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good ones, when, as in 1859 and '60, the most enormous profits are made. Such circumstances, of course, must severely try the stability of co-operative societies. When the co-operative cotton mill was commenced at Rochdale, the prosperous condition of the trade encouraged the working classes to subscribe their capital freely; and it is a heavy disappointment that, almost directly their mill is opened, the American crisis arises, and the cotton trade is thrown into a state of the most deplorable stagnation. Time can only show whether the shareholders of the Rochdale manufactory will bear the trial. I learn from Mr. Ashworth, the intelligent manager of the mill, that, at the present time, the mill is working only four days a-week. He also says that, up to the present time, the shareholders have shown great forbearance; that they seem prepared to contend with the difficulty. At any rate, their confidence in the ultimate success of the principle seems unabated, for the erection of the second mill is being vigorously prosecuted. The co-operatives may learn a valuable lesson from the experience which this time of trial. affords; for it should impress them with the importance of forming a large reservefund when trade is good, in order to meet the difficulties of bad times. If the co-operative cotton manufactories can survive the cotton crisis, the future success of the movement may be regarded as guaranteed, for these societies

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never have to undergo a more severe trial. If, however, on the other hand, the co-operative manufactories should succumb to these difficulties, it would be most unfair to condemn the co-operative principle. The failure of a co-operative cotton manufactory ought to have no influence in diminishing our confidence in co-operative stores. Such a failure would only prove that the principle of co-operation had been, perhaps, too hastily applied to a branch of trade which is subject to great

I wish, in conclusion, to guard the public against the ill-considered remarks which are too frequently written about co-operation. For instance, in a prospectus of the Manchester co-operative manufactory, I find the following passage: "The working classes will "ultimately secure by co-operation all "the fruits of their labour." Upon this, Mr. Commissioner Hill most justly remarks: "I conscientiously believe that

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they have hitherto secured the fruits "of their own labour; but that, by "means of co-operation, they will add to "labour the wealth-producing elements "of capital and management." The production of wealth requires the application both of capital and labour. If the labourers supply the capital, then, of course, they have a claim to all the wealth which they produce; but hitherto the labouring classes in our own country have been either too poor or too improvident to save. Capital, therefore, has been necessarily supplied by others, and the remuneration which the capitalist receives is termed his profit. Let it not be supposed that, when the wealth produced is shared between profits and wages, the division can be adjusted by any other than the most definite laws. Wages are and must ever be regulated by the ratio which the capital of the country bears to the number of the population. How wrong is it then for men to speak as if there was an antagonism between capital and labour ! Labour is, in fact, supported and fed by capital; and, if the capital of a country increases, the wages paid to the labourer must increase. The extension of cooperation will, no doubt, tend more than any other cause to enrich the labouring class. It offers them an inducement to save, such as they never had before; and, directly they save sufficient to provide themselves with the capital which their labour requires, they will be able to appropriate to themselves those profits which others receive because the working classes have not yet acquired the

GONE!

BY THE HON. MRS. NORTON.

GONE! gone! the bells toll on,
But still the death-news seems to stun:
The sudden loss, the warning brief,
Bids wonder mingle with our grief!

Like fearful heralds sent to know
If life's defeat were true or no,
Our startled thoughts went forth to meet
Dark rumour in the busy street,
And less lamenting, than dismayed,
Our frozen tears were strangely stayed.
What-He, whose busy brain had planned
So much for his adopted land-

He, who had yet scarce turned the page
Dating past youth to middle age,
The counsellor of wisdom proved,
The chosen of a Queen beloved,
In prime of life and princely rank,-
Gone?-gone: fill up the blank!

Gone! Even now, to wintry gales
The foreign ships have spread their sails,
Bringing the beauty and the boast
Of other realms to Britain's coast.
The busy rout of lading past,
The shifting cargoes all made fast,
Freed from the shouting and the din,
The motley treasures rest within.
Tasks toiled at with a loving pain,
The anxious work of hand and brain,
Lie buried in each silent hold:
Rich stuffs, and carcanets of gold,
And cereal things, whose gathered store
Competing greets our fertile shore,
And sculptured statues, soon to rise
Like apparitions on our eyes,
And complicated wheels, which rest
In muffled coverings, strangely drest,
Till the bright slave of human skill,
Set free to work his master's will,
With whirring hum, and dim low moan,
Some wondrous motive-power makes know

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These come and, with them, many a man
Of earnest thought and active plan:

His voice should praise,-His smile should thank,—
Gone! gone! fill up the blank !

Gone! A murmur thrills the deep;
The earth lies in perturbed sleep;
Hot tumults fill the lands afar
With restless chance of coming war;
And England's gallant sons depart-
Brief preface to their hurried start;
Marchings and gatherings to and fro,
And sobs repressed, of woman's woe,
With lingering watch of crowded decks
Till white sails fade to cloud-like specks;
And shouts that, following with the brave,
Roll in dim echoes o'er the wave.

Where's He who took such proud delight
In his adopted country's might,

Who bade "God speed!" with kind farewell
To those who fought, and those who fell,
When, bound for Balaclava's shore,
They marshalled by the palace door?
His loyal heart no more shall hear

The readying word-the martial cheer;
The boasting of a people free,
"Victoria and victory,'

No more shall thrill that clay-cold breast;
Nor bugle-call shall break his rest;

Nor steel-clad horseman's measured clank;
Gone! gone! fill up the blank !

Gone! The light new-fallen snow
Scarce hides, as yet, the purple glow
On Scottish mountains far away,
Where He made summer holiday.
Real holiday! The pomps forgot,
And cumber of a Royal lot;
Glad useful leisure to employ
In simpler life, and homelier joy.
The summer shall return again

Though wintry winds now sweep the glen-
The mavis rear her tuneful brood

In thickets of the vernal wood

The cold grey lake in glory shine
With jewelled hues when suns decline-
Or ripple in the morning bright,
As though it smiled to see the light!
But where the last year's primrose blew
A widow's tears may drop for dew;
And where the birch its tassels hung
The coronach may now be sung;
For summer's warmth nor autumn's glow

Nor spring make glad that lone lake's bank,-
Gone! gone! fill up the blank!

Gone! gone! With trembling moan
That note of mourning dieth down,
And silvery Christmas chimes begin,
And joy-bells ring the New Year in.
The gather'd groups of gladness stand
In many a home throughout the land,
And one sweet phrase, from door to door,
Is eloquent to rich and poor:

"A merry Christmas," still we hear,
And "Happy be the coming year!"

But in the highest home of all
A bitter silence now must fall,
And sobbing hearts shall yearn in vain
To bring the Old Year back again.

Oh! then and now-last year and this—
Father and Friend whose gifts they miss,
Husband whose kind and noble face
Hath vanish'd from the vacant place,-
What thoughts, what prayers, can lesser make
The anguish suffer'd for thy sake?

The Widow's wintry coif is there!
Its snowdrift hides her shining hair,-
And men may weep who now behold,
Remembering all its bands of gold
In her youth's high triumphal day,
Lit by the unexpected ray
Which still its gentle halo shows
Where Leslie's magic canvas glows;1

When deck'd, with sceptre and with globe,
And glittering in Dalmatian robe,

The girlish form knelt gently, down,

To rise the wearer of a crown;

And o'er that spot where, old and good,

The mild Ecclesiastic stood,

To give, with his religious hand,
Her consecration of command,

And while reverberate shouts that hailed
England's new monarch, yet prevailed,—
A sunbeam like a glory fell

From Gothic arch and pinnacle,

As though it were God's blessing shed
Upon that reverent youthful head.

1 Leslie's picture of the Coronation represents an actual fact, in the management of the light which streams down on the Coronation group. The morning, which had been fitful and cloudy, suddenly brightened at that moment, and the Queen's fair hair

Bowed is that head!-bowed low once more!
But not as in the days of yore;
Not with the future opening bright
A dream of splendour to her sight;'
Not where the shouting lieges crowd;
Alone-in grief-her head is bowed.
Her sad eyes watch the fire-light gleams;
Her weary soul hath humbler dreams;
Roaming from Osborne's seagirt bowers,
By royal Windsor's moated towers,

To vaults where flowers lie, dark and dank :-
Gone! gone! fill up the blank!

She kneels. The God who sent the gain,
Hath sent the loss-decreed the pain.
She prays-as when that ray was born
Which lit her coronation morn;
And who shall doubt the blessing falls,
Though light forsake the cheerless walls!
That God who gives and takes away
Best knows how hard it is to say,
"Thy will be done," at His command;
Or see the working of His hand
When, sweeping with a storm of loss
The garden of our hopes across,
He makes our Paradise of good
A desert and a solitude.

Oh! path with mourning ashes strown,
Oh! track that we must tread alone,
Hast thou indeed the selfsame bourne
As that from which our feet must turn ?
Whose long glad vista seemed to show,
Set in a misty golden glow,
Calm violet clouds beyond whose veil
The stars, up-gliding clear and pale,
Grew brighter as our fading day
In those soft shadows died away,-
Earth's darkness but a prelude given
To harmonies of light in heaven!

That aspect of sweet life must change;
Our souls keep watch where all is strange;
In the new path so chill and drear,
When the strength falters, who shall cheer?
From the lone track so blank and wide,
If the feet wander, who shall guide?
What fountain for our thirst shall pour,
Since the dull gravestone covers o'er
That well of love, whereat we drank?
Gone! gone! fill up the blank!

1 Her Majesty and the young Princesses sent wreaths of flowers from Osborne, to place on the coffin of the lamented Prince

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