celtic as the other), and for many disturbing elements in the Green Isle which do not so deeply and fatally pervade the social state of our own people; but still, where we find, on the one hand, a most important branch of commerce long established and maintained in security, and now on the increase from year to year, and on the other a desponding if not decreasing condition of affairs, carried on with little energy and no success,—there seems nothing unreasonable in the supposition, that management and methodical regulation, a long-continued course of instruction, an unceasing supervision, and encouragement both by precept and example, to work up and attain to a higher standard of excellence than heretofore, may have produced the most beneficial effect in the former case; while the absence of such ameliorating causes, and of all counteractions of apathy and ignorance, may have been injurious in the latter. The Scotch fishermen and fish-curers have experienced, and still enjoy, the advantages referred to,—the Irish have not been deprived of them, because they never had them in possession. The Scotch herring fishery is by far the greatest and most successful in the world,—the Irish is unfortunately the smallest and least prosperous on the waters of the known earth; and why should we seek to assimilate the two by adding much to nothing, rather than by endeavouring to create something out of nothing, and thus increasing the previously existing stores of national wealth? Of course, we know not with certainty what effect would follow the formation along the still unproductive Irish shores of a machinery in accordance with the system which has proved so signally successful along the wild coasts of much more barren and ungenial Scotland; but we think it would surely be a wiser and more generous policy to try the experiment of assimilation, rather by endeavouring to raise up Ireland to what it ought to be, than run the risk of bringing the two countries into somewhat similar condition, by sacrificing any of the few advantages which Scotland now enjoys.

If the accurate ascertainment of the statistics of the land is now deemed of such vital importance, surely that of the sea, to this great maritime and commercial nation, is no way less so. This brings us to the consideration of the performance of another important duty of the Board, the advantages of which we should of course lose on its abolition. Our marine and fishery statistics have been hitherto collected with great fulness and accuracy by the officers of the Board, and annually reported to Parliament. On the demolition of the Board, who are to perform the same functions in time to come? If the coast-guard is to be so employed, as it is in Ireland, let us briefly inquire into the well-doing of that system there.

In reference to the marine statistics of the sister isle, as collected and transmitted by the coast-guard, the Irish Fishery Commissioners report as follows:—

“The doubts which we have expressed in former reports of the accuracy of the tabular returns, which are founded upon information furnished by the coast-guard department, are, we regret to state, undiminished. Several cases in which we have endeavoured to test their correctness, have convinced us that not even an approximate estimate can be formed of the actual extent and state of the fishing establishment on the coast. From any sources within our reach, unaided by anything like a responsible staff, we are unable to obtain the necessary information, or to effect that perfect organisation of the coast which would tend to the promotion of the fisheries and the preservation of order—an object of vital importance to the well-working of the fisheries, as well as to the peace of the country.

“We have in our department but one clerk, whose duties are sometimes necessarily extended to visiting distant stations for the promulgation of by-laws, or for other purposes; and on such occasions we have required of him to furnish us with a statement of his progress. His reports prove how exceedingly valuable the services of qualified persons would be, instead of the desultory and unsatisfactory information which we are enabled to procure from irresponsible persons, who are bound to make our business quite subordinate to their more important duties. We subjoin a copy of the circular and queries which we issue annually to the coast-guard department; and in most cases we find that five out of the seven questions asked are either not answered at all, or in a manner not calculated to afford much information.”^[23]

In a subsequent report the Inspecting Commissioners state, in relation to the Belmullet district, which extends from Duna Head to Butter Point, that the diminution in the number of boats and hands is so great as to seem quite incredible. They attribute this not so much to the actual decrease, as to the erroneous and exaggerated information formerly received. “There are no first-class boats, and only 190 second class, with 676 men and boys, instead of the former establishment, which was stated to have been 962 vessels, with 3376 men and boys. This clearly proves the great inaccuracy of former returns.”^[24]

In the most recent report of the Irish Commissioners the following is the conclusion come to:—

“We cannot conclude this report on the coast fisheries of Ireland without expressing our deep regret that we are not furnished with data which would enable us to supply accurate statistical information as to the physical resources which may be found upon our shores for purposes of national defence. The encouragement of our coast fisheries used in former times to be considered the most effectual and legitimate means of providing for our navy.... In France we are told that the whole commercial navy—masters, mates, sailors, and shipboys—are under the eye and jurisdiction of the Minister of Marine;—nay, every fisherman, waterman, ferryman, oyster-dredger, and boat-builder is registered. We very much wish that we had been enabled to establish even a less perfect system of organisation, but we find ourselves more deficient in means of obtaining accurate information every succeeding year; and we entertain little hopes that, until the present plan of registry is much improved, we can ever attempt to present returns the accuracy of which we could vouch for.”^[25]

We do not think that the preceding extracts are encouraging, or hold out any great inducement to assimilate our established mode of marine statistical collection to that of Ireland. Far better to abide as we are, and “let well alone.” It may also be borne in mind, that so far as the north-west portions of Scotland, with their numerous and deeply-indented fishing-bays, are concerned, there is actually no coast-guard in existence.

A single paragraph may suffice in regard to the general marine superintendence, or police duties, as exercised by the Board of Fisheries. These duties are chiefly performed by boats’ crews from the Princess Royal fishery cutter. We may refer to the fact that the Chamber of Commerce of Wick apply each season to the Board for a boat’s crew to be stationed at Wick, for the purpose of preserving order in the fleet of fishing-boats assembled in that overcrowded mart; and that the results are invariably so successful and satisfactory, that no complaints of brawling or contention are ever made. On the contrary, the Chamber of Commerce seems annually to express and record its grateful acknowledgments to the Board for its efficient services in this particular matter of the preservation of the peace. The following, however, is of a somewhat different complexion, in the last Report of the Irish Commissioners, regarding the state of matters in the Green Isle:—

“The fishers and buyers complain greatly of the absence of some regulations for the preservation of order among the multitude of boats and people that are often assembled; and still more of the absence of any summary jurisdiction for enforcing regulations and settling disputes between the boatmen themselves, and between them and the purchasers; and have agreed upon a memorial to the Lord-Lieutenant upon the subject, which, doubtless, will come before the Board in due time.”^[26] “The inspecting commander at Donaghadee complains that the people do not conform to the laws with regard to the size of the meshes; and that with poke nets, used in Lough Strangford, great quantities of fry of cod, whiting, pollock, blocken, sythes, salmon-trout, turbot, golpens, and smelts, from two to three inches long, are destroyed.”^[27]

We may now say a few words regarding the somewhat disputed subject of the brand. Many of our readers are, no doubt, so innocent as not to know very precisely what this mysterious symbol indicates. The mark called the Full crown Brand merely means, that the herrings contained in the barrel which bears it have been regularly selected and assorted from the first, as of full size, good quality, and fresh condition; that they have been gutted and salted immediately after capture; have gone through various intermediate curative processes not needful to be here detailed; have lain at least ten days in pickle since their first presentment in the market-place; and having been then carefully inspected by the fishery officer of the station, and found in every way excellent and in sound order, have had the heads and girdings of their barrels firmly and finally fixed down by the cooper, and so being entitled to the Government Brand, have accordingly had that distinction impressed upon them by means of a hot iron which “the likeness of a queenly crown has on.”

Now, it has been argued by some, who, like Campbell’s sable chieftain of the Indian forest,—

that this is an interference with the freedom of trade, which should be left open to all competitors, without fear or favour. They maintain that although it may be convenient and advantageous to dealers, it practically tends to confine improvement in the mode of cure within the limits just necessary to secure the brand, and that there is thus no inducement held out to a fish-curer to surpass his fellows,—the Government brand, as it were, equalising the value of the article, although one set of barrels may be much better than another. It is also asserted that the brand creates an artificial system inconsistent with proper and prevailing principles, and that the sounder system now applied to the linen and woollen trade (from both of which the Government mark has been for some time removed), and all along to the fisheries of Ireland, should be put in force.

In reply to these objections, it may be mentioned that herrings are of a very different nature from linen or woollen fabrics, and after being packed for exportation, cannot have their character and condition ascertained by either touch or eye-sight, without injury to their future state. The brand is not compulsory, and can scarcely present any barrier to improvement in the cure of herrings, because if any curer, more skilful than his neighbours, can find out and put in practice any better method than that now in use, he is entirely free to do so, and may thus establish his name, and trust to it, independent of the brand. Moreover, whatever may be the philosophical value of the principle in political economy pointed out as deserving of a preference in the abstract, it must practically (and the gutting and curing of herrings are very practical operations in their way) be borne in mind, that our fisheries have grown up rapidly under the present system, which was found necessary to enable us to compete with the Dutch, whom we have thereby driven out of whatever markets are open to us without disadvantageous differential duties, and that our now prosperous practice is sunk into the very foundations of our foreign trade, affecting the wellbeing of almost countless thousands, from the forlorn fisherman to the wealthiest capitalist, or most aspiring speculator.

It is assuredly a strong fact, that the foreign merchants themselves are unanimous in favour of the continuance of the present system, as enabling them to transmit their barrels, on the faith of the brand, into far inland countries, where the names of our native curers, however familiar to many of ourselves, are necessarily quite unknown, but where the acknowledged crown brand, by its simplicity and certainty, suffices for every purpose of an agreed-on guarantee. Great derangement of the foreign trade, and consequent disadvantage, are naturally apprehended from any sudden departure from the existing long-established system. The trouble and expense which, in absence of the brand, necessarily follow the practice of braken (that is, inspection by opening) would inevitably decrease the profits of both the fishermen and curers in our own country; because as each party through whose hands the fish pass from their first capture to their final consumption must reap some share of profit, whatever increases the difficulties of the intermediate stages, tends to lower prices in this country. The duties paid abroad, both of import and transit, and other unavoidable charges, prevent the exaction of any higher prices in the foreign market, because any considerable increase would be tantamount to prohibition, and would thus debar any sales whatever. As the price, then, must remain the same, or nearly so, to the foreign consumer, a large proportion of the loss occasioned by increased expense would unavoidably fall upon our own people. Now, it is well known that, in consequence of the perilous and uncertain nature of a fisherman’s vocation, and the peculiarities of the curing trade, the profits to those concerned can in no way stand reduction, however much they may require increase.

The opinion of the foreign merchants on this matter has been manifested many times. On the 7th of March 1844, Messrs Robinow & Sons, and Hudtwalcker & Co., of Hamburg, write as follows:—

“We believe ourselves entitled to state that we are not merely expressing our own individual sentiments, but, at the same time, those of the public in general interested in the herring trade of the Continent. The official interference of the Board will prove a great benefit to the Scotch herring trade. It will, on the one hand, prove to the buyers on the Continent that the Board of Fisheries is desirous to do all in its power to justify the renowned fame of its brands, and in this way give more confidence to the trade. On the other hand, the curers of Scotland will be influenced by such steps to pay as much attention to the curing and packing as possible, and thus increasing confidence on the part of consumers, and increasing vigilance, with a view to improve the cure, on the part of the curers and officers, will conjointly contribute to increase the consumption of Scotch herrings on the Continent, and consequently to increase the exportation.”

Mr Wellmann, of Stettin, a very extensive foreign purchaser of the Caithness branded herrings, in a letter to Mr George Traill, M.P. for the county, wrote thus on the 8th of February 1851:—

“Scotch herrings are only sold in small quantities in this market and the neighbourhood; they are chiefly sent great distances of from a hundred to eight hundred miles English, into the interior of Germany and Poland, either by orders or offers, without the assistance of commission merchants, for the great expense of forwarding them does not permit any commission to a third party. The great distance prevents, likewise, dealers from inspecting the herrings on the spot here, who therefore make their purchases solely on their trust in the official brand, knowing that the fish must be selected well, and properly cured,—that the barrels be of legal size,—and that they require to be well and tightly made before the brand can be affixed. These herrings are generally forwarded by crafts, which are often six or eight weeks on their passage, and it frequently happens that a great fall in the market takes place during that time; and should the official brand be removed, dealers in the interior might easily take advantage of such falls, for it would not be difficult to find complaints—such, for instance, that the fish were not properly selected or well cured—that they had too much or too little salt—or that the barrels were of a smaller size (for no one can there say of what size the barrels require to be); and as most herrings are sold on credit, they would consequently be often stored at the risk and the expense of the shipper, and perhaps in markets where the person who purchased them was the only dealer.... The cheapness and the improved cure have increased the importation of Scotch herrings into our port to a great extent, for there is no port to which more Scotch herrings are shipped than Stettin, whilst the importation of Dutch and Norwegian fish has diminished.”

A body of Hamburg merchants, too numerous to be here named, stated, on the 4th of October 1852, that it is by the careful observance of the regulations established and enforced by the Board of Fisheries, that the Scotch herring trade has attained to its present magnitude:—

“It is by the crown full brand,” they observe, “that we enter into contracts, make sales and deliveries, without examination. Such herrings pass current from hand to hand here, and into the interior, some of them reaching the empire of Austria. The many thousand barrels of full crown branded herrings arrived this season have given entire satisfaction to us and our constituents; but the sale of unbranded herrings is frequently the subject of complaint, and threats made by customers to return the herrings. We are, therefore, compelled to make abatements in the price.”

The partners of four merchant firms of Berlin expressed themselves thus, on the 7th of October 1852:—“We hereby represent our entire confidence in the official brand applied to the Scotch herrings by the officers of the Board of Fisheries, which is our only guarantee for the large capital we embark in this business.” And the heads of six mercantile houses of Magdeburg state, within a few days of that time, in respect to a rumour which had reached them regarding the possible abolition of the brand: “An alteration in this respect would put us to the greatest inconvenience, and compel us to adopt another plan of payment, which in the end would not be agreeable to your merchants and curers.... The opinion of a body of merchants, importing annually 50,000 to 60,000 barrels of Scotch herrings, will be worth some consideration, particularly as the object concerns the interests of both parties.”

Mr Thalberg, another Prussian merchant, has recently (in 1855) written as under:—

“In order to show how the Scotch herrings had risen in the Dantzic market, while in 1841 only from 3000 to 4000 barrels were imported, last year there were 35,000, and Scotch herrings were gradually more and more taken into the interior, while Norwegian herrings have correspondingly decreased. The same was the fact at Königsberg. This he attributed to the brand. Some of the herrings were actually sent to the Black Sea, being bought at Dantzic on the faith of the brand, which was so essential to a continuance and spread of the trade, that he did not believe purchasers from the interior would come such a distance and examine the barrels for themselves, were the brand abolished. Norwegian herrings were sent in small yachts, and each parcel was examined with the greatest minuteness before being purchased.”

These are the opinions of foreign merchants on this important point. The following may be taken as expressing the sentiments of those at home. Mr James Methuen, of Leith, a skilful curer, extensively known as of great experience, and very largely embarked in the export trade, very recently wrote as follows:—

“It is impossible to see each herring in a barrel, therefore inspection of them at the time of curing and packing enables an officer to brand with knowledge of the article, and gives confidence to the purchaser.

“The official brand has proved the means of exchange by bill of lading from hand to hand, and from dealer to dealer, in Scotland,—afloat in the middle of the North Sea,—in the Baltic, or in the rivers of Germany in their river craft, and up the interior of Germany for hundreds of miles,—and been passed and paid for as a good bill of exchange—in some cases through half-a-dozen purchasers.

“I ask those who differ, would it be wise of Parliament to peril the industry of so many thousands of our seafaring and industrious population, for want of the supervision that has wrought so well as to displace the demand for Norwegian and Dutch cured herrings on the continent of Europe, and enhanced the value of the Scotch crown branded herrings, so that they are now bought and sold without inspection by parties who never, and cannot, see them.”^[28]

The important fact previously stated by Mr Wellmann, in regard to the increasing consumption of Scotch herrings in the Baltic, and the consequently decreased importation from other quarters, is well shown by the following table:—

In the year 1849, our exportation to Stettin amounted to 147,103 barrels. That season is well known to have been the most productive of herrings of any ever “recorded in history,” and so gave us the power, while Prussia afforded the opportunity, of this most beneficial exportation. It gives us sincere pleasure to add, that the immediately preceding season of 1855, although by no means the greatest in respect of capture, has exceeded all its predecessors in exportation to the Prussian markets—154,961 barrels having been transmitted to Stettin during the year now closed. Almost the whole of that vast consignment was ordered in consequence of the certain guarantee afforded by the crown brand. Now that peace is ere long, as we trust, about to be proclaimed, it is pleasant to anticipate the fresh impulse which may be given to the consumption of our native produce in many inland countries of the Continent. The disastrous, though, from the cruel necessities of war, advisable destruction of the great Russian fisheries, will no doubt, for a time, cause additional recourse to our marine resources; but the absence of the well-known and long-trusted brand from our barrels exported to the Baltic, would assuredly tend to check, or render less likely, that desirable increase.^[29]

It is thought by many considerate and well-instructed people, by bankers and men of business, whether merchants or otherwise, that the power of obtaining the brand is of great advantage to young men of small means, and not yet established commercial reputation, who desire to enter into the export herring trade. By attending carefully to the cure of, it may be, only a few hundred barrels, they obtain the brand, and can ship their small stock with as good a prospect of a fair proportional profit as the most wealthy and best-known exporter. This opens a door to rising integrity and intelligence which might otherwise be closed, and it lessens the occasional evils of those engrossing monopolies which the large command of capital or credit is apt to produce, to the disadvantage of the poorer though not less trustworthy trader.

In reference to the next head of our discourse—the small annual grant of £3000 for the erection or enlargement of harbours, piers, and quays,—we think it cannot be doubted that its administration by the Board of Fisheries is necessarily attended by numerous and great advantages. Correspondence and inquiry take place in each particular instance of application for aid; one of the first practical steps being an accurate survey by the Board’s engineers, with a report on the practicability and probable expense of the proposed work. The cost of this preliminary investigation is shared, half and half, between the applicant and the Board. The Board, being by this time in possession of all particulars necessary to be known, determines the proportion which the proprietor or fishermen (or both, as the case may be) should be made to bear of the ultimate outlay, while the latter parties also take into consideration how far they are able to make the required contribution; and so the agreement is either completed, or does not take place. Of course, the Board may either reject or entertain an application, while a proprietor (committed to nothing more than his share of the previous survey) may on his part accept or refuse to pledge himself to the payment of his fixed proportion, according to what he knows of his own ways and means. It is not till these preliminaries have been adjusted that the actual work is mutually agreed upon, and put in operation. We know that many of these undertakings, which on their first proposal seemed almost hopeless of execution, have, by the encouragement and exertion of the Board, been brought to a successful issue, and are not only now in themselves of unspeakable advantage to our fishing population, but, by affording a successful example of the benefits which occur from comparatively small sums judiciously expended, have been the means of conducing directly to the erection of similar undertakings elsewhere, of equal benefit, but not previously taken into contemplation. A great deal more is done by these quiet and considerate means than can possibly be here detailed; but it is self-evident that the constant and unconstrained communication which now and has so long existed between the Commissioners, the great majority of whom are resident in Edinburgh, and the proprietors as well as people of the coast districts, where an increase of boat accommodation is so much required, cannot be otherwise than advantageous.^[30]

Now, if the Board of Fisheries be abolished, how and by whom are these friendly and encouraging communications to be carried on, and who are to pay the preliminary expenses? Through what agency are matters to be put in shape for acceptance by the Treasury, and the recommendation of a special grant by Parliament, in favour of any particular pier, or other work, that may be wanted? These preliminary but unavoidable expenses would in many cases fall upon a body of poor fishermen, who, without any warning voice on the one hand, or word of encouragement on the other, must proceed in doubt and darkness as to the chances of ultimate success with Government; while that Government could not proceed to action in the proposed matter without ordering some inquiry of their own, with a view to confirm or confute the opinion of the applicant, and thus causing, whatever might be the result, additional if not double expenditure,—while the object of the abolition of the Board is to save expense! A detailed explanation to Parliament regarding the special requirements of each particular case, though safe and salutary in the instance of great public harbour-works, would prove inconvenient, if not inoperative, in the administration of the numerous smaller fishing-pier grants for Scotland, hitherto contributed and administered by the Board. In what way the local though important circumstances connected with the expenditure of a few hundred pounds for the erection of a slip at the far end of Lewis, at Sandseir in Shetland, or Eday in Orkney, can form the subject of an immediate and judicious parliamentary inquiry, we cannot well conceive. Probably few proprietors would desire to take advantage of a grant for some small but desirable improvement in those wild regions, were all the private and preliminary negotiations subjected to so cumbrous and uncertain a course as a consideration by the House of Commons. The communications now made to the Board of Fisheries by many Highland and other proprietors, are no doubt often to a certain extent of a confidential nature, involving the exposition of pecuniary affairs in connection with the proportional sums which particular proprietors may or may not have it in their power to pay. But when the main point is proved, to the satisfaction of the Board—to wit, that a great and general advantage will assuredly accrue to the people, whether a closely congregated mass, or the forlorn and far-scattered remnants of some dim and distant island of the sea,—then is the grant agreed to, and every effort, consistent with enduring efficiency, made to economise its administration, while every exertion has been previously put forth to obtain the utmost possible aid from proprietors and fishermen. It is obvious, from the annual reports made to Parliament, how much is frequently effected by the Board in this way. Let the following examples suffice for the exposition of this portion of our subject. The harbours after-named have not been built by wealthy proprietors, but by contributions to the Board by working fishermen, out of the hard-earned savings of their precarious life of labour.

The grant to the Board commenced in 1828, but was only £2500 per annum for many years, and often greatly less, the practice appearing to have long been to require from the Treasury only the sum actually wanted for each work; and, from some absence of knowledge among both proprietors and fishermen, and probably inexperience on the part of the Commissioners of the Board, the grant in certain seasons was not obtained at all. It never seems to have reached a regular annual payment of £2500 until the year 1838, nor £3000 until the year 1850. Yet since its institution it has, by means of the negotiations of the Board, drawn out from private parties, for the erection of harbours, the sum of

expended on the improvement of our coasts. It ought, moreover, to be borne in mind, that although, by the Act of Parliament, not less than one-fourth must be contributed by the private promoters of these shore-works, yet, through the influential management of the Board, this required proportion has in a great many cases been raised to one-third, and in some to one-half, of the estimated sum. So greatly, indeed, have the benefits of these ameliorations attracted the attention of the poor fishermen themselves, that they have not seldom of late come forward with offers of contributions much beyond what could have been anticipated from men of their class. When we consider the other advantages necessarily flowing from the increased prudential habits which must precede this social or domestic saving,—the diminution in the consumption of ardent spirits, and abstinence from other sensuous enjoyments,—it seems impossible to overrate the importance of any existing and well-established condition of affairs, admitted to be directly influential in the production of so beneficial, we may say so blessed, a result.

On the most mature and deliberate consideration of the whole matter now before us, and with large practical experience of the history and habits of our fishermen, and other coast population, we desire to protest against the unpatriotic rumour which has reached our ears, that the Board of Fisheries is about to be abolished, and its beneficial functions performed by—we know not whom.

We have now no longer any space for special observations on the two works of which the titles are given at the foot of the first page of this article. Like all its predecessors, the Report by the Commissioners of the Board of Fisheries, for 1854, contains a great deal of valuable statistical and other information, which, if we seek for elsewhere, we shall fail to find. The author of the treatise on “Fisheries,” in the current edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica, has presented us with an ample and accurate exposition of his subject, with which he is no doubt well acquainted. He appears to us to be rather long-winded on the history and habits of the salmon and its smolts, whether one year old or two; but this is probably one of his hobbies, and as it may be also a favourite topic with a numerous class of curious and inquiring readers, and has recently assumed additional importance in connection with the artificial breeding of the finest of our fresh-water fishes, our ingenious author’s time and labour have probably been by no means misbestowed in its elucidation.

SYDNEY SMITH.

The art of criticism is a branch of literature peculiar and separate, rigidly marked out from all the other branches of this gentle craft. An author, like a mother, throws all his personal prestige, all his hope, and all his riches, into that frail rich-freighted argosy, the book, which is doubtless his, but yet a separate entity, and by no means him; and almost in proportion to the power of his genius, and the elevation of his aim, his book outshines and overtops its maker, and becomes of the two the more real and tangible existence. It is indeed the inevitable tendency of art, in all its loftier labours, to glorify the work rather than the worker. The man perforce moves in a limited circle, the book goes everywhere. It is true that we are all much in the habit of saying that the author is better than the book; but this is an extremely questionable proposition, and one which experience constantly controverts. Also we all make comments—and on what subject have we been so unanimously eloquent?—on the wide reception given to the productions, and the small amount of public acknowledgment bestowed, on the persons, of English men of literature. Yes, they may do those things better in France; but it is not all our English conventionalism, nor is the “stony British stare” with which the man of land petrifies the man of letters in these realms by any means a primary or even a secondary cause of that want of social rank and estimation of which we all complain. Instead of that, it is the normal position of authorhood, the bonâ fide and genuine condition of a man who has voluntarily transferred his wealth, his aspirations, and his power, to another existence, even though that existence is a creation of his own. The writer of a great book is an abdicated monarch; out of his cloister, discrowned, but triumphant, he watches the other king whom he has made, going forth gloriously, a youth and a bridegroom, to take the world by storm. There are other modes of fame for him who has a mind to enjoy it in his own person; but it is scarcely to be disputed, to our thinking, that the very first principle of art is to glorify the book, the picture, or the image, over the mind that brought them forth.

But criticism does what literature proper does not pretend to do. Happy the man who first hit upon the brilliant expedient of reviewing! The works of the critic are of their nature fugitive and ephemeral; but the same nature gives them innumerable advantages—immediate influence, instant superiority, a dazzling and unlaborious reputation. The works are almost nothing in many cases, but the men have leaped upon the popular platform, and mastered the reins of the popular vehicle in the twinkling of an eye. From whence it comes that the greater critics of modern literature are all known to us rather as persons than as writers. The younger generation, to whom the birth-hour of the Edinburgh, that Pallas Athene, in her buff and blue, is a remote historic epoch, have known all their lives the names of Jeffrey and of Sydney Smith; but we venture to say that this knowledge, so far from being based upon the actual productions of these distinguished and brilliant writers, would suffer diminution rather than increase from the most careful study of their several books. It is an entire mistake to send back these versatile and animated personages into the obscure of authorship; their reputation stands out a world above and beyond the volumes that bear their names. They have made no act of abdication in favour of a book; they are orators, impassioned, eager, partial; they are men, each in his own person, storming at us with individual opinions, laughter, indignation, contemptuousness, making splendid blunders, brilliant successes, and leaving echoes of their own undaunted voices in the common din of every day. Their reputation is immediate, sudden, personal—not the fame of a book, but the renown of a man.

And to this cause we may attribute the very evident fact, that some of the most notable men of the last generation have left little behind them to justify the extraordinary reputation bestowed on them by their contemporaries. Even our own St Christopher, the genial giant of Maga, is not sufficiently represented in the world of books—and his brilliant rivals of the opposite party have none of them left a Noctes. These men entirely eclipse the published works that bear their name. We know what their opinions were, much more by the primitive vehicle of oral tradition, than by the aid of print or publisher. Their position was that of speakers, not of writers; their periodical address to the public was a personal and direct address, out of a natural pulpit, where the audience saw the orator, as well as the orator saw the audience, and the immediate response was marvellous. But there is compensation in all things; the author “had up” before this bench of judges, and gloriously cut to pieces to the triumph and admiration of all beholders, has his quiet revenge over his old castigators. The critic, like Dives, has all his good things in his lifetime; it is the nature of his fame to decrease, and fade into a recollection. The man dies; the book lives on.

The writer of the work before us,^[31] brief and modest as is her execution of her labour of love, is diffident of the reception which it may meet with at the hands of the public. Lady Holland’s doubts on this question have been, doubtless, set at rest long ere now; and we are after date in offering her the comfort of our opinion, so far as that may go. Yet we cannot help saying, that with such a man as Sydney Smith, a biography was a necessity—a right belonging to him, and a duty owed to us. During his own time he was—not a moral essayist, though all the world crowded to his lectures—not an Edinburgh Reviewer, though he himself was the Jove from whose brain that armed Minerva sprang—nor, last and least, a Canon of St Paul’s. He was Sydney Smith—it was enough distinction—official character would not stick to so manful and mirthful a personage; it was not possible to seize upon one part of his sunshiny and genial nature, and make of it a supposititious man. There was no catching him even in profile; wherever he went, he went with his whole breadth in full array of errors and excellences, ampler than his canonicals. It is folly to say that such a life was uneventful, or that such a person was not a fit subject for biography. In fact, he was the fittest of subjects; and as the world never before knew him so well, it is safe to say that, not even in the sudden triumph of his first great enterprise, not in the excitement of the times of Plymley, nor in the fury of American repudiation, was the name of Sydney Smith so distinguished or so popular as now.

This is the doing of his daughter and his wife. Honour to the love which would not be discouraged! The mother has not been permitted to see how thoroughly and cordially the world appreciates that honest and noble Englishman, of whose fame she was the loyal conservator; but to have carried out so well her mother’s purpose, and to have seen how completely the public mind adopts and justifies their own loving estimate of the head of their household, must be, to Lady Holland, sufficient reward.

Sydney Smith was the son of a gentleman, clever enough and rich enough to be a somewhat remarkable and “picturesque” personage, but not, so far as appears, a very influential one, either as regarded the character or fortune of his sons. The boys were clever beyond precedent; so clever, that their schoolfellows made solemn protest against the injustice of being compelled to strive for prizes with “the Smiths,” who were always sure to win. Sydney, the most distinguished of the brotherhood, was captain of the school at Winchester, and, in Oxford, a Fellow of New College. If popular report speaks true, such learned celibates are always lovers of good cheer; and in those days, according to Lady Holland, port wine was the prevailing Helicon; for medievalism had not then come into fashion, and learned leisure hung heavy upon the colleges. In the thronged world of youth and intelligence, within and around these ancient walls, it is easy to suppose how great an influence, had he sought it, must have fallen to such a man as Sydney Smith—not to say that society was his natural element, and conversation his special and remarkable gift. Under these circumstances—at an age in which every one loves to excel, and in a place where he had unusual opportunities of distinguishing himself—the young Fellow, seeking neither pleasure nor influence, stoutly turned his back upon temptation, and lived, like a brave man as he was, upon his hundred pounds a-year. Sydney was of other mettle than those hapless men of genius whose “light from heaven” is a light which leads astray; and it is singular to observe that the prevailing characteristic of this famous wit and man of society, at this most perilous portion of his life, was steadfast, honest, self-denying independence. Such an example is rare; and no one who wishes to form a true estimate of the hero of this story, should omit to note this triumph of his youth.

From New College, by an abrupt transition, the young man falls into his fate. Why the most brilliant of Mr Robert Smith’s four sons should be the sacrifice of the family we are not told; but the elder is destined for the bar, and the younger for India, and to Sydney remains only the Church. He does not feel, nor pretend to feel, that this is his natural vocation; but he feels it “his duty to yield to his father’s wishes, and sacrifice his own.” Indeed, to take him within his own limited standing-ground, the life of Sydney Smith seems nearly a perfect one—duty, frankly accepted and honestly fulfilled, is in every period and change of his history; and so long as we take it for granted that it is only one of the learned professions which this good son enters in obedience to his father’s wishes, we cannot sufficiently admire the fortitude with which he takes up his lot. However, we warn our readers, who may entertain notions, old-fashioned or newfangled, that a clergyman should be something more than a professional man, to discharge all such fancies from their mind while they discuss this history. Sydney Smith is only to be dealt with on his own platform, and by the light of his own motives. For ourselves, we confess that this most honest, kind-hearted, and benevolent divine, is not by any means our beau ideal of a clergyman. Granting all his admirable qualities, and with due regard for the “calm dignity of his eye, mien, and voice,” his “deep earnest tones,” and “solemn impressive manner,” and also for the unfailing benevolence and kindliness of his dealings with his parishioners—in all which we perfectly believe—we still cannot help feeling that the least satisfactory view which we can have of Sydney Smith is that of his clerical position. He does not belong to it, nor it to him; he is a wit, a scholar, a man of letters, a man of politics, but in no sense, except in the merely arbitrary matter-of-fact one, is he a clergyman. Without entering into the religious question, or throwing any stigma whatever upon a man, in his own way, so honest and so admirable, we are obliged to hold by our opinion,—the common motives of honesty and propriety which govern men in the commonest of occupations, are all that are necessary in his profession of clergyman for a true judgment of Sydney Smith. It is his duty to look after the morals and comforts of his parishioners, and he does his duty; but to require of him the entire devotion of an evangelist, would be to require what he does not pretend to, and indeed disapproves of. To judge him as we judge the primitive apostles of our faith, or even to judge him as we judge an Evangelical incumbent or a Puseyite rector—men who, after their different fashions, live for this laborious business of theirs, and put their whole heart in it—would be idle and useless. He must be looked on in the light of his own motives and his own principles, and not according to any special view of ours.

And in this aspect we can admire the sacrifice which a young man, conscious of his own great powers, and no doubt conscious that in this sphere, of all others, were they least likely to do him service, made “to his father’s wishes.” He was soon put to a severe practical trial, and with equal fortitude seems to have endured his banishment to the dreary solitude of his first curacy. It was a cruel experiment. “Sydney Smith a curate in the midst of Salisbury Plain!” exclaims his biographer; and certainly the position was dismal enough. “The village consisted but of a few scattered cottages and farms”—“once a-week a butcher’s cart came over from Salisbury”—and “his only relaxation, not being able to keep a horse, was long walks over these interminable plains.” Under these circumstances one may suppose that a little of the fervour of that Methodism, at which in after days he aimed his least successful arrow, might have been the best amelioration possible to this melancholy state of things; and very sad it is indeed to send a man, with no apostolic vocation whatever, to a place which nothing but the vocation of an apostle could render bearable. Nevertheless Sydney, honest, brave, and manful, did his duty. He remained at his post, though he did not love it, and did what was required of him, if not like an apostle, at least like an honest man.

Let us pause to say that this seems to us the really distinct and predominant feature in the character of Sydney Smith. He is everywhere a full-developed Englishman, making greater account of the manly virtues than of the ethereal ones—disposed to take the plain path before him, and to tread it sturdily—given to discussing everything that comes under his notice, in its actual and practicable reality rather than its remoter essential principles—a man given to doing more than to speculating—a mind not matter-of-fact, but actual—a soul of hearty and thorough honesty. Honesty is one of the most definite principles of our nature—it leaves no misty debatable land between the false and the true; and a man who says nothing but what he believes true, and does nothing but what he believes right, may be many a time wrong, as human creatures are, yet must always be an estimable man. Sydney Smith is never quixotic—never goes positively out of his way to seek a duty which does not specially call upon him. As long as the bishop is propitious, he is quite content to leave Foston among the Yorkshire clay, without a parish-priest; but as soon as the duty places itself broad and distinct before him, he is down upon it without a moment’s pause, builds the ugly vicarage, takes possession of the unattractive parish, does whatever his hand findeth to do. In this lies the charm and force of his character; in spite of all we say ourselves, and all that other people are pleased to say concerning the sombre and foggy mood of our national mind, we, for our own part, cannot help regarding Sydney Smith as a very type and impersonation of that virtue which has the especial admiration of these islands. For we like tangible worthiness, we British people—we like something to look at, as well as to hear tell of, and rejoice with our whole hearts over the man who “goes in” at his foes, and overcomes them—who makes light of the infinite “bothers” of life, and bears its serious calamities like a man, and who carries his good cheer and his cordial heart unclouded over all. This is the national standard and type of excellence, let them speak of vapours and moroseness who will.

From the dreary probation of this first charge, Sydney was elevated to a tutorship, and ushered into a new and eventful life. With his pupil, the son of a Squire, to whom belongs the honour of finding out that this curate of Netherhaven was no ordinary personage, the young tutor, by a happy chance, found his way to Edinburgh. War broke out; Germany fell into trouble—well for Sydney!—and so the Jove came to Athens that the Minerva might be born. Does anybody remember how it was in those old, old days? Dearest reader, there was no Maga! there were Gentleman’s Magazines, and Scots Magazines, and other outré and antiquated productions. The broad and comprehensive survey of general events to which we are now accustomed, the universal criticism of everything and every person which is common to us all, and the perfect dauntlessness of modern journalism, were unknown to those times. And those were the days when our great men were young—when Youth was abroad in the world, with all his daring and all his eagerness. There is no particular star of youth in the horizon of this second half of the nineteenth century, but this brilliant planet was in the ascendant as the old eighteenth ended its old-fashioned career of dulness. There was Jeffrey, sharp, sparkling, and versatile; there was Brougham, vehement and impetuous; there was Sydney, in his English breadth and all-embracing mirthfulness; and there were others, all young—young, clever, daring, exuberant, full of that youthful joyous courage which defies the world. They met, they talked, they argued: strange enough, though there are published Lives of most of them, we have no clear account of those conversations—no Dies or Noctes, disclosing the eager discussions, the boundless animadversions, the satire, the fun, and the laughter of this brilliant fraternity in the high and airy habitations which suited their beginning fortune; but the result we are all very well acquainted with. Something came of the concussion of these young and eager intellects; they were all armed and ready for a grand tilt at things in general—a jubilant attack upon precedent and authority, after the manner of youth. Yes, some of them remain, ancient men—others of them have passed away in ripe old age; yet there they stand, the Revolutionists of Nature, the universal challengers, the fiery Crusaders of youth. It was not Whiggery, good our reader, though Pallas Athene is buff and blue—it was the genuine natural impulse, common to all young humankind, of pulling down the old and setting up the new.

Perhaps it is because we are better accustomed to good writing and clever speculation in these days—perhaps because there is now a wider freedom of speech and opinion than there used to be; but there is a most distinct and woeful difference, beyond dispute, between the beginning of literary enterprises in this time, and in that brilliant and eventful period when Maga was born and the Edinburgh was young. Quarterly Reviews spring up everywhere in these days—grow into little comfortable private circulations—belong to particular “interests”—are read, and influential in their sphere; but who takes note of the day or hour of their appearing, or hails the advent of the new luminary? Then, the young periodical took the world by storm—now, nobody wots of it. The difference is notable; and perhaps, after all, we may be justly doubtful whether it really is better to have a great many people to do a thing indifferently, than to have one or two who can do it well.

Yes, we were enemies at our outset; we wrestled manfully, sometimes for fame, sometimes for principle, sometimes “for love;” yet, being foes, let us rejoice over them, worthy rivals in an honourable field. Jeffrey and Sydney Smith have gone upon the last journey—Christopher North is gathered to his fathers—alas and alas! genius and fame and power are things of a day, as we are; yet it is hard to believe in their decline and decadence, when we look back upon these days of their youth.

The first idea of the Edinburgh Review originated with Sydney Smith. His proposal, as he says himself, was received “with acclamation;” and indeed it is easy to understand the exultation with which these daring young men must have anticipated possessing an organ of their own. He himself edited the first number; and though his name is not so entirely identified with this brilliant and successful enterprise as some of his colleagues, to him belongs the glory of the beginning. But his biographer does little justice to this interesting period of his life. We have glimpses of his history in Edinburgh only by means of sundry sensible and candid letters written to the father and mother of his pupil, in which, as might be expected, the said pupil, a respectable and mediocre Michael Beach, appears at greater length than his instructor. There is nothing remarkable in these letters, except the good sense and frankness with which the character of this pupil is exhibited; and this is as creditable to the young man’s parents as it is to Sydney: but save for two or three domestic incidents, we see nothing more of the man, nor how he lived during this period which had so important an influence upon all his after life. Even Sydney Smith could not make everywhere such a brilliant little nucleus of society as that which he brightened and cheered in Edinburgh. We would gladly have seen more of the five years of his northern residence, and are much disposed to grudge that Lady Holland should take this time of all others to tell us about his writings, and to make a survey of all the future succession of his articles in the Edinburgh. These we can find out for ourselves; but we might surely have had a more articulate sketch of how our hero appeared among his equals at this beginning of his life.

Shortly after the first appearance of the Review, Sydney Smith left Edinburgh, whence, having “finished” his pupil, and finding it necessary to make some more permanent provision for his family, he removed to London, where he seems—no disparagement to his manly and independent character—to have lived for some time upon his wits, making strenuous efforts to improve his condition, and bearing what he could not mend with the gayest and most light-hearted philosophy. During this time he delivered his famous lectures upon moral philosophy—about the earliest example, we suppose, of literary lecturings; a course of popular instruction which found immense favour in the eyes of a curious and discerning public. Audiences, crowded, fashionable, and clever, listened with eagerness to his exposition of the doctrines and history of metaphysics. Into this Scotchest of sciences, Sydney, who was no metaphysician, made a rapid and daring leap. We do not pause to inquire whether his style was the perfect English which some of his friends assert it to be—at least it was luminous, clear, and flowing, full of good sense, and bright with lively sparkles of wit and high intelligence. To these lectures “everybody” went; and very creditable it seems to everybody, that this unbeneficed and unaristocratic clergyman, known solely by his great and fearless talents, and as far removed from a courtier of fashion as it is possible to conceive, should have congregated together so large and so enthusiastic an audience. The manner in which the lecturer himself speaks of this popular course of philosophy, and the reputation he acquired by it, is amusing enough. Writing to Jeffrey, he says:—

“My lectures are just now at such an absurd pitch of celebrity, that I must lose a good deal of reputation before the public settles into a just equilibrium respecting them. I am most heartily ashamed of my own fame, because I am conscious I do not deserve it; and that the moment men of sense are provoked by the clamour to look into my claims, it will be at an end.”

This prediction has not been fulfilled—nor are the lectures themselves of the brilliant, faulty, and dashing description, which from this account one might suppose them to be. They are, in fact, as honest and truthful as everything else which belongs to their author. When we read them now, we cannot quite account for the sensation they made then; yet we do not throw them into the list of undeserved or fallacious successes. They merited much though not all of their fame; and the social success and reputation of their author seems to have grown and progressed from this time. He was a universal favourite in that mystical region called “Society,” at least in every quarter of it to which his political opinions gave him access; and this public appearance made him henceforth a recognisable personage to the universal public eye. He was still poor and struggling with many difficulties; but he was surrounded with fit companions, and full of exuberant spirits—an admirable example, though unfortunately a rare one, of how well a heart at ease can hold its place against all the cares of life.

Out of this brief but brilliant season of triumph, poverty, and happiness, it was at last the fortune of Sydney Smith to find preferment—which means, in other words, he got a living—an unobtrusive comfortable living, which permitted its incumbent to remain quietly in town, and, having no parsonage to lodge him in, considerately gave him no manner of trouble. But this state of things was much too good to last, and the unfortunate Rector, a year or two after his appointment, was summoned not only to his post, but to the less obvious duty of making that post tenable. We cannot, we are afraid, perceive much hardship in the necessity of residence, even though the parish was a parish of clay, in Yorkshire, and out of the world; but the building of the parsonage was certainly quite a different matter, and a grievous burden upon a man whose hands already were full enough. Yet the story of this settlement at Foston is the pleasantest of stories—the cheeriest, brightest, prettiest picture imaginable of a Crusoe family-scene. For ourselves, we turn from all the other triumphs of his life—and all his triumphs, so joyfully achieved, are exhilarating to hear of—to dwell upon this delightful conquest of little ills and vulgar difficulties, of brick and timber, architecture and carpentry, slow village minds, and unaccommodating circumstances. Sydney Smith never met his foes vicariously, but with shout and sound of triumph went forth against them, an host in his own person, taking everything at first hand, and trusting to no deputy. The result was, that his work was done—briskly, well, and with satisfaction to everybody; though, supposing Sydney’s successor in this clayey parish to be a medieval man, to whom gables are a point of doctrine, and Gothic porches a necessity, we fear this square box, ugly and comfortable, must have been the good priest’s death. It was a home of the brightest to its builder and his family. We will not quote the quaint history, because everybody has quoted it; but of this we are very sure, that the ugly house at Foston, with all its odd contrivances—its Immortal, its Jack Robinson, its feminine butler twelve years old, its good cheer, its comfort, its fun, and all the hospitalities of “the Rector’s Head”—are pleasanter and more lasting memorabilia than scores of Plymley letters. We know no tale of honest, simple, kindly human interest which has attracted us more.

The visitors at “the Rector’s Head” were illustrious people—noble Greys, Carlisles, and Hollands, and a flood of philosophers and literary folk as notable in their way. In this book, however, there are but slender traces of this memorable “run upon the road.” We can perceive the visitor’s carriage floundering in the ploughed field, but we do not come to any very distinct perception of the visitor. Let us not grumble; the noble Whigs and the philosophic heroes are misty and illegible; but the setting-out of the family chariot, its freight, harness, and history, is as quaint and clear as anything in the Vicar of Wakefield—and, to tell you the truth, by no means unlike the same.

From Foston our hero, now the author of Peter Plymley’s Letters, comes to greater preferment, and is advanced to Combe Florey, his vale of flowers—strange type of human successes!—at a time when grievous trouble had come upon this happy-hearted man—the loss of his eldest son;—and from this period his course is all prosperous. He does not, it is true, get his bishopric, but he is Canon of St Paul’s—is able to spend a good deal of time in his beloved London—keeps up his high reputation in the world of wit and intelligence—and finally grows rich as he grows an old man. Sorrowful is this period of old age; and even the wit of Sydney Smith cannot veil the sadness of that mournful time, when death after death breaks up the original circle—when children are gone out of the parental house, and friends vanish out of the social world. Strangest of all human desires is that universal desire to live long. How melancholy is the ending of every record of a lengthened life! It is grievous to linger upon the tale of weaknesses and sorrows. Surely this art of biography ought to be one of the weightiest of moral teachers; for even such a joyous heart as this, though everywhere it finds relief and compensation, does not escape from that lengthened sojourn in the valley of the shadow. Earl Grey, his old political leader, was upon his last sick-bed when Sydney Smith, too weak to bear even the thanks of a grateful man whom he was not too weak to serve, made an end of his benevolent and upright days; and messages of mutual sympathy and good wishes passed between these two, who had wished each other well in other and more exciting warfares. So, after a long day of manly work and honest exertion, one of the cheeriest and most courageous of lives came to its conclusion. His contemporaries had been falling around him for years—his brother died immediately after—his friend Jeffrey did not long survive him. They are now almost all gone, these old men, who were once such eloquent and daring leaders of the impetuous genius of youth. The Edinburgh Review has fallen into respectable matronhood, and no longer shivers a sparkling lance upon the powers that be. So wears the world away.

We cannot venture to stray into those painful and elaborate definitions of wit, which so many people seem constrained to enter upon at the very name of Sydney Smith. To our humble thinking, there is an undiscriminated region of fun, a lesser and lower world than that in which Wit and Humour contend for the kingship, to which many of his triumphs belong. We do not disparage his claims as a wit; we do not deny to him that more tender and delicate touch of sentiment and kindness which seems to us the distinguishing characteristic of the humourist; we acknowledge the acute edge of his satire, and the sweeter power of that joyous ridicule which did not aim at giving pain, but dealt with its victim as old Izaak dealt with his frog, “as if he loved it.” But the general atmosphere through which this occasional flash breaks out so brilliantly, is an atmosphere of genial and spontaneous mirth, a universal suffusion of fun and high spirits, bright and natural and unoppressive. After all, many of Sydney Smith’s recorded witticisms are not particularly witty; yet it is perfectly easy to understand how, from his own lips, and in the general current of his own joyous talk, they must once have been irresistible. These felicitous absurdities will not be judged by the rule and line of criticism; they by no means fit into the regulated proportions of orthodox humour. They are not born of a distinct intellectual faculty, nor do they aim at the perfectness of individual and separate productions. Instead of that, they are the mere natural overflowings of natural character, gaiety, and high spirits. We call them wit because we recognise their author as a man from whom wit is to be expected. But who does not know that wide happy atmosphere of fun which brightens many a household circle where nobody pretends to be witty?—who does not know how contagious and irresistible is this humbler influence, and how it catches up and inspires the common talk of all our pleasant meetings, giving to almost every family a little fund of odd or merry sayings—not witty, yet the source of unfailing mirthfulness? An acknowledged wit is a man to be pitied; and there is no more woeful position in society than that of one who, when he opens his lips, be it to speak the most commonplace, sees everybody around him preparing for laughter. We can perceive a little of this dire necessity even in Sydney Smith. No doubt, it was whimsical and odd and pleasant to hear a merry voice giving such a quaint order as that to “glorify the room”—yet we are afraid, by-and-by, when people came to hear it every morning, that some indifferent member of the family circle must have been disposed to shout forth the commonplace injunction, “Draw up the blinds!” to the forestalment of Sydney. But the broad lower atmosphere of fun was full about this genial and gifted man. He speaks nonsense with the most admirable success. Nonsense is a very important ingredient in the conversation of all circles which are, or have a right to be, called brilliant. It is often an appropriate surrounding medium, through which wit may flash and play; but it is not wit, let us name it ever so arbitrarily; and for our own part, we frankly confess that an hour of common and simple fun, with one morsel of genuine wit in it—an unexpected sparkle—is much more pleasant in our eyes than an hour hard pressed with sharp and brilliant witticisms, be they the very perfection of the article—the best that can be made. But we distinctly object to confound together these two separate and differing things. We say this, not in depreciation of the acknowledged wit of our hero, but because his biographer pauses gravely at several periods of this Memoir, to give examples of the “slow perception of humour” evidenced by various people, who did not understand the happy extravagances of Sydney. We do not always agree with Lady Holland in her estimate of her father’s witticisms Here is one of her instances:—

“Miss —— the other day, walking round the grounds at Combe Florey, exclaimed, ‘Oh! why do you chain up that fine Newfoundland dog, Mr Smith?’ ‘Because it has a passion for breakfasting on parish boys.’ ‘Parish boys!’ she exclaimed; ‘does he really eat boys, Mr Smith?’ ‘Yes, he devours them, buttons and all.’ Her face of horror made me die of laughing.”

Now this is very funny, but everybody must perceive at a glance that it is neither wit nor humour, properly so called; it is pure nonsense, gay and extravagant, and in reality requires a dull understanding, receiving it in the mere literal meaning of the words, to bring out and heighten its effect. The “sayings” of this book, indeed, are by no means up to the reputation of the speaker; they are often heavily told, and sometimes in themselves far from striking. But it does not appear that the wit of Sydney Smith was of a kind to evaporate in sayings; it was not so much a thing as an atmosphere—an envelopment of mirth and sunshine, in which the whole man moved and spoke.

It is not easy to mark out and discriminate the intellectual character of a man like this; for there are few men so undividable—few with whom the ordinary separation of mental and physical is so complete an impossibility. He is one whole individual person, honest and genuine in all his appearances, and entirely transcending as a man, in natural force and influence, anything that can be said of him in any special character as author, politician, or wit. To our own thinking, Sydney Smith is a complete impersonation of English breadth, manliness, and reality. He is no diver into things unseen, nor has he a strong wing skyward; but he walks upon the resounding earth with a sturdy tread, and has the clearest and most healthful perception of all the actual duties and common principles of life. This strong realisation of good and evil, according to the ordinary conditions of humanity—actual, present, visible benefit or disadvantage—seems the most marked feature of at least his political writings. The Plymley Letters, for instance, never touch upon the soul of the question they discuss. So far as they go, they are admirably clear and pointed—a distinct and powerful exposition of all the phases of expediency; but there they pause, and go no farther. The argument touches only things external, inducements and consequences. These are stated so forcibly and clearly that we do not wonder at their immediate effect and popularity; for the common mind is easily swayed by reasoning of this practical and tangible description, and it is impossible to misunderstand so undeniable a statement of advantage and disadvantage. But the grand principles on either side of the question—the old lofty notion of a Christian nation, and the duty it owed to God, on the one hand, and the rights of conscience and individual belief upon the other—find no place in the plea. Our native Scottish tendency to consider things “in the abstract” was a favourite subject of Sydney’s gleeful and kindly ridicule. It is the last temptation in the world to which he himself was like to yield; and indeed it is remarkable to note his entire want of this northern foible—his strong English bias to the practical and evident. He has no idea of throwing the whole weight of his cause upon a mere theoretic right and wrong. His first step is to intrench and fortify his position—to build himself round with a Torres Vedras of realities, distinct to touch and vision; and while a preacher of another mind solemnly denounces what is wrong, it is his business to show you what is foolish—to point out the spot where your enemy can have you at disadvantage—to appeal to your common experience, your knowledge of men and of the world. The strain of his argument throughout hangs upon the external and palpable—the principles of general truth are not in his way. He takes for granted the first elements of the controversy, and hurries on to the practical results of it. Peter Plymley has not much to say upon the Catholic Question; but he has a great deal to say upon the chronic disaffection of Ireland, and the uncomfortable chances of an invasion on a coast which discontented Catholics were not likely to make great efforts to defend. With this view of the subject he is armed and eloquent. But this is not the highest view of the subject, though it may be a popular and telling one. In his own life, Sydney Smith held a nobler creed, and pursued his way with unfailing firmness, though it led him entirely beyond the warm and wealthy regions of ecclesiastical preferment; but in his argument the balance which he makes is always a balance of things positive. Perhaps something of the force and manliness of his style is owing to this practical species of reasoning. We give him credit for his “way of putting a thing”—so at least do Dr Doyle and Lady Holland, without perceiving that the weight and obviousness is in the thing rather than the way. We are tempted to quote the conversation between the Rev. Romanist and the Rev. Anglican, in illustration of this irresistible style of argument common to Sydney Smith:—

He proposed that Government should pay the Catholic priests. “They would not take it,” said Dr Doyle. “Do you mean to say, that if every priest in Ireland received to-morrow morning a Government letter with a hundred pounds, first quarter of their year’s income, that they would refuse it?” “Ah, Mr Smith,” said Dr Doyle, “you’ve such a way of putting things!”

This is a very good example of his prevailing tendency. The argumentum ad hominem is the soul of Sydney’s philosophy. You are sure of a home-thrust, positive and unevadable, when you enter into discussion with this most practical of understandings. Perhaps you do not agree with him; very probably to your thinking there are principles involved of more importance than these obvious safeties or dangers; but the nature of his implements gives him force and precision; he never strikes vaguely; his sword is no visionary sword, but a most English and most evident weapon—sheer steel.

This habit of reasoning had a singular effect upon his papers on religious subjects—we mean especially those articles on Methodism and Missions which appeared many years ago in the Edinburgh Review. These extraordinary productions are already altogether out of date, as indeed they must have been behind the time in which they were written, and of right belonged to a less enlightened generation; but it is marvellous to perceive how far so acute and reasonable a man could go in this grand blunder, applying his ordinary and limited rule to the immeasurable principles of truth. It is odd, and it is melancholy; for we confess it gives us little pleasure to prove over again the old truth that the schemes of Christianity are often foolishness to the wise and to the prudent. The paper on Missions is the most wonderful instance of weak argument and inappropriate reasoning. That so clear an eye did not see the wretched logic and poor expediences, the complete begging of the question and strange unworthiness of the argument, is a standing marvel. On any other subject, Sydney Smith could not have gone so far astray. His favourite mode of treatment, however effective in other regions, has no legitimate place in this. We may allow, in spite of our dread of Popery, and conscientious objection to share the powers of government with so absolute and unscrupulous an agency, that an emancipated Catholic is more likely to make a cheerful and patriotic citizen, than a Catholic bound down under penal laws could possibly be. But we are staggered to think of restraining the efforts of the evangelist, in order that we may better secure our supremacy in India over tribes of pagan weaklings, to whom, for our empire’s sake, freedom and the Gospel must remain unknown. This is a startling conclusion when plainly stated; but it is the obvious and unmistakable end of all that this very able writer, a clergyman and a man of enlightened principles, has to say upon so difficult and intricate a question. Had any of his political opponents said it, and had it been Sydney’s part to explode the fallacious reasoning, what a flood of ridicule he would have poured upon these self-same sentiments! how triumphantly he must have exposed the tame and unprofitable argument! how clearly proved that the policy of doing nothing was a policy as old as human nature, and needed no advocacy! To leave paganism alone, because caste is the most effectual means which could be invented for keeping a race in bondage—to put an end to all injudicious eagerness for conversions, because these happy idolators are very comfortable as they are, and our benevolence is thrown away,—if Sydney had not made the argument—had it only by good luck come from the other side—how Sydney could have scattered it in pieces!

Perhaps the happiest hit he ever made was that which covered the unhappy State of Pennsylvania with the shame it was worthy of. No one else could have done this so well. His indignation and vehemence—his grief at the disgrace thus brought upon a country where his own opinions were supreme—are pointed, and brought home, by the keen touch of ridicule, with a characteristic force and pungency. He is grieved; but still he has a satisfaction in pulling the stray American to pieces, and making over his jewellery to afflicted bondholders. He is angry; but still he can laugh at his proposed uniform, the S. S. for Solvent States, which he would have the New Yorkers wear upon their collars. We have all a wicked enjoyment of other people’s castigation; and we are afraid the public in general—those of them who hold no Pennsylvanian bonds—were amply consoled by Sydney Smith’s letters for the sins of their brethren. Lady Holland tells us that the excitement in America was extraordinary, and that shoals of letters, and occasional homely presents, poured upon her father from all quarters. It was a fair blow, downright and unanswerable; and no one could have a better right to assault in full force a public dishonesty than such a man as this, honest to the bottom of his heart.

We cannot undertake to predict whether or not the reputation of Sydney Smith will be a lasting reputation. His published works are not very remarkable, and they refer so entirely—saving the sketches of philosophy—to current books and current events—events and books which, to use his own phrase, have blown over—that it seems very doubtful if they can last over two or three generations. Admirable good sense, good English, and good morality, even with the zest of wit to heighten them, do not make a man immortal. They have already done their part, and earned their triumph; the future is in other hands. Herein lies the compensating principle of literature. The critic (and there have been critics more brilliant than Sydney) has his day. Yes, there he stands over all our heads, bowling us down like so many ninepins—small matter to him that in this book lies somebody’s hopes, and heart, and fortune. Little cares he for the stifled edition, the turned tide of popular favour. He goes about it coolly: it is his business—practising his deathstroke upon palpitating young poets and unhappy novel-writers, as the German executioner practised upon cabbages. We die by the score under this literary Attila. Our poor bits of laurel, our myrtle-sprigs and leaves of bay, are crushed to dust beneath his ruthless footsteps. With a barbarous triumph he rides over us, extinguishes our poor pretensions, puts us down. Never mind, humiliated brother! The critic has his day. By-and-by there will only be a distant sough of him in the curious byways of historic lore. But the Book, oh patient Lazarus!—the Book will live out a century of reviewers, and be as young a hundred years hence as it is to-day.

Wherefore we seriously opine that a lasting reputation as a writer is not to be expected for Sydney Smith. As long as the children’s children of his contemporaries remain to tell and to remember what they heard in the days of their youth, so long his influence as a man will live among us. Had this biography been less a work of love, and more a work of art, it might have added a longer recollection to this natural memory; for its hero is so true an example of the kind of man whom British men delight to honour, that he might well have been singled out for a popular canonisation. As it is, this simple presentment of Sydney Smith is enough to place him upon his true standing-ground, and recommend him, far above all differences of opinion, or strifes of politics, to the affectionate estimation of every reader. A man honest, courageous, and truthful, struggling bravely through the ordinary trials of everyday existence, bearing poverty and neglect, bearing flattery and favour, coming forth unharmed through more than one fiery ordeal, and with the lightest heart and kindest temper, skilled in that art of ruling himself which is greater than taking a city. A little more sentiment, or a little less practical vigour, might have broken the charm. In his own person, as he lived, he is the very hero of social success and prosperity—for under no circumstances could he have appeared an unappreciated genius or a disappointed man. We are somewhat scornful in these days of the qualities of success. Indeed, it seems a general opinion, that the higher a man’s gifts are, the less are his chances. But many a youth of genius would do well to note the teachings of such a cordial and manly life as this, and mark how the gayest heart, and the most brilliant intelligence, are honoured and exalted by such homely virtues as self-restraint and self-denial. Sydney Smith in Oxford, living upon his hundred pounds a-year; Sydney Smith in Netherhaven, honestly enduring his curacy; taking no excuse from his wit; yielding nothing to his natural love of that society in which he shone; undisheartened by a profession which he did not love, and duties for which he had no distinct vocation; honestly, under all circumstances, maintaining his honour, his independence, and his purity, is a better moral lesson than all the lecturings of all the societies in the world.

We cannot perceive any closer resemblance, for our own part, much as they are named together, between Swift and Sydney Smith, than the merely evident and external one—that both were famous wits, and both somewhat unclerical clergymen. Sydney has the mightiest advantage in moral sunshine and sweetness over the redoubtable Dean. The Canon of St Paul’s broke no hearts and injured no reputations. There is not a cloud upon his open and bright horizon, except the passing clouds of Providence, and bitterness was not in his kind and generous heart. There is only one grand blunder in his life, and that is his profession. In such a matter the dutifullest of sons is not excusable in “yielding to his father’s wishes.” We can appreciate the sacrifice, but we cannot approve it. It was filial, but it was wrong. Sydney Smith is an honest man, a truthful man, and in ordinary life unblamable. We have no right to criticise the piety or religiousness of such a person in any private position, but with a clergyman the circumstances are different—and the veriest sinner requires something more than professional propriety as the motive and inspiration of the teachers of the faith.

So strong and usual is this feeling, that we do not doubt this book must have been an entire revelation to a great majority of its readers. We knew his great reputation; we knew his wit, and the general tenor of his opinions; yet we were shy of a man whose position and fame seemed almost antagonistic, and set up in our own mind a natural opposition between the sermons of the preacher and the bon mots of the wit. This biography resolves the puzzle. Full of mirth, spontaneous and unlaboured, full of honest consistency and good-will, we accept Sydney Smith as he was, and judge of him by his own principles and actions—his own standard of perfection. Who does not lack some crowning charm to add a fuller and a sweeter excellence to all the lesser virtues? This man was distinguished in all social qualities—virtuous, conscientious, incorruptible, doing bravely every duty which he perceived in his way; and we can point to no truer type of an upright and open-hearted Englishman, than the bright portrait of this modest volume, the true monument and effigies of Sydney Smith.

PEERAGES FOR LIFE.

[We rarely have two articles upon one subject in the same Number of the Magazine, but we have no hesitation in publishing the two following short papers upon the unhappy and singularly ill-timed attempt to destroy the hereditary character of one branch of the Legislature. The first paper is by an English, and the second by a Scotch lawyer.]

It is not, we hope, from any party feeling (though party feelings are, as our readers know, entitled, in our view of things, to grave and deep consideration), that we enter our protest against the measure of creating peers for life,—a measure which its authors, unless they are the most shortsighted men that ever presumed to meddle with great questions, must know will end by changing the character of the House of Lords, and which we really believe to be an attempt as rash as it is uncalled for, and as little likely to conciliate the favour of any but those who dislike a government by King, Lords, and Commons, as it is to produce any one solid or permanent advantage. To those who think that the English constitution—a constitution which has floated like an ark over the waves which have swallowed up so many of those baseless fabrics that were hailed by sciolists as the proudest efforts of legislation—should be, we do not say repaired, and improved, and fortified, but overthrown, to make room for “some gay creature of the element” to people the sunbeam for a moment and then to disappear—we do not address ourselves; for we could not hope to produce any effect by reasoning upon those on whom the evidence of their senses is thrown away. But we would ask such of our readers as do not belong to the class we have just mentioned, calmly and dispassionately to examine with us this important question—premising only that the Reform Bill was by no means so serious and menacing a change in the constitution of the Lower, as the creation of peers for life (if that disastrous measure is really to be accomplished), will produce in the Upper House of Parliament. The Reform Bill shuffled the cards; this measure will change the pack. It is at once exotic and obsolete.

The question may be considered in two ways. First, Has the Crown the power to make such a creation? Secondly, Supposing it to possess the power, is such an exercise of it constitutional? With regard to the first question, it is, even on the showing of its supporters, an extremely doubtful one. “Rectissime illud receptum est, ut leges non solum suffragio legislatoris sed etiam tacito consensu omnium per desuetudinem abrogantur,” is a maxim embodied in the works of those masters of jurisprudence, to whom alone, to use the words of one of their most illustrious scholars, reason seems to have unveiled her mysteries. Nor is the principle unknown to our municipal jurisprudence. It was a law that every member of a city or borough should be chosen from among the inhabitants of the place which he was selected to represent. This law was abrogated by desuetude only. Many similar instances might probably be found by any one who would examine our ancient statutes. That custom is the best interpreter of written law is an axiom of jurisprudence; and how much more forcibly does the argument apply to unwritten law, to an obsolete prerogative raked from the dust and cobwebs of feudal barbarity, and dragged forth “in luce asiæ” into the meridian blaze of civilisation, to act upon the destinies of living men. The revival of obsolete prerogatives was one great and just complaint against the Government of Charles I. Lord Clarendon, his ablest advocate, bewails the injudicious and violent measures that unhappy monarch took in reviving the Forest Laws, and obliging gentlemen of certain incomes to compound for knighthood. Had he attempted to strip the peerage of its hereditary character, the outcry would have been louder and more reasonable; for of course our argument applies only to the case of conferring, by a peerage for life, a voice or seat in Parliament. “The common law of England,” says a great lawyer and a great thinker, “is nothing else but the common custom of the realm, and a custom which has obtained the force of a law is always said to be ‘Jus non scriptum.’ ... Being only matter of fact, and consisting in use and practice, it can be RECORDED AND REGISTERED NOWHERE BUT IN THE MEMORY OF THE PEOPLE.” Again the same eloquent writer says:—“A custom takes beginning, and grows to perfection in this manner: When a reasonable act once done is found to be good and beneficial to the people, and agreeable to their nature and disposition, then do they use and practise it again and again—and so, by often iteration and multiplication of the act it becomes a custom; and being continued without interruption time out of mind, it obtains the force of a law.” This is exactly the basis on which the “rerum perpetuo similiter judicatarum auctoritas” must rest, and exactly the reverse of that prerogative, by the sudden exertion of which, after a lapse of four centuries, it is proposed to give to any minister the power of swamping the House of Peers. What would be said now if any one were to attempt to put on “the statute of uses” the meaning which those by whom it was enacted undoubtedly meant that it should have, and which was frustrated by the narrow decision, as Mr Hallam calls it, of the Judges? If any man were insane enough to attempt such an argument, would he not be silenced at once, and forfeit, for the remainder of his life, all claim to the character of a rational being? Would he not be told that, after the current of precedent had run for centuries in one direction, after all the Estates in England had been settled and disposed of on the faith of those precedents, it was mere mischievous pedantry to question the validity of the original interpretation? Now, the last time when the Crown gave the right of voting in the House of Lords to any one who would not transmit the same right to his children, to any one whose blood was not ennobled, was long before the period when the statute of uses passed into a law. The four or five cases cited to justify such a stretch of authority are taken from times when the boundaries of the constitution fluctuated incessantly,—when sometimes the king oppressed the barons, and sometimes the barons destroyed the king,—when one encroached upon the other, as he or they were uppermost in a series of victories and defeats equally oppressive to the people, and equally inconsistent with all regular government,—when the soil of England was drenched with the blood of the yeoman, and the axe of the executioner was red with the blood of the noble,—“in stormy and tempestuous times,” to use the language of a great and upright magistrate, Chief-Justice Crew, “when the government was unsettled, and the kingdom in competition,”—when Bohun, and Mowbray, and Mortimer passed away—nay, when Plantagenet himself became a shadow and a dream. Will any man say that this was a period when our constitution was understood? that this is the time when its parts were adjusted to each other?—when, though the noble outline of it might be discernible, its lineaments were complete? At that time the Crown granted or withheld writs to boroughs at its pleasure, and so moulded the House of Commons. It summoned a man to take his seat in one Parliament and not in another, and so modelled the House of Lords. But even of these cases, drawn from those times of turbulence and confusion, while the elements of our constitution were at war with each other, predominating or subsiding with every capricious turn of fortune, one only has any bearing on the question. For, as has been said before, the question is not one of compliment or precedence; it does not relate to the power of the sovereign to gratify a morbid and spurious appetite for vulgar notoriety by a mongrel title, or to reward vice by flattering the abject vanity of some frivolous prostitute; it relates to his power of giving a share in the legislation of England without that guarantee for independence which, during four hundred years, has been thought essential to its exercise. Now, in the case of Sir John Cornewall, who was created Lord Fauchope for life, the prerogative was exercised with the assent of the House of Lords. There remains, therefore, the solitary case of Lord Berners, in the reign of Henry VI.—a case that is extremely doubtful—to justify this exercise of the prerogative in the year of grace 1856. If, then, law is to be controlled or modified by usage—if the “lex et consuetudo Parliamenti” are not to be put aside—it must be admitted that, even in the absence of any negative argument, the right of the Crown is extremely questionable, in spite of the dictum of Lord Coke, and of the writers by whom he has been copied. Lord Coke, it may be remembered, has fallen into acknowledged errors. He was wrong in asserting that a justice of peace had no power of holding a person accused of felony to bail. He was wrong in asserting that common law ought to prevail against the express words of an Act of Parliament. But there are strong negative arguments. In Lord Purbeck’s case, which was argued before the celebrated Lord Shaftesbury, who was certainly not ignorant of the principles of the constitution, it was stated by the Attorney-general that the king could create a peer for life. This doctrine was at once questioned by Lord Shaftesbury; and in that opinion Lord Nottingham, the creator of equity, though differing with him as to the case immediately before him, acquiesced.

It is difficult for any one who weighs these arguments to resist the conclusion at which Lord Lyndhurst and Lord Campbell, Lord St Leonard’s and Lord Brougham—laying by on an occasion of such vast importance all party differences and political hostility—have arrived, that an instrument made four hundred years ago, before the constitution had been made, before the disposition, occasions, circumstances, the moral, civil, and social habits to which that noble fabric owes its existence had disclosed themselves, cannot in the eye of reason justify a violent change in the long-established, the peculiar, and the distinguishing character of the House of Lords.

There is (Parl. Hist., vol. i. page 890) a remarkable case which has never been cited, we believe, and which shows that the House of Lords exercised the right of excluding an unworthy member from its deliberations. It is the case of Lord De la Ware in the reign of Edward VI. “He had attempted to poison his uncle, and was by an order of Parliament excluded from any estate or honour that might come to him after his uncle’s death.” The precedent in favour of the Crown dates from a period far more remote than this. If the Crown quote the fifteenth century, why may not the House of Lords quote the sixteenth? And it should be remarked that this is a prerogative which there must have been constant motives for using, and the non-exertion of which, therefore, furnishes a very cogent argument against its existence. Harrington, in his Oceana, particularly censures Richard II. under the name of Adoxus, for creating peers “who had hands to dip in the royal purse, but no shoulders to support the throne.” We know what became of that prince and his newly-made Caryatides. Our peers are not to perform the functions Virgil assigned to our fathers—

They are not to be courtiers, or geologists, or engineers, or builders of crystal palaces, or presidents of councils of art, or even judges, but legislators, mediators between the Crown and the people—an office that may dignify the greatest abilities, and satisfy the most generous ambition.

We come now to the second branch of the question, how far such a measure can be considered constitutional,—meaning by that, how far it is in conformity with the spirit and genius of that form of government to which we owe, during so many ages, and during so many vicissitudes, the tranquil possession of political freedom. Certainly the time chosen to cut one of the strands of the cable of our anchor is a singular one. Freedom, with the exception of the countries governed by the King of Sardinia, has been overthrown or undermined in every part of the continent of Europe. Nobody can doubt that a main cause to which the present condition of France is to be attributed, is the want of a body of hereditary legislators; the want, that is, of a powerful aristocracy,—in other words, of a House of Lords. Nobody can doubt that the forlorn troop of servile beggars distinguished throughout Germany by the titles of Earl, and Baron, and Freihern, is a main reason why all attempts to establish constitutional freedom in that country have only served to illustrate the most ludicrous ignorance of human affairs, coupled with the most abject tergiversation, and to drag to light projects, compared with which the principles by which the Caffres are governed may be considered luminous, and the whims of the politicians of Laputa may pass for reasonable. We object to any scheme for Germanising England. We should be sorry to see the influence of the Court, where we now see other hopes and objects. We should be sorry to see the varied elements of our social state crushed into one undistinguished mass of servitude. Our universities have been tampered with; the next attempt is on the House of Lords. It is the fashion to speak lightly of representative government. “A weak man doth not well consider this, and a fool doth not understand it.” The disgust and contempt felt throughout France for the corruption and time-serving of the mongrel House of Peers, consisting of misplaced men of letters, venal courtiers, affected artists, hireling writers in the daily press, shallow coxcombs, and a few besides of illustrious names—the last scattered like the nails in a wall over a wide blank surface—account for the sympathy with which all reasonable men hailed its annihilation. Such an institution as our House of Lords may be destroyed, but cannot be created; and with these examples staring us in the face, and loudly forbidding the attempt, in defiance of reason and of experience, in contradiction to the sound feelings of the nation, an old prerogative that has, “like unscoured armour, hung by the wall so long,” that the announcement of its existence may furnish a question perhaps for the amusement of antiquaries of much leisure and little thought, but which, to all real purposes, has become as obsolete as writing pure English—is made the instrument of changing, at the will of the Sovereign, a fundamental part of our constitution. This is done, too, during a war, when great political alterations are usually suspended, as if it were the merest trifle, not worth attention or debate, amounting to nothing more than, and quite as much of course as, the appointment of some commission to recommend the maintenance of all the wretched chicane by which the course of justice in England has been so long impeded. Some knowledge of the constitution which he proposes so presumptuously to violate, some little acquaintance with the great writers who have dwelt upon its excellences, and held them up to the gratitude of posterity, would be a useful ingredient in the composition of a Chancellor. Some knowledge of history (we mean of course English history) might, on the eve of so perilous an undertaking, be found serviceable to the lawyer who (whatever be the mysterious influence under which he acts, and no doubt in perfect unconsciousness) sets himself to work to pull down in cold blood, and with the blandest countenance, one of the safeguards of our liberties. For, with deference to such authority, we look upon the privileges of the Peers as conferred upon them for the public good. To suppose them given or kept for any other purpose, would be a narrow and unworthy view. If they are inconsistent with that object, they cannot be swept away too soon. If they contribute to it, they cannot be too religiously preserved. For four hundred years, during which the parts of our balanced government have been made to harmonise with and give mutual aid to each other, the deliberate opinion of ages and generations in this country has been in favour of their existence. It is a fair inference that all these writers, historians, and statesmen, have not been wholly destitute of political sagacity, or in a conspiracy to promote abuse. It is a fair inference that a measure which Lord Grey repudiated, which Mr Pitt would not hear of, which Mr Fox would have scouted with every expression of scorn that his vehement nature could have found in his copious vocabulary, is a rash and unconstitutional experiment. But we know what the class (unfortunately it is a numerous one) is who “rush in where angels fear to tread;” we know, too, that the gloom which enveloped these great statesmen has been dissipated by the light which has flashed with such marvellous lustre upon my Lord Cranworth. It is hard upon this land that admitted mediocrity should be no safeguard against reckless extravagance. If, in the days when the wild hurricane of Reform was sweeping over us, some man of an irregular but powerful intellect had, in a moment of irritation and disappointment, suggested such a measure, we should have consoled ourselves by reflecting that inundations atone for the mischief they inflict by the fertility they occasion. We should have accepted the benefit, and been on our guard against the evil. But when a grave commonplace sober gentleman, decent to a fault, by no means of an ardent or romantic disposition, misled by no passions, carried astray by no impetuosity, not intoxicated by learning, carefully and effectually guarded by provident nature against the dangers to which genius is exposed when such a person reverses the famous line, and in a paroxysm of impotence, raging without strength, and overflowing without fulness—“precipitately dull” and dispassionately mischievous—mimics the freaks and caprices for which inspiration only can atone, Heraclitus might laugh at his distempered activity, and Democritus weep for the fate of the country in which he legislates. The line—

describes him. There is no hope, says an acute writer, for the lover of an ugly woman. There is as little for those who suffer by the absurdities of a commonplace man. “Whenever you commit an error, Mr Foresight,” says the wit in Love for Love, “you do it with a great deal of prudence and discretion, and consideration.”

It should be recollected that there are many prerogatives of the Crown which, if exercised injudiciously—that is, unconstitutionally—would soon become intolerable. The Crown has the undoubted power of making peace or war; but if Ministers were to agree that York should be occupied by a Russian garrison for ten years, or that we should pay a tribute to Russia for that time, would it be any argument in favour of such clauses that the Crown had only exercised its undoubted prerogative? The Crown has the power of pardoning offenders; would that justify the pardon of every offender as soon as he is convicted? Many persons think that the Crown has never lost the power which it once most unquestionably possessed, of raising the denomination of the coin; is there any maniac, even among the worshippers of Ruskin, who would counsel such an experiment? The prerogatives of the Crown, even when most unquestionable, must be exercised in conformity with the spirit of the constitution. It is the peculiar character of our constitution that it contains within it the three great principles of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, blended together so intimately, yet perhaps so inexplicably, that the Crown has no strength, except in connection with the aristocracy and the people: the aristocracy is nothing when opposed to the Crown and the people; and the people have little power, if abandoned by the aristocracy and the Crown. Fortunate indeed have been the circumstances which enabled our fathers to complete this mysterious union. The strength of our system is its harmony. Take away the beauty of its proportions, and its energies are at an end. That amazing system, the work not of giddy choice and tumultuous violence, but of the “author of authors,” Time, with enough military vigour for war, with enough civil influence to make military power in time of peace impracticable, with the checks apparently so hostile, in reality so much in unison, as to make it the most perfect moral machine that ever was contrived to perpetuate freedom among a people—would be violated and destroyed by any such organic innovation.

What promises can exceed its performance? And it is this which, for the sake of putting a special pleader among the Law Lords, or of satisfying the vulgar ambition of a few discontented men, ignorant of their proper sphere, we are about to put in jeopardy. Does any man think that the power of the Crown is too little in the House of Lords? Is not the reverse notoriously the truth? Is not the influence of the Crown over the Bishops, who are not Peers but Lords of Parliament, matter of just complaint? Would not the power of the Crown be increased by creating Peers for life? Would it not, especially in a country where a vulgar appetite for technical rank is but too conspicuous, increase the number of those who would gain by subserviency to the Crown in that assembly? If you suddenly shift the ballast, your vessel will soon be under water—

On the other hand, if the creation of life-peers would give too much influence to the Crown, beyond all doubt it would give a most invidious distinction to those already ennobled families, among whom the son of the mechanic may now hope to take his place. It would tend to make them a separate caste, cut off (we speak of what must happen in less than a century) from the sympathies of their fellow-citizens. Such a state of things could not long continue.

It is but too deeply rooted in the nature of man to press social distinctions too far, and insist on them too much. And could anything be devised to swell the pride of a hereditary Peer more effectually than the sight of upstart counterfeits, bearing the same title with himself, but distinguished, nevertheless, by an everlasting badge of inferiority? The classes and professions from which such peers were taken would share in their degradation, and in the hostility which it would inspire—

Much, no doubt, may be said about the dangers and evils of unworthy successors to great names. Taken separately, such arguments are powerful; taken with reference to a collective body, they are weak. The question is—on which side does the balance of good preponderate? Along with many evils, and great tendencies to abuse, there are many advantages in hereditary honour. A true natural aristocracy is an essential part of any large body rightly constituted. “It is formed out of a class of legitimate presumptions, which, taken as generalities, must be admitted for actual truths. To be bred in a place of estimation; to see nothing low or sordid from one’s infancy; to be taught to respect one’s self; to be habituated to the censorial inspection of the public eye; to look early to public opinion; to stand upon such elevated ground as to be enabled to take a large view of the widespread and infinitely diversified combinations of men and affairs in a large society; to have leisure to read, to reflect, to converse; to be enabled to draw the court and attention of the wise and learned wherever they are to be found; to be habituated in armies to command and obey; to be taught to despise danger in pursuit of honour and of duty; to be formed to the greater degree of vigilance, foresight, and circumspection in a state of things where no fault is committed with impunity, and the slightest mistakes draw on the most ruinous consequences; to be led to a guarded and regulated conduct from a sense that you are considered an instructor of your fellow-citizens in their highest concerns; to be employed as an administrator of law and justice, and to be thereby among the first benefactors, to mankind;”—such is Mr Burke’s argument in favour of a hereditary aristocracy. As a sole or even a predominating element, it degenerates into an insolent domination; as an ingredient, tempered, controlled, and subdued by others, it has, in our opinion, a dignified and refining influence. And here we may remark, that almost the sole barrier to despotic power in France for many years was the firmness and integrity of its parliaments, which were in fact, though not in name, an hereditary aristocracy. Let any one compare the proceedings of that body with those of Louis Philippe’s peers, and then say on which side the balance of good predominates. The cautious and traditional wisdom of those great bodies interposed often between the people and their oppressors. Machiavelli speaks of them with admiration and respect; and their functions were well expressed by a First President of the parliament of Provence, when he said to the king, whom he resisted—“Souffrez, sire, qu’ avec peine, haine, et envie nous défendions votre autorité.” One of the worst acts of a bad reign was to substitute for this great aristocracy, which, with all its faults, had done great services to its country—holding the mean “inter abruptam contumaciam et deforme obsequium” with singular judgment—a set of political adventurers, called the Parliament Maupeou, many of them the mere creatures of the court and Madame Dubarri, and nevertheless welcomed to their new office by the approbation of the shallow conceited writers of the day. The pretext was a better administration of justice—“Le préambule s’exprimait dans un langage que n’eussent pas désavoué les philosophes sur la nécessité de réformer les abus dans l’administration de la justice.” “Absit omen!” Then purity of justice was the pretext of a tyrant; now it is that of a few sottish and purblind democrats. The result in France is known to every one who has read Beaumarchais, who in his celebrated Mémoires branded the turpitude and gross corruption of this newly constituted body with ineffaceable infamy. Then France began to see the difference between the minions of a court and a hereditary assembly, between the d’Aguesseaus, and the Goezmans, who were in their place; and in spite of Voltaire, they agreed with Mabli, that the old parliament was better than the “Parlement Postiche.” To this fact we will add the prophetic remark of Montesquieu, “Le pouvoir intermédiaire subordonné le plus naturel est celui de la noblesse; elle entre en quelque façon dans l’essence de la monarchie, dont la maxime fondamentale est, Point de monarque, point de noblesse—point de noblesse, point de monarque—mais on a un despote!” Is there no danger that, if the House of Lords is lowered, the House of Commons may ruin itself by its own excessive power?

The question, however, now is, not whether you will establish a hereditary peerage, but whether you will take away from it its stability?—it is not, whether you will abolish the House of Lords, but whether you will run the risk of polluting it by time-servers? Have there been no times in our history when the exercise of such a prerogative as is now claimed for the Crown would have been most dangerous? If James II. had imagined that such authority belonged to him, can any man doubt that he would have filled the House of Lords, as he did the bench of justice, with his Roman Catholic dependants? Is there not reason to believe that, as each party predominates, it will flood the House of Lords with these creatures of a day, to confirm its own ascendancy? Would the minister who created at once twelve peers to ratify the Peace of Utrecht have been satisfied with so limited a number, if so convenient a method as has now been discovered had presented itself to him? If peerage for life had been created, or even if the Lords had been menaced with such a measure, the motion for taking the Address into consideration, on the 23d Nov. 1685, would never have been carried without a division; nor would the dignified and manly language held in that House have offered so striking a contrast to the pitiful and abject tone and demeanour of the subservient House of Commons. As it was, Lord Sunderland is reported to have said that, to carry the measures of the Court, he would make Lord Churchill’s troop of guards peers. But he recoiled, base as he was, from such an attempt; and are we to legislate on the conviction that we shall never again have a bad king and an unscrupulous ministry, and that the firmness and independence of the House of Lords can never again be of any service to the constitution? Can we foretell that there may not be other battles to be fought, and other victories to be won? The attempt to make the hereditary peers a caste by another Lord Sunderland, was baffled in the reign of George the First; we trust that an attempt, which must have the same effect if it succeeds, and which must, moreover, strengthen the influence of the Crown, among a body where it needs no strengthening, will not prosper in the reign of Queen Victoria. To change the relations of the several parts of the constitution to each other, is to make the lessons of history, purchased as they have been with the best blood of our fathers, unavailing. The character of the House of Lords is, that the honours of those who sit and vote in it are hereditary. It is so described by Whigs and Tories, by lawyers and historians. It is in consequence of that character that it has filled a wide space in history, and that it is supported by a thousand time-hallowed associations. Fill it with the nominees of a minister, it will no longer serve to interpose any obstacle to the inconsiderate legislation which an impetuous democracy is sometimes rash enough to insist upon. It may serve to gratify the vanity of women, or of men as little fitted as women to control the destinies of nations; it may provoke hostility by distinctions, invidious when they are manifestly useless; it may even register the edicts which it will be unable to dispute: but its genuine functions will be gone for ever; and if ever the time should come when its energies are required to serve either Crown or people, they will be of as little account as those of the French Chamber of Peers in the hour of trial, and of as little benefit to themselves and to their country.

Why, then, should we unhinge the state, ruin the House of Lords, and pursue confusion, to guard against an evil which, if it exists at all, may be encountered by a far more specific and appropriate remedy? Wise, indeed, should he be who should endeavour to recast a constitution which has defended us alike from the unjust aggression of power, and the capricious tyranny of the multitude. But if our rulers are weak, and our councils infatuated, in the words of an old writer, we can only pray that the Lord will enable us to suffer, what He by miracle only can prevent.

THE WENSLEYDALE CREATION.

At a time when the attention of the nation is almost exclusively directed to the colossal struggle in which Great Britain has taken so conspicuous a part—when the deepest anxiety is felt regarding the issue of the conferences at Paris, which must have the effect either of restoring peace to Europe, or of rendering the contest more desperate in its character than before—we were surely entitled to expect that no attempts would be made, at least by Her Majesty’s advisers, to alter or innovate any acknowledged part of the fundamental constitution of the realm. It is with great pain that we feel ourselves called upon to denounce such an attempt, which appears to us not the less dangerous because furtively made, and seemingly insignificant of its kind. All permanent innovations, all great changes and revolutions, may be traced to a very trifling source. The whole constitution of a country may be overthrown in consequence of some narrow departure from its fundamental rules—a departure which possibly may appear at the time too trivial to demand remonstrance, but which, being drawn into a precedent, may, in the course of years, be the means of producing the most serious and disastrous effects. The tree that could have withstood the blast of the wildest hurricane, will become rotten at the core, if the rain can penetrate to its bole, even through a miserable crevice. The dykes of Holland, which defy the winter storms, have, ere now, yielded to the mining of that stealthy engineer, the rat, and provinces have been inundated in consequence. And, therefore, it well becomes us to be jealous of any attempt, however trivial, or however specious—for plausible reasons can always be adduced on behalf of any kind of innovation—to alter the recognised principles of our constitution, or to introduce a totally new element into its framework.

We allude, of course, to the attempt which Her Majesty’s advisers have thought proper to make, at altering the hereditary constitution of the House of Lords, by the introduction of Life-Peers into that body. The question is now being tried in the case of Mr Baron Parke, who has been created Baron Wensleydale, without remainder to heirs; and it is impossible, looking to the attendant circumstances, to avoid the conclusion that this creation has been deliberately made, for the purpose of establishing a precedent for opening the doors of the highest deliberative assembly to a new order of nobles, who are not to have the privilege of transmitting their rank and titles to posterity. For, if the only object had been, as is alleged, to recruit the numbers of life Lords upon whom the task of hearing and deciding appeals from the inferior courts of the country must devolve, there was obviously no necessity, nor even reason in this instance, for departing from the usual conditions of the peerage. Lord Wensleydale (for so we are bound to call him, in virtue of his patent of nobility from the Queen) is a man of advanced years, and has no son. In all human probability, therefore, the title, even though it had been destined to heirs-male, as is the common form, would become extinct at his death. Want of fortune, as the means of sustaining, in the future time, the social position which a peer ought to occupy, has often been alleged, and with reason, as a sufficient obstacle in the way of the elevation of commoners, distinguished for their acquirements and genius, to the Peerage. It has been said, and with great truth, that the present and fleeting gain is more than counterbalanced by the future and permanent disadvantage. For the acquirements and genius of the man so elevated are but personal, and perish with him—the heirs remain as pauper peers, no ornament to their order, and may, for a seemingly inadequate consideration, be willing to surrender their independence, and use their legislative powers at the bidding of an unscrupulous minister. But, in the present case, where the chance of succession was so small, there could be little room for such an objection; perhaps there was none, for the fortune of Lord Wensleydale may be, for anything we know to the contrary, quite adequate to the maintenance of a peerage; therefore we must hold that this case was selected purposely to try the question. Indeed, supposing that Her Majesty’s advisers were justified in making the attempt to alter the constitution of the House of Lords by the introduction of Peers for life, they could hardly have selected a better instance. For, if it should be decided or declared that there is a limit to the prerogative of the Crown, and that the creation of a peer for life, like Lord Wensleydale, is simply a personal honour, but does not carry along with it the privilege of a seat in the House of Lords, all unseemly questions of precedency will be avoided. In that case it is not likely that the experiment will be renewed; for we may safely conclude that the object of Her Majesty’s advisers in issuing this singular patent was not to gratify Lord Wensleydale by the gift of a barren honour, but to make him a member of the House of Peers, entitled to speak and to vote; and thereby to establish a precedent for the future creation of a non-hereditary peerage.

Before entering into the questions of privilege and prerogative, it may be as well to consider the reasons founded on expediency which have been advanced in behalf of the creation of peerages for life. Such of her Majesty’s ministers as have spoken upon the subject have been exceedingly cautious and guarded in their language. None of them have ventured to assert an opinion that, for the future, it would be advisable to multiply this kind of peerages. Their arguments go little beyond this—that whereas the appellate jurisdiction of the House of Peers renders it necessary that at all times there should be among that body persons intimately acquainted with the law, and qualified to act as judges, it is for the advantage of the country that such creations should be not permanent but temporary, not hereditary but personal. In this there is not only some, but much plausibility. It is of the utmost importance to the country that the highest legal talent should be engaged for the last Court of Appeal; and we are not of the number of those who consider that a court of appeal might be dispensed with. We believe that the consciousness that there exists a tribunal which has the power of reversing or altering their judgments, has conduced more than anything else to stimulate the zeal, activity, and attention of the judges in the ordinary courts of law; and it would be a very hazardous experiment to give an irresponsible character to their decisions. We think also, and we make this admission freely, that some decided steps should be taken for the better regulation of the ultimate Court of Appeal. The House of Peers, as a body, has long since abdicated its right of sitting in judgment, except in some cases peculiar to the peerage. The judicial duties are now invariably devolved upon judicial Peers, that is to say, upon those who have either occupied or occupy the highest judicial offices; and although the form of putting the question to the House, after the opinion of the legal Peers has been delivered, is still observed, no instance of any attempt on the part of other peers to vote, has taken place for a long series of years. Thus the appellate jurisdiction of the House has been confided to a small and fluctuating committee, on whom attendance at the hearing of causes is not compulsory; and although hitherto, as we verily believe to be the case, the judgments have been such as to give general satisfaction, there is no security for the continuance of a sufficiently qualified number of adequate Judges. We think that some other arrangement for establishing and securing a permanent tribunal of appeals should be adopted; but we demur greatly to the plan now proposed of creating life-peerages for the purpose of keeping the jurisdiction within the House of Lords. Very wisely, we think, has it been provided that Judges shall not be eligible to sit in the House of Commons. Their functions being of the utmost importance to the wellbeing and safety of the community, it is above all things desirable that they should not be allowed to mingle actively in that strife of parties, which must, to a certain extent, in very many cases, warp the judgment, or at least give a strong political bias. The judicial atmosphere ought to be not only pure but calm, for so constituted are the human frame and mind, that excitement of any kind is apt to disturb the equilibrium of the judgment, and often suggests hasty views, which will not bear the test of severe and dispassionate investigation. Neither should the attention of a Judge be too much directed to objects alien to his function. Undoubtedly there are minds so active and capacious that they rebel against any restriction of their powers, and go beyond their proper sphere, led away by a craving for intellectual exercise, or under the influence of overpowering ambition. But these constitute the exception, not the rule; and we humbly venture to think that the best judges are to be found among the men who deviate least from the tenor of their way, and who do not devote themselves ardently to other occupations or pursuits. Therefore we have great doubts as to the propriety of the system which would necessarily, to some extent, expose the judge to the influences of the politician, or, at any rate, distract his attention from what is or ought to be the main object and purpose of his life. Besides this, it is not convenient or decorous that there should be anywhere an unpaid tribunal upon which such serious responsibilities devolve. Judges receive salaries in order that they may be compelled to do their work, and overcome that tendency towards indolence from which very few of the human race are altogether free. The salaried Judge must act: he must attend to every case which is brought before him, unless he can allege occasional failure of health, or unless he declines on account of interest or affinity. But a voluntary and unpaid Judge may absent himself at pleasure, and without responsibility—a very serious matter to suitors, and, as we think, inconsistent with the proper administration of justice. For many reasons, therefore, it appears to us that the time has arrived when the supreme appeal court of the realm should be placed upon a footing different from that which has hitherto existed, and that it should be so remodelled as to give it a permanent and responsible character. We have already observed that, as regards the great body of the Peers, their appellate jurisdiction and power is merely a name; and surely it is not worth retaining the shadow when the substance has passed away. There are evidently many deficiencies in the present system. The bulk of appeals are from the Scottish courts; and as the Scotch law differs materially from that of England, being based altogether upon a separate foundation, it is important that at least one Judge, intimately acquainted with the system, and trained to its technicalities, should be a member of the court of last resort. Looking to the present state of the Scottish bar and bench, we must confess that we entertain grave doubts whether any competent lawyer could be found to undertake such a duty for the unsubstantial reward of a life peerage; and we apprehend that no satisfactory or thoroughly efficient arrangement for the determination of appeals from the courts of England, Scotland, and Ireland can be effected, unless based upon the principle of delegating the appellate jurisdiction of the House of Peers to a court, holding its sittings in London, comprising the highest legal talent which can be drawn from the three kingdoms, but not necessarily, in so far as its members are concerned, directly connected with the peerage. Of course, the Judges in such a court of appeal should be, like all other Judges, the paid servants of the State; and we are confident that such a measure, the details of which would be matter of grave consideration, could not fail to be acceptable, and must prove highly beneficial to the country at large. Indeed, it is manifest that some such alteration of the law is now peremptorily required; as it is upon the inconvenience and insecurity of the working of the present system of appellate jurisdiction, as vested nominally in the whole body of the House of Peers, that the main arguments in favour of what we must consider as a dangerous attempt to destroy the hereditary constitution of the Upper House have been founded.

These observations of ours have not been made at random. We know that many of the highest and best legal authorities of our time have regarded the uncertain state of the constitution of the last court of appeal with considerable misgivings as to the future, and that they have entertained a deep anxiety as to the possible result, if no definite arrangement should be made. The establishment of a responsible tribunal, such as we have hinted at, would, in any case, have deprived the inventors and advocates of the creation of life-peerages of their only plausible plea; because, as we have already remarked, none of them have ventured to express their unqualified approval of the institution of life-peers, as giving new blood to the Legislature—they merely take their stand upon the judicial advantages which might result from the new method of creation. But if the same advantages, or, as it appears to us, advantages much more important and even precious to the public interest, could be derived from the institution of a new court, framed in accordance and consonance with the legal practice of the realm, and calculated to give universal satisfaction and security, we apprehend that the House of Lords would lose nothing if it renounced what, to the great bulk of its members, is a pure fiction of authority. The pretext—for it is nothing more—for the introduction of life-peerages, has been rested upon a very narrow ground; namely, the necessity of providing for the adequate discharge of the appellate jurisdiction of the House. By consent of Queen, Lords, and Commons, to the erection of an independent and responsible tribunal of appeal, of which the Law Lords of Parliament might be members, the difficulty could be obviated at once; and then—if it should still be proposed to make a radical change in the constitution of the Upper House—the question may be argued upon broad and general grounds. If in any quarter—we care not how high it be—it is deemed advisable, or expedient, or creditable, or conducive to the maintenance of the present constitution of the realm, that life-peerages should hereafter be copiously introduced, let the subject be ventilated and discussed with all imaginable freedom and latitude. But this back-blow—this poor attempt, as we must needs think it to be, of endeavouring to gain a precedent and an example by insidious means, without the co-operation of Parliament—strikes us as peculiarly shabby; and is anything but wise, inasmuch as it indicates a desire to push the prerogative of the Crown beyond the point which has been held as constitutional since the union of the three kingdoms. In a matter such as this is, we need hardly repeat the words of Lord Lyndhurst, that we do not speak of the Sovereign personally, but of the advisers of the Sovereign.

All that we have hitherto said relates to the expediency of creating life-peerages for the purpose of supplying possible deficiencies in the number of Law Lords who now exercise the whole appellate jurisdiction of the House of Peers. But the greater question is behind; and although we approach the subject with considerable diffidence, we are constrained to express our opinion that, in the case of Lord Wensleydale, the prerogative of the Crown has been stretched beyond its proper limit. We do not mean as to the title. The Crown is the fountain of honour; and there seems to be little doubt that the Crown may create titles at pleasure, without any violation of the constitution. The old orders of Thanes and Vavasors may be resuscitated, or new orders of knighthood, with extraordinary rank of precedence, may be formed. All that, and even more than that, lies within the power of the Sovereign. But the institution of a new estate, or a new order, or a new tenure of nobility, which shall have the effect of augmenting or decreasing the power of either of the two other recognised and established estates of the realm, the Lords or the Commons, is an assumption or exercise of power beyond the prerogative of the Crown; and we, who certainly do not lean to the side of democracy, must oppose any such innovation, as strongly and strenuously as we would do were the true privileges of the Crown assailed. We deny not the right of the Queen to bestow honours and titles, and to give rank and precedence; but the case is very different when we find the Queen—or, to speak more accurately and properly, the Queen’s advisers—attempting to alter the recognised hereditary character of one of the legislative chambers.

Let us then consider what is the constitution of the House of Lords. Diligent search has been made for precedents to show that, at an early period of English history, the Crown was in the use of granting peerages for life only; and we are bound to allow that sufficient evidence has been brought to establish the fact that, in the reign of Richard II., at least one peerage of that nature was created. But those who will take the trouble to peruse the elaborate reports upon the dignity of the Peerage, issued in 1820, 1822, and 1825, will find that in those early times the Crown assumed and exercised most arbitrary powers. Peers were summoned or not summoned to Parliament according to the will of the sovereign, and the right to exclude from Parliament a peer who had once taken his seat, was exercised by the Crown in repeated instances. If precedents drawn from the early history of England are to be accepted as rules for interpreting the existing measure of the prerogative of the Crown, we must necessarily conclude that the Crown has the power, without trial or forfeiture, to suspend or take away the privileges of any peer, and that this can be done simply by withholding a writ at the time when Parliament is summoned. We doubt greatly whether even the strongest stickler for prerogative would maintain that such a course would be justifiable at the present day. But in truth we set very little value upon such precedents, beyond what attaches to them as mere antiquarian inquiries; and for this reason, that the ancient usage of England in regard to peerages is of no value in determining the rights, privileges, or position of members of the present House of Lords. It seems to be forgotten that there is now no English House, nor are there any Peers of England. The unions with Scotland and Ireland entirely altered the character of the existing Peerage. To borrow the language of the Third Report upon the Dignity;—

“When the union of England and Scotland was accomplished in the reign of Queen Anne, all the adult peers of the realm of England were entitled to writs of summons in the characters of temporal Lords of the Parliament of England, as that Parliament was then constituted; but there are now no longer any peers of the realm of England. By the union with Scotland, England as well as Scotland ceased to be distinct realms; and all the peers of the realm of England, and all the peers of the realm of Scotland, became, by the terms of the Treaty of Union, peers of the new kingdom of Great Britain.”

In like manner the union of Great Britain and Ireland produced a change in the character of the Peerage:—

“All the peers of Ireland, and all the Peers of Great Britain, and all the peers of the United Kingdom since created, form, in some degree, the second estate of the realm of the United Kingdom, qualified by the power given to the peers of Ireland to divest themselves of their privileges as such, under certain circumstances; but twenty-eight only of the peers of Ireland are Lords of Parliament, being elected to represent the rest of the peers of Ireland in Parliament, and their election being for life. A power is also reserved to the Crown to create new peers of Ireland, under certain circumstances; and the peers so created become also part of the whole body of peers of the United Kingdom, though not by their creation Lords of Parliament, and though, by the terms of their creation, made peers of Ireland only.

“It seems manifest, therefore, that not only the peers of the realm of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland at the present day, but all the members of the legislative assemblies of the United Kingdom, both as bodies, and as individual members of different bodies, and in their several different and respective rights and capacities, bear little resemblance to any of the members of the legislative assemblies of the realm of England from the Conquest, before and to the reign of John; and the peers of the realm of the United Kingdom, both as a body and individually, are very different from the peers of the realm of England, before the Union of England and Scotland in the reign of Queen Anne, and especially as many of them are not Lords of Parliament; and such of them as are elected to represent the peers of Scotland, and such of them as are elected to represent the peers of Ireland, are Lords of Parliament by election, and not by virtue of their respective dignities, though the possession of those dignities is a necessary qualification to warrant their election.”—Third Report on the Dignity of the Peerage, pp. 34, 35.

It is manifest, therefore, that such a question as this, affecting the status and privileges of the Peerage of the United Kingdom, cannot be settled by reference to early English precedents. There is no longer an English peerage, neither is there an English Sovereign. The Acts of Union have quite altered the character of the Peerage, for they have established a clear and intelligible distinction between Peers of the United Kingdom and Lords of Parliament. The mere possession of the dignity by no means implies the right to sit in the House of Lords. With the exception of sixteen who are elected to serve in each Parliament, the whole body of what were the peers of Scotland, but who now are peers of the United Kingdom, are excluded from the House of Lords, unless qualified to sit in virtue of a new patent; and that portion of the Peerage of the United Kingdom whose ancestors were peers of Ireland, are represented in Parliament by twenty-eight of their number. It is important that this distinction should be borne in mind; the more especially because, by a loose and inaccurate mode of expression, many people are led to think that the descendants of the old Scottish and Irish peers are not peers of the United Kingdom. Yet such unquestionably is their character; but though peers of the United Kingdom, they are not necessarily members of the House of Lords.

If, therefore, precedent is to be regarded as affording any rule for ascertaining the extent of the Sovereign’s prerogative, it humbly appears to us that no instance from the history of England previous to the unions with Scotland and Ireland, can be accepted as satisfactory. The laws of England, as a province or component part of the realm, may have remained intact; but the character of the Peerage was entirely altered. The question is not now, What were the powers or extent of the prerogative of the monarchs of England? It is simply this, What are the powers, and what is the prerogative of the Sovereign of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland? For otherwise, be it observed, the search for precedents must be extended both to Scotland and Ireland, and we apprehend that investigation so directed might lead to some curious results. We know that King James, who succeeded to the throne of England, had such an exalted notion of his prerogative, that in his progress southward he actually tried in person, and condemned to death, an unfortunate footpad, who in all probability would have received a milder sentence from a less august tribunal. As to creations of the peerage in Scotland, take the case of the Barony of Rutherford. That peerage was created by Charles II., in 1661; a much more recent authority than Richard II.; and the destination was to Andrew Rutherford, and the heirs-male of his body, “quibus deficientibus, quamcumque aliam personam seu personas quas sibi quoad vixerit, quinetiam in articulo mortis, ad ei succedendum, ac fore ejus hæredes talliæ et provisionis in eadem dignitate, nominare et designare placuerit, secundum nominationem et designationem manu ejus subscribendam, subque provisionibus restrictionibus et conditionibus a dicto Andrea, pro ejus arbitrio, in dicta designatione experimendis.” In short, if the first Lord Rutherford had no heirs-male, he was entitled by this patent to assign the dignity, even on death-bed, to any person whom he might choose to name; and there was nothing to prevent him, if so disposed, from having nominated his footman to succeed him in the peerage! Here is a precedent to which we respectfully request the attention of those who are bent upon asserting the unlimited nature of the royal prerogative; and we should like to know whether they are prepared to maintain that such a patent, if granted now, would be regarded as constitutional, and would be held sufficient to entitle the assignee, not the heir, of the originally created peer to sit in the House of Lords? Certainly we are entitled to demand, if this case of Lord Wensleydale is to be decided upon precedents, a distinct answer to the foregoing question. For, as we have already shown—we trust distinctly, and we know incontrovertibly—the interest now at stake concerns not the Peerage of England, which has long since ceased to exist, but the interest of the Peerage of the United Kingdom; and therefore precedents drawn from the history of England can have no more weight than precedents drawn from the histories or records of Scotland or of Ireland.

We think that no weight whatever is to be given to such precedents. No sovereign of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland has, till now, attempted to alter the hereditary character of the Peerage. This is the very first instance of a peerage for life granted in the monarchy under which we live, and it cannot be considered otherwise than as an innovation. We use that term in its most innocuous sense; not meaning thereby to challenge the right of the Crown to confer a new description of dignity, but simply marking the fact that the dignity, as granted, is new. But the creation of such a dignity by no means carries with it the right to a seat in the House of Lords. As we have already shown, many of the Peers of the United Kingdom, all of whom are hereditary, are expressly excluded from that House, not by will of the Sovereign alone, but by express statute, bearing the authority of the Three Estates of the realm. If there be any meaning whatever in the phrase that this is a “limited monarchy,” it must be held to signify that the Crown cannot, ex proprio motu, interfere with the constitution of the other two Estates. It cannot, we know well, interfere arbitrarily with the constitution of the House of Commons; but is it not an interference with the constitution of the House of Lords, when we find a new kind of peerage created, for the purpose of giving the party so created a voice in the Legislature? Is that not directly contrary to constitutional usage—to the “lex et consuetudo Parliamenti,” which has been justly held as the great bulwark of our national freedom? On this point we invite consideration; and the more deeply it is considered, the stronger, we are assured, will be the conviction that the present attempt, if successful, would be highly dangerous to the liberties of the country.

All must agree with us that it is of the most vital importance that the independence of the two national chambers should be maintained. The House of Commons cannot be otherwise than independent, because it is strictly electoral. All proposals which have hitherto been made to place a certain number of seats at the disposal of ministers, or rather to allow ministers to sit and vote without representing a constituency, have been scouted; and although very plausible arguments have from time to time been advanced to prove the expediency of such an arrangement, these have failed to convince the people of this country that it would be safe to depart, in any case, from the electoral system of return. The House of Peers hitherto has been independent, because, though the Crown has the right of creating new peers, that right has only been exercised according to the existing and understood conditions; and the hereditary constitution of the House renders it impossible to suppose that any undue or exorbitant exercise of the power of the Crown, in creating new peers, can permanently affect its independence. It by no means follows that the successor of the original peer is to be swayed by the same motives which affected his father, or that he will tread implicitly in his footsteps; and therefore, even in times of great excitement, the power of creation has been exercised within limits by the advisers of the Crown. Lord Brougham, who, in the days of the Reform Bill, was not very scrupulous, intended, as he tells us himself, to advise his sovereign, William IV., to exercise his prerogative to an extent which never had been attempted before, and which, we devoutly trust, will never be attempted again. He says, “When I went to Windsor with Lord Grey, I had a list of EIGHTY creations, framed upon the principle of making the least possible permanent addition to our House, and to the aristocracy, by calling up peers’ eldest sons—by choosing men without families—by taking Scotch and Irish peers.” It is of no avail now to revert to the past, or to enter into any discussion whether or not the proposed measure was justifiable; more especially as Lord Brougham adds, “But such was my deep sense of the dreadful consequences of the act, that I much question whether I should not have preferred running the risk of confusion that attended the loss of the bill as it then stood.” Under the present hereditary system, there is little danger that the House of Peers will lose its independent character; nor could it be so affected, even for a short period, save by some such exorbitant exercise of the power of the Crown, by creating simultaneously an undue and unconstitutional number of peers. But the case would be widely different if life-peerages were to be allowed, and recognised as conferring a right to sit in the House of Lords. Peerages in the ordinary course of succession become rapidly extinct. In 1707, when the Union Roll of Scotland was made up, the number of the Peerage amounted to 154; and since then six, having proved their claims, have been added, thus swelling the number to 160. At present there are only 82 members of that Peerage, showing a diminution of nearly one-half in the course of 150 years. If, then, the lapse of hereditary peerages is to be supplied—as no doubt it will be supplied, should the claim of Lord Wensleydale to take his seat in the House of Peers be allowed—by peers created for life only, who can fail to see that, in the course of time, the independence of the Upper House must be entirely extinguished? In the natural course of events, that Chamber must become an appanage of the Crown, very much indeed in the condition of the old English Chamber of Peers, when the Crown exercised its discretion in issuing or withholding writs of summons to Parliament. Therein, we conclude, lies the real danger. We speak of “the constitution of the country,” and men regard the term as vague because so much is implied. But it is different when we consider separately the constitution of each branch of the Legislature. Then we are dealing, not with generalities, but with facts; and we appeal, not only to the antiquarian and the genealogist, but to the understanding of all educated men, whether, until now, they ever conceived the possibility of a non-hereditary House of Lords? Surely, in 1832, when a design for swamping that House was seriously entertained, the legality of creating peerages for life must have occurred to some of the men of acute and daring intellect who were willing to peril so much for the success of their favourite measure, and yet no proposal of the kind was put forward. It is in the “ennoblement of the blood” which, once bestowed, the sovereign cannot recall, that the essential privilege and pre-eminence of the Peerage lies. Take that away, and the whole character of the dignity is altered.

Some kind of argument has been attempted to be drawn in favour of life-peerages, from the patent fact that bishops have seats in the House of Lords. To that we answer that the “Spiritual Lords,” as they are termed, sit there partly by consuetude, and partly by statute; and Blackstone thus explains the reason of their sitting: “These” (i.e. the Spiritual Lords) “hold, or are supposed to hold, certain ancient baronies under the Queen; for William the Conqueror thought proper to change the spiritual tenure of frankalmoign, or free alms, under which the bishops held their lands during the Saxon government, into the feodal or Norman tenure by barony, which subjected their estates to all civil charges and assessments, from which they were before exempt; and in right of succession to those baronies which were unalienable from their respective dignities, the bishops and abbots were allowed their seats in the House of Lords.” And let it be specially remarked, that the Crown has no power to call a newly-created bishop, in virtue of his bishopric, to sit in the House of Lords. This is distinctly asserted by the statute 10 and 11 Vict. cap. 108, which provides that the number of English Lords Spiritual shall not be increased by the creation of any new bishopric. So here is a precedent, if precedents are to be sought for, limiting the power of the Crown as to new dignities, and debarring it from interfering with the constituted rights of another estate of the realm.

In the course of this discussion upon a subject not only interesting, but of the highest importance, we have studiously avoided mixing up the question of the right of the Crown to confer titles of honour at pleasure, with that of the exercise of the prerogative to create, contrary to consuetude, a new kind of nobility to sit in the House of Lords. They are indeed totally separate questions, and must so be considered in order to arrive at a proper understanding of the point at issue. We submit that this much is clear and evident—1st, That the right of sitting in the House of Lords is not the necessary consequence of the possession of a British peerage; 2d, That, with the exception of the Bishops or Lords Spiritual, who sit in the character of holders of ancient baronies under the Queen, all the members of the House of Lords are hereditary peers; 3d, That since the union of England and Scotland, which merged the two ancient kingdoms into one monarchy under the name of Great Britain, and made all the existing peers, without any exception, peers of Great Britain, there has been no instance of any attempt on the part of the Crown to create peerages without remainder; 4th, That the same observation applies to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, which was established by the Act of Union with Ireland, and which made all existing peers, peers of the United Kingdom.

The present is the first instance in which a title of nobility, without remainder, has been conferred by patent, and the mere title, as a personal honour, may be unimpeachable. But it is a very different thing when it is attempted to give the holder of that title a seat in the House of Lords, which, we humbly venture to think, is beyond the power of the Crown, because it is contrary to the acknowledged constitution and hereditary character of the House of Lords. That there must be some limit to the exercise of the prerogative is certain; and we shall put a case for the solution of those who take the opposite view. It is this: Would the Crown be entitled to issue a writ of summons to any peer of the United Kingdom, who is such in virtue of his representing an old Scottish or Irish peerage; and would such peer be entitled, in respect of that writ, to take his seat in the House of Lords? We apprehend that there can be but one answer to that. Such an attempt would be directly contrary to and in violation of the terms of the Acts of Union. No man surely will maintain that Queen Anne could have evaded the express conditions of the Treaty of Union, by creating all the former peers of Scotland who became peers of Great Britain (with the exception of the sixteen representatives), peers for life, without remainder, and so have effected an absolute revolution in the character of the then existing House of Lords. It was not until the year 1782, seventy years after the Union, that a writ of summons was allowed to be issued to Douglas Duke of Hamilton, in the character of Duke of Brandon, a dignity which had been given to his ancestor in 1711. Previous to that decision, it seems to have been maintained that no subsequent patent to a peer, who originally was a peer of Scotland, could entitle him to a writ of summons to sit in the House of Lords; and the point was twice adjudicated upon in the House of Lords: first in the case of the Duke of Hamilton, already mentioned; and, secondly, in that of the Duke of Queensberry, who, 1719, asserted his right to a writ of summons in his character of Duke of Dover. In both instances the decision was hostile to the claim; but the point was finally set at rest by the admission of the Duke of Hamilton to sit as Duke of Brandon under that patent.

If the Crown can now create a peer for life, so as to entitle him to a seat in Parliament, it must necessarily have possessed that power 150 years ago; and, if so, every one of the Scottish peers might have been called to the Upper House by the simple expedient of giving them new patents for life. Such an attempt would undoubtedly have been considered illegal, unconstitutional, and utterly subversive of the Union; and yet we cannot see wherein such an attempt would have differed in principle from that which is now made to introduce Lord Wensleydale to the House of Lords. It is only by the consent of Queen, Lords, and Commons, that the fundamental character of any of the three great Estates of the realm can be altered; and the attempt to destroy or impair the independence of one of them is ominous for the stability of the others.