perfected, for neither Wales nor Scotland was half Saxonized at that time. Now it numbers 60,000,000 of human beings, planted upon all the islands and continents of the earth, and increasing everywhere by an intense ratio of progression. It

races, or barbarous tribes of men that have occupied the continents of America, Africa, Asia, and the islands of the ocean. See it girdling them from year to year with its vigorous plantations. If no great physical revolution supervene to check its propagation, it will number 800,000,000 of human beings in less than 150 years from the present time

all speaking the same language, centred to the same literature and religion, and exhibiting all its inherent and inalienable characteristics.

he, the man to whom Courvoisier had admitted the murder" are there no circumstances against other parties in connection with this case?" His constant appeals to the Deity, and to the solemn concerns of a future state, are absolutely disgusting. He is fast absorbing or displacing all the sluggish professes that he is able to help the jury to a verdict short of murder," without putting their souls to any hazard." This they might do "without hazarding their souls' salvation." He prays" the Almighty God to guide them to a just conclusion." He supplicates of them caution, seeing an error will "stand against them in condemnation before the judgment-seat of God." Now, we will ask a single question here. Could any jury have supposed that the man, who sought thus to fence Thus the population of the earth is fast becoming round and guard their every step, who besought Anglo-Saxonized by blood. But the English lanthem to beware how they violated "the living the blood of that race; it is, if we may speak it revguage is more self-expansive and aggressive than temple which the Lord had made," was pleading erently, the John the Baptist in the mission of thus on behalf of a confessed felon-of a man who that race, uttering its voice and teaching its words had imbrued his hands in his master's blood? No, to the scattered tribes and tongues of the earth, in no, it won't do. We can allow a wide margin- every distant wilderness of barbarism. When a a very wide margin-for professional eloquence community begins to speak and read the English -seeing it is all paid for-appeals, invocations, language, it is half Saxonized, even if not a drop adjurations, and all-and, therefore, belongs of of Anglo-Saxon blood runs in its veins. Ireland was never colonized from England, like North right to the purchaser-but even the license of the America or Australia; but nearly the whole of its bar has its limits. When liberty fairly merges 7 or 8 millions already speak the English laninto licentiousness we must say stop." We guage, which is the preparatory state to being enthink the Examiner deserves well of the commu-tirely absorbed into the Anglo-Saxon race, as one nity in this matter, in having so stoutly done battle for a public principle of no small importance.


From Burritt's Christian Citizen.

of its most vigorous and useful elements. Everywhere the English language is gaining upon the languages of the earth, and preparing those who speak it for this absorption. The young generation of the East Indies is learning it; and it is probable that within 50 years, 25 millions of human beings, of Asiatic race, will speak the language on that continent. So it is in the United States. About 50,000 immigrants from Germany and other countries of continental Europe, are arriving in this country every year. Perhaps they cannot speak a word of English when they first land on our shores; but in the course of a few years they master the language, to some extent. Their children sit upon the same benches in our common schools with those of native Americans, and become, as they grow up and diffuse themselves among the rest of the population, completely Anglo-Saxonized.

BRITAIN has been frequently denominated the mother of nations. Whatever may be her title to this appellation, nothing is more evident and true, than the fact that her island has been the elaboratory of a most remarkable race, in which nearly all the races that peopled Europe, from the Roman to the Norman conquest, were combined. All that is vigorous in the Celt, the Saxon, the Scandinavian, and the Norman, was absorbed into what we call the Anglo-Saxon race; and when the combination was completed, on the island of Great Britain a new world was discovered, as if it were on purpose for Thus the race, by its wonderful self-expansive the irresistible expansion of that mighty race. As power of language and blood, is fast occupying, an illustration of one of its physical qualities, it is and subduing to its genius, all the continents and estimated that its population doubles itself in 35 islands of the earth. The grandson of many a years, whilst that of Germany doubles itself in 76; young man who reads these lines, will probably live of Holland in 100; of Spain in 106; of Italy in to see the day when that race will number its 135; of France in 138; of Portugal in 238, and 800,000,000 of human beings. Perhaps they may that of Turkey in 555 years. When, about 250 comprise a hundred nations, or distinct governyears ago, one or two vessels crossed the ocean and ments. Perhaps they may become a grand constelplanted here and there along the coast of North lation and commonwealth of republics, pervaded by America a few germs of that race, its whole popu- the same laws, literature, and religion. Their lation in the Old World did not exceed six mil- unity, harmony, and brotherhood must be deterlions. England, Wales, and Scotland, numbered mined by the relations between Great Britain and fewer inhabitants at that time, than New York, the United States. Their union will be the union Pennsylvania, and Ohio do now. Hardly two cen- of the two worlds. If they discharge their duty to turies and a half have elapsed since that epoch, and each other and to mankind, they must become the now there are at least 25 millions of that race in united heart of the mighty race they represent, North America and its adjacent islands, or a num-feeding its myriad veins with the blood of moral ber exceeding the whole population of Great and political life. Upon the state of their fellowBritain. In 1620, the Anglo-Saxon race numbered ship then, more than upon the union of any two about 6,000,000, and was confined to England, nations on earth, depend the well-being of huWales and Scotland; and the combination, of manity, the peace and progress of the world. which it is the result, was not then more than half E. B.

From the Spectator.

opinions which have heretofore existed as to right

POLITICAL ECONOMY AND THE NEEDLEWOMEN. and expediency, and being therefore open to modi

We have too much capital and too many people for our narrow area, says Mr. Sidney Herbert; you cannot have too much capital, says the Daily News, where you have hands to employ, and where the land is crying aloud for more capital, nor in such case too many people. When two propositions so conflicting are both so true-looking, it implies that the reconcilement is to be sought deeper than either; and so it is in the present instance. The journalist says

At a time when three fourths of the land of England are but half cultivated, farmers wanting the capital requisite, and landlords obstinately refusing and resisting those sole conditions on which capital can be embarked in cultivation, we are told that there is too much capital.

We can conceive too much capital in a country where there is a lack of population-where, in fact, there are no arms to employ. But, in a country where there is abundance of men and labor on the one hand, and of food and capital on the other, with as fertile a soil as ever God gave, the fault of all these three elements lying idle and unprofitable, and starving by the side of one another, must be the fault of the law, the system, and of the social organization of the country. For labor to make use of materials, and for capital to find them, two things are chiefly required-freedom and intelligence. But the land is not free, whilst the classes upon it are utterly unable to reconcile present exigencies with old prejudices.

In the actual circumstances of the country, "capital" is partly a natural, partly an artificial thing, accumulated under the operation of laws and usages which have perhaps regarded it too much as an absolute good. In its actual shape, the abundance of capital is attended by incidents the reverse of felicitous. In the lax language of political economy, capital is accumulated labor; it is rather the accumulated product of labor. The land is the great source of all wealth; labor is the machine for its extraction; capital is that surplus product which can be stored, and which, in the shape of materials, tools, or subsistence, facilitates the more profitable application of labor. In our artificial state of society, capital exists, not only in that direct form, but also in the indirect form of representative wealth-money and credit-which can by the usage of commercial exchange at any moment command materials, tools, and subsistence. By the operation of the same laws, the holder of the surplus product is permitted to appropriate the land itself, which thus, as "property," becomes confounded with capital; the holder of capital. therefore is not only emancipated from the primeval decree of labor, but is enabled to throw his share of work upon some other, and is further enabled to exact a portion of the product of the laborer's industry, in some cases limited only by the laborer's power of enduring privation. In examining the nature and operation of capital, we must bear in mind that it is in great part sustained by artificial laws; such laws being dictated by

fication as our knowledge and opinions are developed. And in what we now say, we are not criticizing, but only stating facts. Filled with the importance of capital, we have framed our laws for its protection, more than for the protection of labor. In abolishing old sumptuary laws, usury laws, and protective duties, we have removed all restriction on the accumulation of capital; towards capital all our laws are enabling laws-even laws having a restrictive shape are meant to be enabling; towards those who infringe the profits of capital the laws are disenabling if not penal-labor is more restricted and coerced than enabled and supported. However fixed some portion of the aggregate capital of the country may be, a large portion is "floating," or in the most readily transferable shape. Theoretical economists are wont to talk of the transfer of labor from any occupation that is unprofitable; but that transfer proves to be easy only in theory, and we need not the instances of the hand-loom weavers, the Paisley people, the ousted railway laborers and civil engineers, or of these needlewomen, to make good the fact that labor cannot easily effect the transit from a profitless to a profitable employment. Capital can. The immediate consequence of the disparity is, that in the transfer capital can always preoccupy the field and exercise all the privileges of preëmption; in the competition of labor and capital, capi

tal ever has the start. Another incident of transferable capital is still more serious in its operation on the whole commercial world. From the imperfect state of mutual understanding in commercial affairs, it often happens that commercial activity goes into a wrong course, or goes much too far in a course originally right; the immense mass of disposable capital is thrown into the erroneous movement, imparts to it a correspondingly exaggerated momentum, and increases the disastrous consequences of the error. The railway mania forms an immediate and pregnant instance. Not only is the absolute loss augmented by the amount of capital embarked, but the misdirected commercial enterprise goes much more wrong than it would otherwise do. In a country where the land is strictly appropriated and absolutely subject to individual will, and where the amount of disposable capital exceeds the amount of land available for its direct employment, it is in the nature of things that these incidents should appear; and no country exhibits combination of circumstances in so high a degree as England.

The case of labor is just the opposite. It is too sluggish to be transferred from an unproductive to a productive occupation; and hence, in some degree, effects similar to those produced by the too ready transfer of capital; as that overshoots the varying course of profitable industry, so labor cannot follow it. Possibly it is a mistake to suppose that the bulk of mankind will ever be sufficiently intelligent to act in these matters by calculation; possibly the general mass will never have sufficient



15 to 20,



20 to 25,



25 to 30,



30 to 35,





foresight to save, and possibly in an exceedingly well-arranged state of industry individual saving would not be necessary nor so beneficial as active production; possibly the passions of men will never be thoroughly subdued to the laws of that science which ignores them; but whatever may be 15 to 35, the ultimate condition of men in those respects, The disproportion continues through every sucmost certainly the multitude, now, are not passion-cessive stage of life; but between the ages of fifless, thrifty, or intelligently directed in their in- teen and thirty-five alone the excess is 72,312. dustry; and we have to deal with people as we Now how is this brought about? Some reasons find them steadily and annually increasing in for it are obvious. The multitudinous class of numbers; debarred, as the Daily News says, from domestic servants consists mostly of women; it the land; subject to the dictates of capital, await- being calculated that, on an average, as many as ing the pleasure of capital for employment, and 10,000 are always out of work in London. The now in point of fact existing within our shores in life of the domestic servant is a sort of imprisonlarger numbers than capital sees fit to employ.ment in "the basement story" of a private house, No practicable diminution of taxes, if any, could very desolate, comfortless, and " aggravating." alter that vitiated state of the relation between In London, also, many of the poorer employments capital, labor, and land. We have land, hands, are practicable-like those filled by the needleand wealth; and to make all comfortable it is only women who excite Mr. Sidney Herbert's active necessary to combine these elements; but, as the compassion. Another metropolitan demand for Daily News and the communists say, "the land is women is more proper to be discussed in a treatise not free;" and to bring about the requisite combi-on medical police; in the present state of moral nation at home, we must alter" the law, the system, and the social organization of the country.' That is not to be done in a day, and in truth we are but entering upon the threshold of the subject; protectionists, political economists, and communist systematists, have kept to the surface, and have not penetrated to the common source of the phenomena which have severally engrossed their attention, the common basis of that truth which they see in a partial aspect. The solution of their difference must be a work of time; their reconcilement in a common plan must belong to times far distant; but no vision of the future should disturb us in present duties. We must do all the good that is practicable; and, pending the solution of our difficulties, we may at least palliate the evils which we cannot yet extirpate. Colonization is a direct remedy for the evils which we have pointed out, and one which is immediately available. It corrects the vitiated relations of land, labor, and capital at home, by the same process that establishes sound relations in the colony. It effects the immediate good with no immediate harm; at the same time, it offers no hinderance to the development of our knowledge or economical philosophy.

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From the Spectator.


feeling, men are less shamed to suffer and perpetuate that miserable wrong than to discuss it. They do not blush to recognize it among useful institutions; they do not blush to know that unhappy women of the same mould and heart with their sisters, their lovers and wives, and their daughters, are tempted, are blasted in the bloom of youth, and die; but they blush to talk about it. In deference to the stubborn form of perverse modesty, we must only allude to that kind of supply and demand which obeys the common laws of "commercialism;" but it must be enumerated as contributing to swell the number of females in London, though not so much as it might do, if the avocation were less mortal. These three great demands, therefore, draw large supplies into London, and tell in the census.

By the laws of commercialism, the draught outwards, proposed by Mr. Sidney Herbert, should raise the value of the article. The slop-dealers will find their hands drawn away; the wages of domestic servants will rise; and possibly, filtered through some Magdalen institutions, a few victims to the other great metropolitan demand may be rescued from death for reformed lives in the colonies. But will not the vacancies be filled up by new incomers from the provinces? It is to be feared, indeed, that Mr. Sidney Herbert can hardly keep up the drain so fast as the supply will pour LONDON, it seems, is the grand mart for victims in. It is digging holes in sand. The terrible of the female sex. Mr. Sidney Herbert notices ultra-cheapening process, of which he makes light the numerical excess of women, and ascribes to it their debased condition. Some controversy has arisen on the amount of the excess in the country at large, but as to London it remains undisputed; and, indeed, the Times, aided by the Companion to the British Almanac for 1844, and its abstract of the population census in 1841, places the matter beyond a doubt. A table in the Companion gives the actual numbers of males and females in the metropolis, divided into their different ages:

account, will continue to demand poor workers; and those the provinces will continue to supply— unless general emigration should make a more effectual drain upon the store whence the Mosaic demand of the Minories draws its supply. Female servants will still be wanted. And the metropolitan Sphinx will still feed its votaries with the lives of young Englishwomen. No Sidney Herbert can keep pace with those processes, nor can you arrest them by removing the present victims.

"Oh! certainly," returned Anne, ringing the

To do that, you must alter the character of the
market, and of the chapmen therein. "How?" bell.
you ask, with a sigh of despair. Certainly,
spair never accomplished anything. Yet we have
churches, and clergy, and physiologists, and " best

possible instructors,'
" and didactic preceptors in
every class and station. They fail, indeed; and,
seeing their failure, redouble the efforts which led
to failure; and then, seeing the double failure,
they take heart of grace, and piously quadruple
their non-success; and so on-not to the end of the
chapter, for it is "a story without an end." Do

you propose to turn over a new leaf? Heinous
innovator, you would subvert our institutions and

our morals!

So, meanwhile, the only thing to be done is just what Mr. Sidney Herbert is doing-to succor the actual victims of the hour, and do the best we can for them. For to help one another, is the practi

cal form of the divine commandment to "love one another." And in doing that, we may by degrees introduce a more sacred spirit even into the immense unhallowed woman market.

From the Britannia.

"A plate of salt for Mr. Clavering," she said, when the butler appeared at the door.

"Yes, ma'am; about what sized plate will Mr. Clavering require?" asked the butler, with great solemnity.

"Oh! have the goodness to send my man here," said Master Clavering.

The butler withdrew, and Master Clavering's man made his appearance. A middle-aged, decentlooking man he was, and he had need have been ; who was as helpless as an infant. for he had the entire charge of Master Clavering,

"A plate of salt, Power, if you please," said that young gentleman.

He always spoke courteously to his inferiors, unless they put him out of temper.

Power withdrew in his turn, and presently entered with a soup-plate full of salt.

may make that last; for it is all you will get, and "There, Mr. Clavering," said he, firmly; "you so I tell you."

"Is it? you stupid!" cried Master Clavering, much exasperated:"" you give it here; and go and unpack my tops ready for me when I come up stairs!"

"You have got about twenty minutes, Mr. ClaKing's Cope. By the author of " Mr. Warrenne."vering, before the dressing-bell, and so I tell you,"

3 vols. Bentley.

LIKE the previous works of the author, these volumes contain a good deal of lively dialogue, plenty of incident, and most shrewd knowledge of the world. "King's Cope" is the name of the country seat of Mr. Scawen, the father of the heroine. When the story commences Anne Scawen is only ten years old. She has lost her mother only a few months back, and is now waiting, with her two brothers, to receive the second wife of her father. This marriage, so soon after the death of their mother, is a sad blow to Anne and her youngest brother. She has always been passionately attached to her brother Hugh, who is two years older than herself; and, as he has a handsome estate independent of his father, they settle that, as soon as he becomes of age, they will take possession of Datchley, and commence housekeeping by themselves. The stepmother proves as disagreeable as most of the race, and Anne takes an inveterate dislike to her. Hugh goes to sea as a midshipman, and Anne has no protector from the ill-temper of Mrs. Scawen. When Anne is fifteen, a youth, the son of an old friend of her father, arrives on a visit. This lad is one of the most wilful and eccentric of mortals; sometimes showing all the wit of a clever man, and sometimes the folly of an idiot. Soon after his arrival he is alone with Annie, and he astonishes her by a singular request:

"I say, can you give us a plate of salt?" Anne looked up in his face with the utmost astonishment.

"How you do stare with your great eyes!" said the boy, not growing sulky, for a wonder. "But-salt, Master Clavering?" said Anne, greatly perplexed.

"Salt!" replied that young gentleman tinctly.


remarked Power, as he was leaving the roora.

"Have I? I shall stay as long as I choose!" he retorted. Then, setting one foot on the fender, and the plate on his knee, he kept throwing small handfuls of salt into the fire, and watching the blue flame that started up as he did so.

Anne sat contemplating his singular wooden face, fitfully illuminated by the ghastly light, and wondering whether he was not an idiot. A boy of his struck her as something like insanity, and yet the age, playing with humming-tops and burning salt, way in which he replied to her father and Mrs. Scawen, seemed as if he possessed the ordinary amount of understanding. In fact, had he been a poor man's son, he would have been at once set down as 66 a natural." But, as General Clavering was likely to succeed to the earldom of D—, it was agreed among the young gentleman's friends to speak of him as only eccentric.

In fact, Master Clavering's character was sufficiently complex to puzzle a much greater philosopher than his father. He expressed himself correctly whenever he made the effort, and went through all the usages of society like a gentleman. He read and seemed to understand what he read. He played everything that he could get hold of upon politics, chess admirably, and possessed a hard shrewdness that would prevent his being much pillaged in the world. But his manner gave way, if the term may be used, the moment that he felt at all familiar with a person, and he showed every shade of temper that passed through his mind as plainly as a child of and almost wore out his servant, who was, howfive years old. He was very nervous and fidgetty, ever, attached to him, and who had been in the general's service a great many years. He was very domestic, as his father called it; that is, he was averse to going to parties, and preferred sitting by the fireside carving toys with a penknife out of a bit of wood, and chanting his single old ballad. He was not very fond of women's society, but he endured them better than young men or boys, of whose company he had a perfect horror, probably because they had not led him a very easy life when he was at

school. However, he took a decided fancy to
Anne; sometimes appearing to consider her as a
schoolfellow, and sometimes recollecting that she
was a girl, and staring at her large eyes with a
kind of hard admiration. But at this stage of
their acquaintance both sat perfectly silent-the
salt began to wax low, and the dressing-bell rang.
Whilst young Clavering is still their guest,
they receive an invitation to spend the Christmas
at the house of a friend of Mr. Scawen's in Scot-I
land. Anne now, for the first time in her life,
mixes with girls of her own age; she is delighted
with the novelty of everything she sees, and would
have been perfectly happy, had it not been for the
discovery of some of her youthful friends. They

of smile struggled over his wooden features, but he remained silent.

"I did not think," said Anne, indignantly," that you had grown so ill-natured as to withhold from me anything I desired to know. You are not half so pleasant, Mr. Clavering, as you used to be."

So much the worse for you!" retorted Mr. Clavering, growing angry at this unflattering speech.

"For me? what can you mean? Do you think concern myself whether you are pleasant or not? Why, you can't be pleasant if you would! You do not mean," said Anne, attempting to decipher the singular expression of his face, " you cannot mean that papa thinks of you and me together?" with an air of defiance. "Why not?" asked Mr. Clavering, looking up

"Because he knows very well it could never be,” said Anne, trying to speak with composure, and walking slowly towards the window.

As he spoke he followed Anne to the window. "Ah! you may look frightened," he added, perceiving the expression of terror that blanched her face and dilated her eyes; everybody's mind is made up-so there!"


assure her that her father must intend her to become in a few years the wife of young Clavering, and she is so indignant at the idea that she treats the poor lad somewhat unkindly in consequence of "He knows that, does he?" exclaimed Mr. the good-natured hints she receives. At a chil- Clavering, rising, and cautiously laying on the dren's ball given on Twelfth-night, Anne dances table all the odds and ends he had been treasuring with a young officer who is on the point of sail-in his handkerchief; "now, I'll tell you what I know. You see if it is not all settled and over ing with his regiment for India. Anne is fifteen, before Michaelmas." and young Hardwicke two or three years older. They see each other but twice, and then swear eternal love. In compliance with his wish, Anne steals out of the house at six o'clock in the morning, in order to meet him at the village church, where they are married. Hardwicke leaves his young bride in the churchyard, and hurries off to join the vessel he is to sail in. Anne returns quietly home, and resides, as formerly, with her father for three years, when she is startled by the return of young Clavering, accompanied by his father. The young gentleman is little altered since Anne last saw him, but she is soon convinced that he has returned as a suitor for her hand, although he has never said a word to her on the subject. At last he informs her of his intentions in his usual odd manner. Anne is one morning playing when they are alone, and complains of some fault in her instrument:

"Ah!" said Clavering, "when we take a house, I'll get you one of Erard's pianos; they are better than Broadwood's, after all."

He was sitting by the table scraping a bit of wood, and Anne had been practising a prelude. She certainly had not the least idea that he could suppose himself secure of her hand, without having at all sounded her views on the subject. She left the piano, and came up to his table. "We take a house? are you dreaming?" she asked.

"When we take a house," said Mr. Clavering, looking up; "I suppose we are not to live in the street or under a hedge, are we?"

"I wonder whether he is in his right mind," said Anne, sitting down and beginning to work. "Do you mean to say you don't know what our governors are about?" said Mr. Clavering, still scraping diligently at his bit of wood.

"Not I, indeed," said Anne; "they were talking about letting farms, at breakfast. I did not pay attention, because it was a subject that did not amuse me."

Anne had risen, and, leaning her hands on the table, was looking earnestly in his face. A sort

"Not mine!" returned Anne, surveying him with her haughtiest glance; and, perhaps, it would have been worth while to have ascertained that in the first instance."

"Tell Mr. Scawen so," returned Mr. Clavering, "and see if that will make any difference." "Coward!" exclaimed Anne, her whole face beaming with indignation.

Mr. Clavering began to sing the legend of St. Thomas.

"If it is true-if you knew what they were planning, and never warned me-do you not see that you have been acting a very treacherous part?" asked Anne, trembling with agitation.

"Not a bit; I had no objection; I wished it," replied Mr. Clavering, calmly.

"And what were your wishes, pray, unless mine were consulted?" exclaimed Anne; and then to see the meanness; you could get out of it if you pleased, but you know how difficult it would be for me to oppose papa."

"So difficult that I would not advise you to try it," replied Mr. Clavering, coolly nibbling a slender bit of wood, and swinging his foot as he sat on the window seat.

Anne tried to command herself, but she succeeded only in speaking a little more slowly.

"Listen," she said; "it, perhaps, may appear ridiculous to refuse a man who has never thought it worth while to make me an offer.”

Mr. Clavering nodded his entire acquiescence in this observation.

"You might have had the courtesy to give me the option; you ought to be a gentleman; you, with the blood of the Plantagenets in your veins; but as you are not, as you coolly insult me by telling me that my marriage with you is arranged, I tell you as coolly that it shall not take place. You may arrange with your father, and withdraw quietly at once, or you may remain here planning and settling everything to the last, and so make your defeat the more absurd and public-do which you

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