Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

We fancy we trace something of this Teutonic inspiration in the poem, amongst others, that follows:--

THE SILENT MULTITUDE.

A mighty and a mingled throng
Were gathered in one spot;
The dweller, of a thousand homes--
Yet midst them voice was not.

The soldier and his chief were there--
The mother and her child:
The friends, the sisters of one hearth--
None spoke--none moved--none smiled.

There lovers met, between whose lives
Years had swept darkly by;
After that heart-sick hope deferred,
They met--but silently.

You might have heard the rustling leaf,
The breeze's faintest sound,
The shiver of an insect's wing,
On that thick-peopled ground.

Your voice to whispers would have died
For the deep quiet's sake;
Your tread the softest moss have sought,
Such stillness not to break.

What held the countless multitude
Bound in that spell of peace?
How could the ever-sounding life
Amid so many cease?

Was it some pageant of the air,
Some glory high above,
That linked and hushed those human souls
In reverential love?

Or did some burdening passion's weight
Hang on their indrawn breath?
Awe--the pale awe that freezes words?
Fear--the strong fear of death?

A mightier thing--Death, Death himself,
Lay on each lonely heart!
Kindred were there--yet hermits all,
Thousands--but each apart.

In any notice of Mrs Hemans' works, not to mention _The Records of Woman_ would seem an unaccountable omission. Both the subject, and the manner in which it is treated especially characterise our poetess. Of all these _Records_ there is not one where the picture is not more or less pleasing, or drawn with more or less power and fidelity. Estimated according to sheer literary merit, it would perhaps be impossible to give the preference to any one of them. Judging by the peculiar pleasure which its perusal gave us, we should select, for our favourite, _The Switzer's Wife_. Werner Stauffacher was one of the three confederates of the field of Grutli. He had been marked out by the Austrian bailiff as a fit subject for pillage; but it was to the noble spirit of his wife that he owed the final resolution he took to resist the oppressor of his country. The whole scene is brought before us with singular distinctness. It is a beautiful evening in the Alpine valley,--

For Werner sat beneath the linden tree,
That sent its lulling whispers through his door,
Even as man sits, whose heart alone would be
With some deep care, and thus can find no more
Th' accustomed joy in all which evening brings
Gathering a household with her quiet wings.

His wife stood hushed before him, sad, yet mild
In her beseeching mien,--he marked it not.
The silvery laughter of his bright-haired child
Rang from the greensward round the sheltered spot,
But seemed unheard; until at last the boy
Raised from his heaped up flowers a glance of joy,

And met his father's face; but then a change
Passed swiftly o'er the brow of infant glee,
And a quiet sense of something dimly strange
Brought him from play to stand beside the knee
So often climbed, and lift his loving eyes,
That shone through clouds of sorrowful surprise.

Then the proud bosom of the strong man shook;
But tenderly his babe's fair mother laid
Her hand on his, and with a pleading look
Through tears half-quivering, o'er him bent and said,
"What grief, dear friend, hath made thy heart its prey,
That thou shouldst turn thee from our love away?

"It is too sad to see thee thus, my friend!
Mark'st thou the wonder on thy boy's fair brow,
Missing the smile from thine? Oh, cheer thee! bend
To his soft arms, unseal thy thoughts e'en now!
Thou dost not kindly to withhold the share
Of tried affection in thy secret care."

He looked up into that sweet earnest face,
But sternly, mournfully: not yet the band
Was loosened from his soul.

He then tells how the oppressor's envious eye "had been upon his heritage," and to-morrow eve might find him in chains. The blood leaves her cheek, and she leans back on the linden stem, but only for a moment; the free Alpine spirit wakes within her--

And she that ever through her home had moved
With the meek thoughtfulness and quiet smile
Of woman, calmly loving and beloved
And timid in her happiness the while,
Stood brightly forth, and steadfastly, that hour--
Her clear glance kindling into sudden power.

Ay, pale she stood, but with an eye of light,
And took her fair child to her holy breast,
And lifted her soft voice, that gathered might
As it found language:--"Are we thus oppressed?
Then must we rise upon our mountain-sod,
And man must arm, and woman call on God!

"I know what thou wouldst do;--and be it done!
Thy soul is darkened with its fears for me.
Trust me to heaven, my husband; this, thy son,
The babe whom I have borne thee, must be free!
And the sweet memory of our pleasant hearth
May well give strength--if aught be strong on earth.

"Thou hast been brooding o'er the silent dread
Of my desponding tears; now lift once more,
My hunter of the hills, thy stately head,
And let thine eagle glance my joy restore!
I can bear all but seeing _thee_ subdued--
Take to thee back thine own undaunted mood.

"Go forth beside the waters, and along
The chamois' paths, and through the forests go;
And tell in burning words thy tale of wrong
To the brave hearts that midst the hamlets glow,
God shall be with thee, my beloved!--away!
Bless but thy child and leave me--I can pray!"

It is ever thus with all her women,--gentle, courageous, full of self-devotion, and, alas! of sorrow and suffering. This is her ideal of woman, from which she rarely departs--a heart, overflowing with tenderest affection--ill-requited--yet refusing to receive any earthly boon as a substitute for the returned affection it seeks. Fame is no compensation--

Away! to me, a woman, bring
Sweet waters from affection's spring.

Genius when she sings to Love is made to say--

They crown me with the glistening crown,
Borne from a deathless tree;
I hear the pealing music of renown--
O Love, forsake me not!
Mine were a lone dark lot,
Bereft of thee!
They tell me that my soul can throw
A glory o'er the earth;
From thee, from _thee_, is caught that golden glow!
Shed by thy gentle eyes,
It gives to flower and skies
A bright new birth!

_Genius singing to Love._

It is not often we find the superstitions of dark and ignorant ages dealt with in so gentle and agreeable a manner as by Mrs Hemans. She seizes, in common with others, the poetic aspect these present, but diffuses over them, at the same time, a refinement of sentiment gathered entirely from her own feelings. A subject which from another pencil would have been disagreeable and offensive to us, is made by her graceful touches to win upon our imagination. Witness the poem called _The Wood Walk and Hymn_; we will quote the commencement of it.

WOOD WALK AND HYMN.

"Move along these shades
In gentleness of heart--with gentle hand
Touch--for there is a spirit in the woods."
WORDSWORTH

FATHER--CHILD.

_Child._--There are the aspens with their silvery leaves
Trembling, for ever trembling; though the lime
And chestnut boughs, and these long arching sprays
Of eglantine, hang still, as if the wood
Were all one picture!

_Father._--Hast thou heard, my boy,
The peasant's legend of that quivering tree?

_Child._--No, father; doth he say the fairies dance
Amidst the branches?

_Father._--Oh! a cause more deep,
More solemn far, the rustic doth assign
To the strange restlessness of those wan leaves!
The cross, he deems, the blessed cross, whereon
The meek Redeemer bow'd his head to death,
Was framed of aspen wood; and since that hour,
Through all its race the pale tree hath sent down
A thrilling consciousness, a secret awe,
Making them tremulous, when not a breeze
Disturbs the airy thistle down, or shakes
The light lines of the shining gossamer.

An eminent critic in the _Edinburgh Review_ has spoken of the neatness and perfect finish which characterise female writers in general, and Mrs Hemans in particular. Now, these qualities imply a certain terseness and concentration of style, which is no more a peculiarity of all authoresses than of all authors, and which we should not pronounce to be peculiarly characteristic of Mrs Hemans' poetry. To us it often appears wanting in this very conciseness; we occasionally wish that some lines and verses were excluded--not because they are faulty in themselves, but because they weaken the effect, and detract from the vigour of the whole: we wish the verses, in short, were more closely packed together, so that the commencement and the close, which are generally both good, could be brought a little nearer to each other. It is not so much a redundancy of expression, as of images and illustrations, that we have sometimes to complain of in Mrs Hemans. She uses two of these where one would not only suffice, but do the work much better. There is a very pleasing little poem, called _The Wandering Wind_: we will quote--first, because it is thus pleasing; and, secondly, because we think it would have been rendered still more so had there been somewhat more of concentration and terseness in the style. The lines which we have printed in italics, and which contain the pith and marrow of the whole, would then have struck upon the ear with more distinctness and prominence.

THE WANDERING WIND.

The wind, the wandering wind
Of the golden summer eves--
_Whence is the thrilling magic_
_Of its tones amongst the leaves?_
Oh! is it from the waters,
Or from the long tall grass?
Or is it from the hollow rocks
Through which its breathings pass?

Or is it from the voices
Of all in one combined,
That it wins the tone of mastery?
The wind, the wandering wind!
No, no! the strange, sweet accents
That with it come and go,
They are not from the osiers,
Nor the fir trees whispering low.

They are not of the waters,
Nor of the cavern'd hill,
_'Tis the human love within us_
_that gives the power to thrill._
They touch the links of memory
Around our spirits twined,
_And we start, and weep, and tremble,_
_To the wind, the wandering wind!_

The verses beginning "I dream of all things free" might also be cited as an instance of this tendency to over-amplify--a tendency which seems the result of a great affluence of poetical imagery. This would be a more powerful poem merely by being made shorter. We wait too long, and the imagination roves too far, before we arrive at the concluding lines, which contain all the point and significance of the piece:--

"My heart _in chains_ is bleeding,
And I dream of all things free."

Of the measures and the melody of a lyrical poet something is expected to be said. But what we feel we have chiefly to thank Mrs Hemans for here is, that, in the search after novelty and variety of metre, she has made so few experiments upon our ear, and that she has not disdained to write with correctness and regularity. She has not apparently laboured after novelties of this kind, but has adopted that verse into which her thoughts spontaneously ran. An author who does this is not very likely to select a rhythm, or measure, which is incongruous with the subject-matter of his poem; nor, do we think, could many instances of such a fault be detected in Mrs Hemans.

We will close our extracts with a strain that fairly exemplifies the serene and lucid current of sentiment, and the genuine natural pathos, of our poetess. It is thus she makes the Hebrew mother sing to her first-born, whom she has devoted to the Lord.

Alas! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on me;
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes;
And now fond thoughts arise,
And silver cords again to earth have won me,
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart--
How shall I hence depart?

How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing
So late along the mountains at my side?
And I, in joyous pride,
By every place of flowers my course delaying,
Wove, e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair
Beholding thee so fair!

And oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted,
Will it not seem as if the sunny day
Turn'd from its door away!
While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted,
I languish for thy voice, which past me still
Went like a singing rill?

Under the palm-tree thou no more shalt meet me,
When from the fount at evening I return,
With the full water urn;
Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like breathings greet me,
As midst the silence of the stars I wake,
And watch for thy dear sake.

And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee,
Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed?
Wilt thou not vainly spread
Thine arms when darkness as a veil hath wound thee,
To fold my neck, and lift up, in thy fear,
A cry which none shall hear?

What have I said, my child? Will _He_ not hear thee,
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?
Shall He not guard thy rest,
And in the hush of holy midnight near thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy?
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy.

I give thee to thy God--the God that gave thee
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!
And, precious as thou art,
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!
And thou shalt be His child.

"Therefore farewell! I go--my soul may fail me,
As the hart panteth for the water brooks,
Yearning for thy sweet looks.
But thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me,
Thou in the Shadow of the Rock shalt dwell,
The Rock of Strength--Farewell!"

We must now draw to a conclusion. One great and pervading excellence of Mrs Hemans, as a writer, is her entire dedication of her genius and talents to the cause of healthy morality and sound religion. The sentiment may be, on occasion, somewhat refined; it may be too delicate, in some instances, for the common taste, but never is it mawkish or morbid. Never can it be construed into a palliative of vice--never, when followed out to its limits, will it be found to have led from the paths of virtue. For practical purposes, we admit that her exemplars are not seldom too ideal and picturesque. The general fault of her poetry consists in its being rather, if we may use the term, too _romantical_. We have a little too much of banners in churches, and flowers on graves,--of self-immolated youths, and broken-hearted damsels;--too frequent a reference to the Syrian plains, and knights in panoply, and vigils of arms, as mere illustrations of the noble in character, or the heroic in devotion. Situations are adduced as applicable to general conduct, which have only occurred, or could only have occurred, in particular states of society, and are never likely, from existing circumstances, to occur again. Far better this, however, than a contrary fault; for it is the purpose of poetry to elevate, and not to repress. Admitting that the effervescence is adventitious, still it is of virtuous growth, and proceeds from no distortion of principle. If not the reflection of human nature as it actually is, it is the delineation of the _fata morgana_ of a noble mind--of something that occurs to us "in musings high," and which we sigh to think of as of something loftier and better, to which that nature would willingly aspire. We can readily conceive, that to a woman of the exquisite taste possessed by Mrs Hemans, any attempt at the startling or _bizarre_, either in conception or subject, was a thing especially to be avoided. We do not mean to imply by this, that, as every true poet must have, she had not a manner of her own. To this honour, no author of our day has higher or less equivocal claims. She knew what to admire in others, but she felt that she had a mission of her own. To substantiate this, we have only to suppose her productions blotted out from our literature, and then remark whether or not any blank be left; for, wherever we have originality, we have accession. We admit that originality is of all shades and grades, from a Burns to a Bloomfield, from a Crabbe to a Clare--still the names of the second and the fourth are those of true poets, as well as those of the authors of "The Cottar's Saturday Night," and "Sir Eustace Gray,"--Parnassus, as Dr Johnson observes, having its "flowers of transient fragrance, as well as its cedars of perennial growth, and its laurels of eternal verdure." In the case of Mrs Hemans, this question is set at rest, from her having become the founder of a school, and that only eclipsed in the number of its adherents and imitators by those of Scott, Byron, and Wordsworth. In America especially has this been the case; a great part of the recent poetry in that country--more particularly that of its female writers--has been little more than an echo of her _Records of Woman_, and _Lays of Many Lands_, and lyrical strains; and, from Mrs Sigourney--"the American Mrs Hemans"--downwards, there are only corroborative proofs of a Cisatlantic fact, that no copyist, however acute and faithful, has ever yet succeeded in treading on the kibes of his master, far less of outstripping him in the struggle for excellence.

Like all original writers, Mrs Hemans has her own mode and her own province. In reading the poetry of Wordsworth, we feel as if transferred to the mountainous solitudes, broken only by the scream of the eagle and the dash of the cataract, where human life is indicated but by the shieling in the sheltered holm, and the shepherd boy, lying wrapt up in his plaid by the furze-bush, with his "little flock at feed beside him." By Scott we are placed amid the men and things of departed ages. The bannered castle looms in the distance, and around it are the tented plain--the baron and his vassals--all that pertains to "ladye-love and war, renown and knightly worth." We have the cathedral-pomp, and the dark superstition, and the might that stands in the place of right,--all the fire and air, with little of the earth and water of our elemental nature. The lays of Wilson reflect the patriarchal calm of life in its best, and purest, and happiest aspects--or, indeed, of something better than mere human life, as the image of the islet in the sunset mirror of the lake is finer and fairer than the reality. Coleridge's inspiration is emblemed by ruins in the silver and shadow of moonlight,--quaint, and queer, and fantastic, haunted by the whooping owl, and screamed over by the invisible nighthawk. Campbell reminds of the Portland vase, exquisite in taste and materials, but recalling always the conventionalities of art.

When placed beside, and contrasted with her great cotemporaries, the excellences of Mrs Hemans are sufficiently distinct and characteristic. There can be no doubt of this, more especially in her later and best writings, in which she makes incidents elucidate feelings. In this magic circle--limited it may be--she has no rival. Hence, from the picturesqueness, the harmony, the delicacy and grace, which her compositions display, she is peculiarly the poet of her own sex. Her pictures are not more distinguished for accuracy of touch than for elegance of finish. Every thing is clear, and defined, and palpable; nothing is enveloped in accommodating haze; and she never leaves us, as is the trick of some late aspiring and mystical versifiers, to believe that she must be profound because she is unintelligible. She is ever alive to the dignity of her calling, and the purity of her sex. Aware of the difficulties of her art, she aspired towards excellence with untiring perseverance, and improved herself by the study of the best models, well knowing that few things easy of attainment can be worth much. Her taste thus directed her to appropriate and happy subjects; and hence it has been, as with all things of sterling value, that her writings have not been deteriorated by time. They were not, like the ice-palace of the Empress Catherine, thrown up to suit the whim of the season, or directed to subjects of mere occasional interest, to catch the gale of a passing popularity. Mrs Hemans built on surer foundations, and with less perishable materials. The consequence is, that her reputation has been steadily on the increase. Of no one modern writer can it be affirmed with less hesitation, that she has become an English classic; nor, until human nature becomes very different from what it now is, can we imagine the least probability that the music of her lays will cease to soothe the ear, or the beauty of her sentiment to charm the gentle heart.

ON THE MISERIES OF IRELAND, AND THEIR REMEDIES.

In resuming this subject, we feel that we cannot be justly accused of going out of our own province, or of meddling with matters which concern only our neighbours. In the present state of this country, we not only recognise the people of Ireland as our fellow-subjects, but we practically feel, as we ought to do, that their miseries are reflected upon us. This might be illustrated in various ways, but there is one illustration which comes peculiarly home to all people of this country at this moment. Much has been said and written, of late years, on the sanitary condition of the great towns of this country, and on the importance of thorough cleansing and draining, as a preservative against the epidemic diseases which have so often lately afflicted, and in some instances nearly decimated, our population; and when we state that, in the neighbouring city of Glasgow, during last year only, the mortality was one in nineteen of the population, and that the number of deaths exceeded the number of births by more than sixteen thousand,--that the mortality from fever, in particular, is known very generally to fall upon those who, in a worldly point of view, are the most valuable lives in society, and that a new and still more appalling epidemic is already among us--we have surely said enough to show that there cannot be a more important or serious object of contemplation, or of inquiry, than the means of purification and sanitary improvement of such graves of the human race, as so many parts of that and others of our great towns are at this moment.

It is equally certain that "atmospheric impurity" has been justly charged as the most general and effective of all the causes, which so depress the vital energies as to dispose the living human body to suffer, and sink under, such visitations of Providence.

But, in order to understand how this prolific cause of evil acts on the human race, it is necessary not only to look to the draining, sweeping, and cleaning of streets, courts, and closes, but to enter the houses, and attend to the "conditions of existence" of their inmates, in the lowest and most unhealthy portions of all our great towns. When we do this, we find that, in all those houses which are the chief seats of epidemic disease, there are congregated together in small and dirty rooms such masses of destitute human beings, usually ill-clothed and inadequately protected from cold, that it is mere mockery to speak of improving the atmosphere of their rooms, especially during the night, by any appliances to the streets or courts from which they are entered, or even by any means of ventilation to which, at least in cold weather, the inmates will submit.

It is even in vain that we issue directions for the cleansing of the rooms, or regulations, in the case of lodging-houses, for limiting the number of persons to be taken into them, or that we form model lodging-houses, in which a certain number of persons may be decently accommodated. All such measures have a good effect on a certain number of the people; but those among whom the epidemic diseases are always found making most progress have no means of availing themselves of these advantages: they can no more pay for clean or well-aired rooms than they could pay for any of the luxuries of civilised life. "Their state of destitution binds them firmly to one description of locality," and forces them to congregate together in masses, necessarily implying such a contamination of the atmosphere in which they live, as no such measures can counteract for six hours.

Now, if we inquire further into the history of the inhabitants who live crowded together in this miserable way, we shall find, no doubt, a certain number, in every great town, in whom this state of destitution is the result of disease, death of relations, or personal profligacy; and of the best means to be adopted to limit the evils resulting from these causes, we do not propose to speak at present, only observing that they may be and are met much more effectually in some countries and some towns than in others. But we maintain, also, with perfect confidence, from much personal observation and many inquiries, that at this moment, in all the great towns of this country, the most numerous class of the destitute poor, among whom epidemic diseases prevail--from whom they extend to other ranks of society, and by whose illness or death their families become a burden on all other ranks--are not more profligate or less deserving of compassion and assistance than the great body of our labouring classes, and have no distinctive peculiarity but this, that _they are Irish_.[2] Many of them have had possession of bits of land, others have been labourers, or are families of labourers: they have formed part of that enormous immigration of human beings, from Ireland to Britain, which has been going on for many years, which has given Irish labourers to all our public works, has formed an Irish quarter in every one of our great towns, and has impressed all the promoters of our schemes of philanthropy with the intimate conviction, that "if we would cut off the sources of mendicity and misery, we must _first cut off Ireland_;" _i. e._, looking on the Irish as fellow-subjects, if we wish to perform towards them, or towards all who suffer in common with them, the great Christian duty of charity, we must endeavour to ascertain and counteract, in Ireland itself, whatever causes have swelled that flood of poverty and destitution which has been so prolific of evils to us.

[2] The numbers of Irish in the fever wards of the Royal Infirmary
Edinburgh, in 1847, were, to the number of native Scotch, as 100 to
38; and in the fever hospitals of Glasgow, as 100 to 62; and the
number of Irish were to the number of English in those wards, in both
towns, as 100 to less than 2.

Now, without entering on any abstruse discussions, either metaphysical or economical, we think it quite possible to state certain principles, drawn from observations of human nature, and generalised in the same manner as any general truths in physical science, by which the phenomenon in question may be explained; and the only truly effective remedies that can be devised for the present peculiarly miserable condition of Ireland must be applied and regulated.

In the present state of that country, all her peculiar sufferings may be ranked under the single head of redundant population, or, what is the same thing, an overstocked labour market,--a population greater than is required for all the works, productive or unproductive, for which the possessors of capital, or the richer classes generally, are willing to pay; and, in consequence, great numbers of the lower classes whose employment is precarious, whose wages are scanty, whose mode of life is irregular and debased, who are continually liable to disease from poor living and insufficient clothing, and whose sufferings under disease and destitution are greater, and extend their effects more among the higher classes in their own country, and among neighbouring nations--England, Scotland, even America--than those of any other nation in Europe. As long as this miserable condition of the Irish poor exists, it must be regarded both as a national disgrace, indicating that, notwithstanding the boasted excellence of our constitution, the British government is really less effective as regards one-third of its subjects, in securing the main object of all governments, _ut cives feliciter vivant_, than that of any other civilised country.

Now, whatever secondary causes for a redundant population may be assigned, all who attend carefully to the subject must admit that the great, primary, and fundamental cause for it in all countries is, the power of reproduction granted by nature to human beings, and which is capable of multiplying the species more rapidly than the means of their subsistence can be increased.

If it be true that this is a general law of human nature, and yet that, in other countries, where ample time and opportunity have been afforded for similar indications of redundant population to show themselves, these are altogether absent, the first question for consideration is not, why are not the resources of Ireland more developed, but why has not the population accommodated itself better to the resources that exist? Comparing Ireland with other countries long inhabited, we find that in many others,--viz. in Switzerland, in many districts of England, in Sweden, Norway, &c.,--although the resources of the country and the demand for labour are small, the population has accommodated itself to them; it has remained nearly stationary for ages, or has gradually increased only as the productions of the country and the demand for labour extended; and the miseries of redundant population are comparatively unknown.

Continuing this line of inquiry, we observe that the most powerful and the only desirable check on population, by which it is habitually restrained from passing the limits which the demand for labour may be regarded as imposing, is that to which political economists give the name of _moral restraint_, by which we know that men and women, in all ranks of society, may frequently, and, to a certain degree, uniformly limit the reproduction of the species greatly within the bounds of its possible increase, rather than allow their progeny to incur any imminent risk of descent in the scale of society, and of abject destitution.

If we next inquire what are the circumstances in which this beneficial limitation on our population operates most efficiently, and what are those which counteract its influence, we shall find distinctly and unequivocably--whether we limit our observations to individuals, where we can assure ourselves of the most influential motives of conduct, or extend our views to large communities, and so avoid the fallacies attending partial collections of facts--that the only security for the existence of moral restraint is the habit of comfort, and the feeling of artificial wants which that habit gradually imposes on the human mind; and that those who are brought up in a state of destitution, who are themselves strangers to that habit and feeling in early life, hardly ever look forward to the means of securing the supply of these wants for their children, and yield to the instincts of nature, as to the propagation of their species, almost as blindly and recklessly as animals do.

If this be so, it is obvious that the first subject for consideration, as to the social state of any country, and the only means by which we can hope to avert the evils, which the known tendency of human nature to multiply more rapidly than the means of its subsistence would otherwise involve, is to extend and secure the habit of comfort among the poorer classes of society, and preserve them from sinking into those habits of alternate physical suffering and reckless indulgence, which abject destitution implies. And we have the more confidence in this conclusion, as it is in strict accordance with the distinct, authoritative, and frequently repeated injunction of Scripture, as to the duty of those who have the means, to supply the wants of the poor.

This being so, the question as to the means of preventing or correcting the evils of redundant population in any country, resolves itself simply into the question, how the lower ranks of society there may be best and most permanently preserved in habits of comfort? And this question, likewise, is held to be sufficiently decided by experience.

A moment's reflection is enough to show that there can be no claim on the higher ranks in any country to place the poor--_i. e._, those who are unable to work from age, sex, or infirmity, or who are unable to find work--on a better footing than the lowest of those who can maintain themselves by labour, and that any such attempt would speedily tend to disorder and do injury to the whole frame of society, and especially to the working classes; but it is confidently maintained, that a country in which these classes are regularly and uniformly preserved, by the contributions of the higher ranks, from falling into lower habits than those which prevail among the poorest of the people who maintain themselves by regular labour,--is also that in which the population will adapt itself most strictly to the demand for labour--remaining, if necessary for this purpose, quite stationary for ages together.

There are different modes in which the contributions of the rich for these purposes have been received and applied; but it may be stated with perfect confidence, as the result of experience, that the only truly and uniformly effectual means is, to give them the security and uniformity of a legal enactment. For several ages, the general mode throughout Europe was through the intervention of the Christian church, for "the distribution of alms and food by the clergy was not merely a voluntary charity, but was a legal obligation. It was a rule of ecclesiastical discipline throughout Europe, and was a condition expressed in all the grants by which they held their possessions, and in every appropriation of benefices to the regular orders." The maintenance of the religious houses was thus the poor-law of the Middle Ages; and when their property was alienated, the necessity of another law, to secure the same object, soon became manifest throughout the greater part of Europe.

We need not inquire how it has happened that no such law for the benefit of the poor has succeeded to the alienation of the church lands from the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland, during the long interval that has elapsed between that event and the present time; but, on the contrary, that various laws, securing to the higher ranks the undisturbed possession of their property, and repressing all claims of the lower ranks, have succeeded to that change. It is enough for our purpose to state the fact, and to observe that, consistently with the principles above stated, all the results which have followed were naturally to be expected. That unprofitable but important portion of every social fabric--the poor, as distinguished from the working classes--has been left to precarious and insufficient charity. The consequences have been, a general reduction of the diet, clothing, lodging, and whole habits of the whole lower classes; frequent destitution, and its uniform attendant, a peculiar liability to epidemic diseases; much vagrancy and mendicity; the general prevalence of an irregular, precarious, reckless mode of life; a general failure of the grand preventive check on population; a continually-increasing redundancy; a minute subdivision of the land to support this redundancy, and a ruinous competition for these small portions of land, keeping the cultivators of the soil in a constant dependence on the proprietors; much voluntary emigration; and, both among the emigrants and the lower orders at home--all feeling these miseries, but few of them rightly comprehending the cause--a blind hatred at their rulers, very generally diffused. In thus asserting the powerful operation of this legal neglect of the poor in producing the miseries of Ireland, it is not, of course, intended to deny that various causes have co-operated in different parts of the country--_e. g._, the ignorance of the people, and the effect of the Roman Catholic religion in checking, rather than encouraging, any habits of thought or reflection; the absence of so many proprietors, and their habitual estrangement from the cultivators of the soil; political excitement, and the bad passions generated by it and religious dissensions: all these have been injurious; but the experience of other nations may show us that they could not have produced this specific effect on population, if they had not been aided by that general predisposing cause of redundancy--_neglect of the poor_.

This state of things has, however, naturally rendered residence in Ireland much less agreeable to the feelings of the proprietors of the soil, than residence in almost any other country. Those sufferings of their neighbours and dependants, which the laws of other countries would have imposed on them the duty of mitigating at their source, have, in consequence, fallen rarely under their personal observation; while the frauds and falsehoods by which poverty, when taking the form of mendicity, always attempts to arrest attention and procure sympathy, have been constantly obtruded on them. Add to this, that they have continually been told that the peculiarity of their situation, which absolved them from any legal obligation to relieve the wants of their poor--which secured to them the rights of property, and released them from its obligations--was a wise and judicious regulation, and a great advantage to themselves and their country; and without attributing to the Irish proprietors, and particularly to the absentees, more carelessness or selfishness than we must all admit to be a common attribute of human nature, we can easily understand that the general conduct of the Irish proprietors and capitalists must be such as to aggravate, instead of relieving, the miseries resulting from the over-population of their country.

To this state of things we do not pretend to apply a single specific; but we assert with confidence, that experience has sufficiently demonstrated the efficacy and expediency of several powerful remedies, and that, by the combined influence of these, a gradual improvement may be certainly obtained.

The first step has been already taken in the enactment of a law--unfortunately delayed till nearly half a century had elapsed after the union with England,--probably imperfect, and brought first into operation at a time of famine, therefore beginning to act in the most unfavourable circumstances possible, but by which the right to relief, under circumstances of destitution, is granted to every description of the poor. By the gradual operation of this law, correcting the habits of vagrancy and mendicity, it maybe expected that the process of degradation hitherto extending among the Irish poor may be corrected, and the same motives which, in other nations, are found to restrain excessive population, will gradually be introduced. But a more immediate effect of the law is on the views and habits of the proprietors. When the aged poor, the sick poor, the widows and orphans, and the unemployed poor, become immediately a charge on the land and capital of the country, it becomes the obvious and undoubted interest of every proprietor and capitalist, first, to throw all obstacles in his power in the way of early marriages, and excessive reproduction of the species; and, secondly, to exert himself to procure for the existing population as much as possible of remunerative employment. Such employment as he would hardly regard as remunerative, with a view only to his own profits, becomes an object of real importance to him, when the alternative is the maintenance of able-bodied labourers in idleness. That these motives are already operating extensively among the Irish proprietors, appears from their general complaint of the hardship of being obliged to maintain the poor in unremunerating employment, and from their increased anxiety to clear their estates of cottars and small crofters, among whom the most rapid redundancy of population shows itself. If the law is firmly and steadily administered, they will not be allowed to rid themselves of the burden of these poor; and the true question will be, Whether they are to maintain them in idleness, or devise for them reproductive labour? Thus it may be hoped that the resources of the country will be gradually developed, and its power of supporting industry be increased contemporaneously with a diminution of vagrancy and mendicity, and an improvement of the habits of the people.

But it must be observed, that this expectation proceeds on two suppositions--_first_, That resources not yet developed for the maintenance of industry do exist in the country; and, _secondly_, That the proprietors have the means and the knowledge necessary to enable them to avail themselves of these. The first of these, we are fully assured, is truly the case; but the latter supposition, although we may expect it to be realised in the course of time, is certainly very far from being an element in the existing condition of the country; nor can it become so within such a time as would be requisite to enable us to reckon on it as a means of meeting a pressing emergency. And although the newly-enacted Irish Poor-Law is equally just as that under which all English proprietors have for centuries held their possessions, yet it must be admitted that, in the present circumstances of Ireland, as to redundancy of population, it must fall with peculiar severity on that country, and that, in some districts, the sacrifice thus required of the proprietors--particularly on such of them as may not comprehend the means which we believe to be in their power, for the improvement of the country--may almost amount to a confiscation of their property.

Now, if the foregoing exposition of the main cause of the redundant population in Ireland is correct, it follows that the legislature of this country, which has so long approved and sanctioned that state of the laws which withhold from the suffering population of Ireland the right of relief, as it has shared the national sin, ought also to share the sacrifices by which the consequences of that sin may be expiated. For a time, therefore, and particularly after the famine which has befallen their country, the proprietors and capitalists in Ireland may reasonably expect a certain amount of aid from the legislature of England (granted, of course, with proper safeguards against abuse or misapplication), to enable them to perform their newly-prescribed duties towards their own poor.

Now, there are two modes of relief, both to the proprietors and the poor in Ireland, which may be afforded by government, or rather which may be aided and directed by government, to a much greater degree than has been yet done--certainly at a much less expense than the relief-works of the year 1846, when several millions, contributed from the British treasury, were expended on the roads in Ireland, with an injurious rather than beneficial effect;--and the results of which, if they are carried into effect with common prudence, may be expected to be so distinctly beneficial, as assuredly to reconcile the British public to the expenditure.

The first is Emigration to the colonies, on a larger scale than has been yet undertaken, and with a more earnest desire, on the part of government, to make it a really effective means of relief than has been yet shown--the arrangements to be made, and the vessels to be contracted for and victualled, at the public expense, and the emigrants, therefore, having no further pecuniary burdens imposed on them than the means of supporting themselves from the time of their landing until they can procure employment. Even this last difficulty of emigrants may undoubtedly be much lessened by a little pains, and a little well-directed expense, on the part of the colonial governments, to ascertain during the winter season, and make known to those arriving in spring, the precise districts where there is the most demand for their labour; and it seems impossible to doubt that, if there were a regular provision made by government, for a few seasons, for receiving, from the different parts of Ireland, families recommended by the clergy of all persuasions in the different districts, as proper for emigration, and unable to afford the passage-money, and for removing these families at the public expense to Canada or Australia--directing them at once to the proper points--a very considerable relief could be afforded to the most crowded districts in Ireland, at the same time that the danger of such sufferings during the passage, and after arrival in the colonies, as befel too many of the emigrants of 1847, and deterred too many of their countrymen from following their example, may be almost certainly avoided.

Emigration, however, even on these terms, (which it is certainly within the power of government to arrange,) should only be recommended to those who can command the means of tolerably comfortable outfitting, and subsistence for a short time after their arrival in the colonies. For a much larger number of the Irish poor, the resource so perseveringly advocated by Mr P. Scrope and others, is the only one yet shown to be really available, viz., their employment on some of the waste lands, ascertained to be reclaimable, which abound in Ireland itself. The improvement of these, chiefly by spade labour, would give employment to nearly all the labourers now in Ireland; and, when reclaimed, they might be divided into allotments of from five to eight acres each, which should afterwards become the property of the men by whose labour they have chiefly been reclaimed, on the payment of a moderate quit-rent.

There may be some difference of opinion as to the details of this plan, and particularly as to the kind and extent of the direct assistance which the government should give; and we know that in all countries, and perhaps more especially in Ireland, there will be a disposition on the part of many persons to avail themselves of and to abuse this public aid, by no means confined to the poorest classes of society, and against which it behoves a beneficent government to be constantly on their guard. The simplest mode of procedure seems to be, that the waste lands destined for this purpose (and on which government officers, employed at a great expense to the public, have already reported)--should be purchased by government, by compulsion if necessary--in all the distressed parts of the country; that these should be presented to the different poor-law unions, on condition of their being reclaimed by the labours of their able-bodied paupers, and in conformity with plans to be proposed, and the execution of which shall be superintended by persons employed by government. The preliminary operations of drainage, and of making roads for the benefit of these lands only, may likewise be undertaken by government; and with this aid, and under this direction, it is reasonable to expect, that the operations by which certain of the waste lands are to be reclaimed, and the unions to be gradually provided with productive farms, let to industrious cottars, may serve as a model for similar improvements by individuals. There are difficulties of detail, which the government of the United Kingdom may be expected to foresee and to surmount. But as to the principle that it is wise and right for the legislature of Britain;--nay, that it is incumbent on that legislature, looking to its duty towards all classes of the people, to the extent of misery in Ireland, and the disgrace and injury thereby brought on itself, to the legal neglect of the poor in Ireland, so long sanctioned by the British legislature, and to the deficiency of capital actually existing in that country,--to direct and aid the operations by which its surplus population may be reduced, and its resources for the maintenance of population in future may be augmented; and that these operations, if skilfully conducted, must eventually lead to a great increase, both of wealth and of happiness, in Ireland and in the colonies,--are propositions which we hold to be fully demonstrated, and which, we think, the periodical press of this country cannot at this moment be better employed than in keeping constantly before the public, and impressing, by all possible means, on the attention of the legislature. The property of those lands remaining, in part, in the poor-law unions, the produce raised on them will contribute to the support of the poor, and the relief of the rate-payers in Ireland, in all time coming.

That the opinion we have thus given of the feasibility and of the wisdom of the plan of bringing the idle hands of Ireland to bear on the waste lands, is supported by men of thorough knowledge of the subject, of all parties of the state, may be easily shown. Preparations for such a measure were made, and plans of the drainage requisite for the purpose were laid down, at an expense of nearly £50,000 to the country, and deposited in the archives of the Irish government, so long ago as 1814, by the Bog Commission. It was part of the recommendation of the Poor-Law Inquiry Commission in 1836; it was strongly recommended in the report by the Commission of Inquiry into the Tenure of Land, presided over by Lord Devon; it has been frequently proposed, and fully and ably discussed in various publications both by speculative reasoners, and by practical men,--by Mr Mill, in his standard work on Political Economy; by Mr Thornton, in his pamphlets on Over-Population, and on Peasant Proprietorship; by Mr Fagan, member for Wexford, in his work on the Improvement of Ireland by means of her Waste Lands; by Mr Poulett Scrope, in several pamphlets as well as speeches in Parliament, to which nothing like an intelligible answer has been returned; by Mr Douglas, and several other writers in England; by Mr French, and several other Irish members; by public meetings in Ireland--one of them, of the freeholders in Waterford, presided over by Lord Stuart de Decies;--nay, it was announced in the beginning of 1847, under the name of a Waste Lands Bill, by Lord John Russell, as an accompaniment of his Poor-Law Bill, but withdrawn without any reason for the change ever having been assigned. Whether this was done, as has been stated, as a compromise with certain Irish landlords on their withdrawing their opposition to the latter bill, or not, is a matter of small importance to the country, although, certainly, of very considerable importance to the character of any such landlords for judgment or intelligence. A much stronger measure of what appears to them as justice towards the cottar population of Ireland, has been strongly recommended by several intelligent foreigners who have visited and examined the country. But, without quoting any of these authorities in favour of the proposal, let us merely ask what answer can be returned to the following simple statements in support of it by an intelligent and practical author:--"An addition of three million acres of cultivable surface would be an incalculable advantage, and contribute to the health, comfort, and happiness of millions of our fellow-subjects. _We ought not to be behind the Chinese in this work of civilisation._ During my recent examination of the middle and northern districts of China, I noticed every where a great extent of reclaimed land. Every inlet where the sea formerly encroached on the land was embanked, drained, and cultivated. No capital or labour was spared to augment the surface capable of yielding sustenance to man; and I feel satisfied that, _if the extent of bog-land now existing in Ireland were in the central provinces of China, five years would not elapse without its being made fertile and productive_. Ought the people of England or of Ireland to show inferiority to the Chinese in the most requisite of all labour? Ought the government, in deference to some abstract principle, to refuse the fulfilment of the first natural duty--the providing food for its subjects?"[3]

[3] _Ireland before and after the Union._ By R. M. MARTIN, Esq., 3d
edit., p. 88.