pital, and the influx of capital, would seem to be alike a source of depression and misery.

When Miss Martineau comes to illustrate the consumption of wealth, we hope that she will take us over to Ireland. And we could also wish that, after reading Sismondi's Picture of Tuscan Agriculture, and his "Nouveaux Principes", she would favour us with an Italian Tale, the scene of which might be laid in the territory of Lucca l'Industriosa, and the title be, The Noble ' and the Merchant'. In connexion with the subject of Rent, the system of metayers claims to be illustrated. We had intended to offer a few remarks upon the Author's principles relating to Rent, but must forbear. We will only suggest, that the cause of rent, and the measure of rent, are very different things, though often confounded;--that the situation of lands, and not merely their fertility, is often the reason of their being first appropriated, and enters into their value;-that rent, when it is more than a simple tribute to the territorial lord, is, in fact, the profits of fixed capital owned by the land-holder and lent to the tenant;-enclosures, the soil itself, buildings, and all tenements being, in a sense, fixed capital produced by previous labour. Accordingly, we speak of the rent of a house, as well as of the rent of a field; and again, land is considered as yielding rent, although the cultivator be at the same time the owner, and therefore pays no rent. The distinction between what our Author calls real rent' and actual rent, we think inaccurate. All rent is paid for capital laid out by the land-owner either in the purchase or in the improvement of the estate, and consists of the profits of capital. As regards, therefore, the distribution of wealth, we should class rent, (or the profits of fixed property,) interest of money, and the profits of working capital in trade or husbandry, as subdivisions under one general head, Profits; Wages describing the other class. At the same time, the threefold division of land-owner, farmer, and labourer, is of course proper in itself, because it is real and not merely technical.

6

But it is more than time that we should draw this article to a close; and waving all further discussion, we shall simply lay before our readers, as they may reasonably expect, a specimen or two of the happy style of illustration by which Miss Martineau has succeeded in making her principles talk and act, and in exhibiting abstract truths in the tangible shape of living experiments. The following conversation takes place between the Laird of Garveloch and his steward.

"Then for what, Callum, would you have her be grateful and ready to obey? I never did her any service that I am aware of, (though I hope to do some yet,) and I know of no title to her obedience that either you or I can urge. Can you tell me of any?”

'Callum stared, while he asked, if one party was not landlord, and the other tenant.

"You are full of our Scotch prejudices, I see, Callum, as I was once. Only go into England, and you will see that landlord and tenant are not master and slave, as we in the Highlands have ever been apt to think. In my opinion, their connexion stands thus,-and I tell it you, that you may take care not to exact an obedience which I am far from wishing to claim from my tenants:-the owner and occupier of a farm, or other estate, both wish to make gain, and for this purpose unite their resources. He who possesses land, wishes to profit by it without the trouble of cultivating it himself; he who would occupy has money, but no land to lay it out upon, so he pays money for the use of the land, and more money for the labour which is to till it (unless he supplies the labour himself). His tillage should restore him his money with gain. Now why should the notion of obedience enter into a contract like this?"

"I only know," replied Callum, "that in my young days, if the laird held up a finger, any one of his people who had offended him would have been thrown into the sea."

"Such tyranny, Callum, had nothing to do with their connexion as landlord and tenant, but only with their relation as chieftain and follower. You have been at Glasgow, I think?”

"Yes; a cousin of mine is a master in the shawl-manufacture there."

"Well; he has labourers in his employment there, and they are not his slaves, are they?

"Not they; for they sometimes throw up their work when he wants them most."

"And does he hold his warehouse by lease, or purchase?"

"He rents it of Bailie Billie, as they call him, who is so fierce on the other side in politics."

"If your cousin does not obey his landlord in political matters, (for I know how he has spoken at public meetings,) why should you expect my tenants to obey me, or rather you-for I never ask their obedience? The Glasgow operative, and the Glasgow capitalist, make a contract for their mutual advantage; and if they want further help, they call in another capitalist to afford them the use of a warehouse which he lets for his own advantage. Such a mutual compact I wish to establish with my people here. Each man of them is usually a capitalist and labourer in one, and in order to make their resources productive, I, a landholder, step in as a third party to the production required; and if we each fulfil our contract, we are all on equal terms. I wish you would make my people understand this; and I require of you, Callum, to act upon it yourself."

The steward made no reply, but stood thinking how much better notions of dignity the old laird had, and how much power he possessed over the lives and properties of his tenants.

"Did this croft pay any rent before it was let out of cultivation?" enquired the laird.

"No, your honour; it only just answered to the tenant to till it,

and left nothing over for rent; but we had our advantage in it too; for then yon barley field paid a little rent; but since this has been let down, that field has never done more than pay the tillage. But we shall have rent from it again when the lease is renewed, if Ella makes what I expect she will make of this croft."

"Is there any kelp prepared hereabouts, Callum?"

"Not any; and indeed there is no situation so fit for it as this that Ronald is to have. There is nothing doing in Garveloch that pays us anything, except at the farm."

"Well then, Ella can, of course, pay nothing at first but for the use of the cottage, and the benefit of the fences, &c. Is there any, other capital laid out here?"

"Let us see. She has a boat of her own, and the boys will bring their utensils with them. I believe, sir, the house and fence will be all."

Very well: then calculate exactly what they are worth, and what more must be laid out to put them in good condition, and tell me: the interest of that much capital is all that Ella must pay, till we see what the bay and the little field will produce." No. V. pp. 14-17.

No. V.

Our next extract must be a scene from Life in the Wilds'— the return of the messenger despatched to Cape Town from the ruined settlement.

One fine evening, about the beginning of February,—that is, near the end of summer at the Cape,-a very extraordinary sight was seen by our settlers. The boys who were climbing trees for fruit perceived it first, and made such haste down from their perches, and shouted the news so loudly in their way home, that in a few minutes every one was out at the door, and all formed in a body to go and meet the new arrival. This arrival was no other than a loaded waggon, drawn by eight oxen; a scanty team at the Cape, where they sometimes harness twelve or sixteen.

There was a momentary anxiety about what this waggon might be, and to whom it might belong; for it did now and then happen that a new band of settlers, or a travelling party from Cape Town, passed through the village, and requested such hospitality as it would, in the present case, have been inconvenient or impossible to grant. The young eyes of the party, however, presently discovered that the driver of the team was their friend Richard the labourer, their messenger to Cape Town, of whom they spoke every day, but whom they little expected to see back again so soon. It was Richard assuredly. They could tell the crack of his whip from that of any other driver. The captain waved his cap above his head and cheered; every man and boy in the settlement cheered; the mothers held up their babies in the air, and the little ones struggled and crowed for joy. The oxen quickened their pace at the noise, and Richard stood up in front of the waggon, and shaded his eyes with his cap from the setting sun, that he might see who was who in the little crowd, and whether his old mother had come out to meet him. He saw her presently, leaning on the captain's arm, and then he returned the cheer with might and

main. A load of anxiety was removed from his mind at that moment. He had left his companions in a destitute state, without shelter, or arms, or provision beyond the present day. He had not received any tidings of them: it was impossible he should; and a hundred times during his journey home, he had pictured to himself the settlement as he might find it. Sometimes he fancied it deserted by all who had strength to betake themselves to the distant villages: sometimes he imagined it wasted by famine, and desolated by wild beasts or more savage men. At such times, he thought how little probable it was that one so infirm as his mother should survive the least of the hardships that all were liable to; and though he confided in the captain's parting promise to take care of her, he scarcely expected to meet her again. Now, he had seen her with his own eyes; and he saw also, that the general appearance of the throng before him was healthful and gladsome, and his heart overflowed with joy.

"God bless you, God bless you all!" he cried, as he pushed his way through the crowd which had outstripped his mother and the captain.

"Let him go; do not stop him," exclaimed several who saw his eagerness to be at his mother's side: and they turned away and patted the oxen, and admired the waggon, till the embrace was received, and the blessing given, and Richard at liberty to greet each friend in turn. "Tell me first," said he in a low voice to Mr. Stone, "are all safe? Have all lived through such a time as you must have had of it?"

"All but one. We have lost George Prest.

him; but it was God's will."

We could ill spare

Richard looked for George's father, who appeared to be making acquaintance with the oxen, but had only turned away to hide the tears which he could not check. Richard wrung his hand in silence, and was not disposed for some time to go on with his tale or his questions.

The first thing he wanted to know was, where and how his friends were living.

"You shall see presently," said the captain. And as they turned round the foot of the hill, he did see a scene which astonished him. Part of the slope before him, rich with summer verdure, was inclosed with a rude fence, within which two full-grown and three young antelopes were grazing. In another paddock were the grey mare and her foal. Across the sparkling stream at the bottom of the slope lay the trunk of a tree which served as a foot-bridge. On the other side, at some little distance, was the wood, in its richest beauty. Golden oranges shone among the dark green leaves, and vines were trained from one stem to another. On the outskirts of the wood were the dwellings, overshadowed by the oaks and chestnuts which formed their corner posts. Plastered with clay, and rudely thatched, they might have been taken for the huts of savages, but for their superior size, and for certain appearances round them which are not usual among uncivilized people. A handmill, made of stones, was placed under cover beside one of the dwellings; a sort of work-bench was set up under one of the trees, where lay the implements of various employments

which had been going on when the arrival of the waggon had called every one from his work. The materials for straw-platting were scattered in the porch, and fishing-nets lay on the bank of the stream to dry. The whole was canopied over with the bluest of summer skies. Dark mountains rose behind.

"We are just in time to shew you our village before sunset," said the captain, observing how the last level rays were glittering on the

stream.

"And is this our home?" said Richard, in quiet astonishment. "Is this the bare, ruined place I left five months ago? Who has helped you? Your own hands can never have done all this."

Nature,-or He who made nature, --has given us the means," replied the captain: "and our own hands have done the rest. Welldirected labour is all we have had to depend on."

"Wonderful!" cried Richard. "The fields are tilled

"By simple, individual labour. There can be little combination in tillage on a small scale, where different kinds of work must succeed each other, instead of being carried on at the same time."

"These houses and so many utensils —"

"Are the produce of a division of labour as extensive as our resources would allow."

"There must have been wise direction as well as industrious toil." "Yes," said Mr. Stone, smiling, we have been as fortunate in our unproductive as in our productive labourers." No. I. pp. 99-103. We must make room for a short extract from Demerara': it will require no comment.

66

"I have always wondered," said Mary, why there was no sugar grown in Africa, or in any part of South America but the little angle we inhabit. So it might be anywhere within that line."

666

Anywhere (as far as climate is concerned) within thirty degrees of the equator. There are duties which prohibit the English from purchasing sugar from China, New Holland, the Indian Archipelago, Arabia, Mexico, and all South America, but our little corner here; and from Africa none is to be had either. The slave trade has been like a plague in Africa."

"Well, but you have passed over Hindostan."

"The trade is not absolutely prohibited there; but it is restricted and limited by high duties."

"What remains then?"

"Only our corner of the world, and a tiny territory it is, to be protected at the expense of such vast tracts-only the West India Islands, and a slip of the continent."

"But surely it is a hardship on the inhabitants of these other countries, to be prevented supplying the British with sugars."

"It is a hardship to all parties in turn:-to the British, that the price is artificially raised, and the quantity limited; to the inhabitants of these vast tracts, they are kept out of the market; to the West India planters; but most of all, to the slaves."

"To the planters? Why, I thought it was for their sakes that the monopoly was ordered."