do for the Wandering Jew, in case he should suddenly turn up as a prize-subject for life insurances. The contest soon rose buoyantly above the element of little men. It lay between two "top-sawyers," the late Lord Spencer and Lord Blandford; and finally was knocked down to the latter for two thousand two hundred and forty pounds, at a time when five per cent was obtained everywhere, and readily, for money. It illustrates the doctrine on which we are now engaged, that the purchaser some few years later, when Duke of Marlborough, and in personal embarrassments, towards which he could draw no relief from plate that was an heirloom, or from estates that were entailed, sold the book to his old competitor Lord Spencer for one thousand guineas. Nothing is more variable than the affirmative value of objects which ground it chiefly upon rarity. It is exceedingly apt to pall upon possession. In this case there was a secondary value, the book was not only rare, but was here found in its integrity: this one copy was perfect: all others were mutilated. But still such a value, being partly a caprice, and in the extremest sense a pretium affectionis, or fancy price, fluctuates with the feelings or opinions of the individual; and, even when it keeps steady, it is likely to fluctuate with the buyer's fortunes.

On the other hand, where a pretium affectionis is not without a general countersign from society, we do not find that it fluctuates at all. The great ITALIAN MASTERPIECES OF PAINTING have long borne an affirmative value (i. e. a value founded on their pre-eminence, not on the cost of producing); and that value pushed to the excess of a monopoly, continually growing more intense. It would be useless now to ask after the resistance price: because, if that could be ascertained, it would be a mere inoperative curiosity. Very possible it is that Leonardo

da Vinci may have spent not more than £150 in producing his fresco of the Last Supper. But, were it possible to detach it from the walls of the convent refectory which it emblazons, the picture would command in London a king's ransom; and the Sistine Chapel embellishments of Michael Angelo, probably two such ransoms within a week. Such jewels are now absolutely unique, —they are secure from repetition; notorious copies would not for a moment enter into competition. It is very doubtful if artists of power so gigantic will reappear for many centuries; and the sole deduction from their increasing value is the ultimate frailty of their materials.

SALMON is another instructive case. At present it is said pretty generally to bear the average price of fifteen pence a pound;* and this price is doubtless the resistance value. But, if the price should ever come to represent the affirmative or power value, it might easily rise considerably higher. There are many men who would prefer one pound of salmon to four of beef; and up to that level, if the stress should ever lie on a man's intrinsic esteem for salmon, it might ascend easily. But it could not ascend very much higher; because a limit is soon reached at which it would always be pulled up suddenly by some other commodity of the same class in still higher esteem. A majority of palates prefer turbot, i. e. true turbot, not the rubbish which passes for such. And vicarious articles, possibly even superior substitutes, will generally avail to fix a limit on the maximum side, beyond which few articles will be pushed even by the severest strain upon their affirmative qualities; that is, by the situation where the question ceases entirely to the seller, What can you

* Since this was written, a Dutch competition in the markets of London has reduced the price.

afford to take? and is turned against the buyer, What is the utmost that you, rather than lose the article, will consent to give? The simple demand for variety, as one amongst the resources of hospitality, might long avail to support a rack-price (that is, an affirmative price) for salmon, if it were ever to reach it. People are called upon daily to buy what may allow a reasonable choice to their guests; that is, what may be agreeable as one luxury amongst others, even though to their own estimate it may not avail as one luxury against others.

CROTON OIL.-This case of salmon represents that vast order of cases where the article is within limits. Press as you will upon the desire of a man to obtain the article for its intrinsic qualities, for its power to gratify, (which, as in itself capable of no exact estimate, might seem susceptible of an unlimited appreciation,) there is, however, in all such cases, or very nearly all, a practical limit to this tendency. Easily the article may rise to a price double or triple of what would notoriously suffice to overcome the resistance, or cost. But this very ascent brings it at every step into direct competition with articles of the same class usually reputed to be better. It is of no consequence, in such a competition, whether the superior article is selling on the principle of affirmative value or of negative, selling for its intrinsic qualities or its cost. Turbot, for instance, being at four shillings a pound, whether that four shillings represents a value far beyond the cost, or simply the cost, naturally the candidate for salmon will pause, and compare the two fishes with a single reference to the intrinsic power of each for the common purpose of gratifying the palate. If, then, he shared in the usual comparative estimate of the two as luxury against luxury, here at once a limit is reached beyond which monopoly of salmon could never exten

sively force it. Peculiar palates are, for that reason, rare. Limits, therefore, are soon found, and almost universally.

But now we pass to a case where no such limits exist. About nineteen years ago were introduced, almost simultaneously, into the medical practice of this country two most powerful medicines. One of these was the sulphate of quinine; the other was croton oil, amongst drastic medicines of a particular class the most potent that is known. Both were understood to be agents of the first rank against inflammatory action; and, with respect to the last, numerous cases were reported in which it had, beyond a doubt, come in critically to save a patient, previously given up by his medical attendants. Naturally these cases would be most numerous during the interval requisite for publishing and diffusing the medicine, an interval which, with our British machinery, is brief. There was time enough, however, to allow of a large number of cases in which it had not been introduced until the eleventh hour. Two of these came under my personal knowledge, and within the same fortnight. Both were cases of that agonizing disorder, inflammation affecting the intestines. One was near to London: a mounted messenger rode in for the medicine; returned within a hundred minutes; and the patient was saved. The other case lay near to Nottingham: the person despatched with the precious talisman to the post-office, then in Lombard Street, found the mail just starting; but, by an inflexible rule of office, neither guard nor coachman was at liberty to receive a parcel not entered in the way-bill: the man had not the presence of mind to intrust it with one of the passengers; the patient was already in extremity; and, before the medicine reached Nottingham by a coach leaving London the next morning, he had expired.

Now, in the case of such a magical charm, to have or

to want which was a warrant for life or for death, it is clear that, amongst rich men, the holder of the subtle elixir, the man who tendered it in time, might effectually demand an Oriental reward. "Ask me to the half of my kingdom!" would be the voluntary offer of many a millionnaire. And if this undoubted power, occasionally held by individual surgeons, were not neutralized by the honor governing our medical body, cases of excessive prices for critical operations would not be rare. Accordingly Maréchal Lannes in 1809, who had been accustomed in his original walk of life to a medical body far less liberal or scrupulous than ours, used the words of the dying Cardinal Beaufort, "I'll give a thousand pounds," he exclaimed convulsively, "to the man who saves my life!" Not a very princely offer, it must be owned; and we hope it was not livres that he meant. But the case was hopeless; both legs shattered at his age were beyond art. Had it even been otherwise, Baron Larrey was a man of honor; and, under any circumstances, would have made the same answer, — viz. that, without needing such bribes, the surgeons would do their utmost.

Still the case requires notice. Accidentally in our British system the high standard of professional honor turns aside such mercenary proposals, they have become insults. But it is clear, that, per se, the value of the aid offered is very frequently in the strictest sense illimitable. Not only might the few monopolists of exquisite skill in operating, or the casual monopolist of an amulet, a charm, like the croton oil, press deeply upon the affirmative value of this one resource to a man else sealed for death: but also it is certain that, in applying their screw, medical men would rarely find themselves abreast of those limits which eternally are coming into