"AND GOD BLESSED THEM, and God said unto them, FACTS FROM THE FIELDS. THE DEPOPULATING subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and POLICY. BY WILLIAM HOWITT. EXTENSION OF THE ENGLISH MANUFACTURING SYSTEM, THE MELDRUM FAMILY. and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth." "And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, on which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; | to you it shall be for meat." Genesis i. c. 26-29. There, thou who talked of thine own-is the great Charter of the human family inscribed on the very first page of that sacred volume which thou professest to be the Word and the Revelation of God. Bring forth then thy charter-unrol thy Statute of Li JAMES MELDRUM was at this period a man of a pecu-mitations. Let us see by what right thou hast disinheliarly solemn and silent character. On Sundays his suit rited thy brethren; by what authority thou hast driven of drab, his coat cut short, and with metal buttons; his out those made in the image of God. The Creator prodrab trousers, and low-crowned broad-brimmed hat, all claims that he has given to man dominion over all the of which had seen some years wear, gave him an in-earth-but thy law has dispossessed nine-tenths of the invariable outward stamp. He was about the middle race. The millions have no dominion over any part of size, thin, but with strong bony structure. His counte- the earth. They come into the world like foundlingsnance, somewhat long, was of a deep ruddy hue, and they go through it like outcasts-they issue from it like his dark eyes set beneath shaggy dark eye-brows, gave convicts. Bring out thy law. Let us see when and where an expression of a certain melancholy enthusiasm to the it was made. Let us know where and for what services whole face, which indeed was truly indicative of his God set thee up above thy brethren, and annulled his temperament. He was a man of keen, sensitive feelings, universal charter in thy favour. Bring out thy little which in their time had been deeply tried, and the pocket decree, which no man has yet seen, and let us be slander and persecution which he had experienced from duly informed of thy virtues which have made thee God's various sides, had tended to throw him more and more elect, and of the crimes of the multitude which have exclusively into the bosom of his religious society, and rent from them their heritage, their dominion, their title especially so of the section belonging to his own immedi- to every herb, and every tree, and all their fruits for their ate neighbourhood. He seemed to brood over things meat. which never found expression; and yet there was a fire of feeling within him which could soon flame up and show strong signs of its power, though it rarely blazed | out to the day. It was only in moments of religious excitement that this came forth, and in some of the private prayer-meetings of this body his fits of enthusiasm amounted to something at times like a phrenzy, and he would betray by his language, that the slanders which had been heaped on him, had sunk deeply, and though they might be forgiven, never could be forgotten. The time was now come which was to make a severe change in his circumstances. Great God! how fearful is that condition of society in which the will of one man can change the fortunes of thousands of thy immortal creatures! In which one man's fiat can uproot quiet and happy homes; can cause houses to vanish like mushrooms; can depopulate and demoralize; can send honest and reposing beings on a downward career of distress, exasperation, crime, and ruin. And all this destruction of happiness and virtue perpetrated in the name of law and right, and on the avowed claim to do what they like with their own! Their own! What is their own? "The Earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof." "Mine are the cattle," saith the Creator, "on a thousand hills." Shew me, oh man! by what right thou hast usurped God's heritage. Produce thy Charter. Let me see that Deed which sets aside the eternal proprietorship of the All-Father. Wilt thou establish an entail against God? Wilt thou maintain a law of primogeniture against God's family? If thou hast such deed, produce it. Let us know that thou hast a document which overthrows the Bible, which supersedes the mission of Jesus Christ, and abolishes his Gospel. Bring forth that new table of celestial stone written by the finger of God. "And God said, "Let us make man in our own image, after our likeness; and let him have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and OVER ALL THE EARTH, and every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth." "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he them." Bring forth too thy newer Gospel, for had'st thou even such a Charter from God, our Gospel would annul it. Our Gospel proclaims that God is no respecter of persons. Our Gospel says-" Sell that which thou hast and give to the poor." Our Gospel is a gospel of love, not of cruelty, of love thy neighbour as thyself-and not cast him out from hearth and home. Our Gospel says, That the Gentiles lord it over one another, but that it shall not be so amongst Christians. Art thou a Gentile or Christian?-let us hear. It is necessary to be explicit. Our Gospel says-"Ye are stewards of God's heritage— and must account for every talent put into your care. Our Gospel says-that "Ye are not your own-ye are bought with a price." Bring out then your ancient Charter and your modern Gospel, in which the finger of God stands too brilliantly to be mistaken. Let us see those words written in light more intense than sunbeams, which can make old paper of that Law and that Gospel which have been the possession of and the faith of all Christendom near two thousand years. God has blessed the race he created-what and who then have cursed them? What has produced all this misery, this crime, this destitution? What has sent famine instead of plenty, death instead of life, disorder and violence instead of peace and enjoyment. There is some foul wrong somewhere-there is some huge lie propagated for law. Bring out thy Charter-or renounce thy claims to do as thou wilt with thine own. Ha! is that thy charter? The charter of the sword. The law of the conqueror! Dost thou set up the plea of might against the Bible, the law of violence against the Gospel? Dost thou claim thine own from the successful robber, and the parchment spells of his servile tool the lawyer? Is that thy boasted authority? Dost thou thrust thy yellow scroll into the face of the Deity, and exclaim-"By this I stand, and by this I cast forth thy children at my will to nakedness, to ignorance, and death. In the Highlands the great parchment possessors did what they liked with their own. They burnt down the cottages of those whose fathers had dwelt there for countless ages; they chased away the people, who went forth to distant lands singing the melancholy hymn of exile Cha till, cha till, cha till, mi tuille, We return, we return, we return no more! They drove them out from their native heaths, they laid their hearths in ashes, but God's blessing rested not on the deed and they are now once more reshaping those hills into small farms. In Ireland, they burned out and drove forth the wretched creatures from their wretched cabins, and did what they liked with their own; and Ireland still lies the corpse of a murdered nation; the terrible spectre of a nation's ruin hangs over the country which sanctioned it, which produced it by ages of injustice. Great God! millions of thy creatures are perpetually appearing before thy throne to demand peace for themselves and pity for their children. They cry-"We went to the earth which thou hast made, and hast given for the place of our trial, and there was no place for us. There are those who call thine own their own. They hold what they cannot use; they hoard up what they cannot eat. They have closed the earth against those whom thou sendest thither to possess it for a time, and to do thy will. Lord how? how long? And Christ says,-"Did they give you a cup of cold water in my name?" And they reply,-"They gave us fire." "Ye were naked,--did they clothe you ?"-"No." "Ye were an-hungered, did they feed you?""No." "Ye were sick, and in prison,-did they visit you?" And the reply is one vast-"No!" that rolls through heaven, and is answered on earth, by-REVOLUTION. Let no one accuse us of desiring to stimulate to the breach of the laws-we stimulate to a change of the laws. Let no one say that we would let loose the multitude against property-we would have property secure itself in time, by revising the foundations, and restoring the true principles of property. We would have order and not disorder-Reform as the preventative of Revolution. But the pressure on the life of the million is becoming of that character, which makes the soberest man tremble. Men will not for ever be shut out of the franchise and the constitution. Those who pay taxes will have a voice in granting those taxes. Those who groan under the burden of debt will see a hope of diminishing that burden. The cares and the responsibility are with the governing class, with the intelligent and the fortunate. If they will have order, they must give justice; if they will have peace, they must call for the right. Every man must have a chance for himself and his children. Dangerous examples are abroad-governments shiver like houses of glass at the moment that they deem themselves strongest. Beware, therefore, of the drop too much-of the last ounce of pressure which creates the explosion. The system which drives the manufacturing millions to starvation, and the labourer from the land that he tills, cannot last for ever. Let us return to our story. The heir to the estate at Beecup-the proprietor of the whole parish, had now finished his education, made his tour, and come home. His education and his survey of other countries, of course, had been accomplished with the object of making him a finished gentleman, and so wise and enlightened as to be able to manage his property to the best advantage, and to fill his responsible station in the best manner for his own good, and the good of his country. We say of course, because what other object ought education, and travel, which is but a part of it, to have? A man who has an extraordinary slice of his country, is bound in all reason to do corresponding service to his country. Let us see how this young man did it. There were those simple souls who are always expecting to see the world move on, and people get better and wiser every day, who expected great things from this Mr. Woodcroft Meadowlands. So much as had been spent in his education, really much must come of it. Then people have a natural notion of the generosity and liberality of youth. Golden youth! as poets call it, is always expected to be something more brilliant and good, than the old rusty iron that went before it. But the mischief of it is, that this golden youth in nine cases out of ten, turns out only to be gilt, and the gilt wears off dreadfully fast in the jostling path of ordinary life. Golden youth in a very few years shows the old and rusty iron most provokingly peeping through. But don't let us condemn Mr. Woodcroft Meadowlands before we have seen him. Very likely he may turn out better than bargain,-one of those ancient phoenixes that have been missing a wretchedly long time. And to say truth, Mr. Woodcroft Meadowlands had been too well educated to change readily. He had, as a little boy, a tutor, the Reverend Sharpe Lookout, who told him that he would be a very great man when he grew up, and have three good church livings to give away. Mr. Sharpe Lookout, therefore, seized the very earliest opportunity of instilling a benevolent and grateful disposition into his pupil.-"Remember my dear boy, when you come to your estate, all that I have done for you. Show yourself grateful for my indefatigable endeavours to please you in every possible way." And Mr. Sharpe Lookout had done it. He had indulged the golden youth's every idle propensity of playing tricks on the servants, shooting at the farmer's pigeons, tormenting young birds and squirrels, and the like. He had promised him wonders if he could only be his private tutor at Oxford, and travel with him. Under such able and indulgent hands, Mr. Meadowlands would, no doubt, have thriven into something amazing-but old Meadowlands once caught his son wiping his slate with his finest wig which had just been brought in newly dressed by the valet, and Sharpe Lookout, who was not remembering the qualities of his name circumspectly enough, laughing at the joke with all his might. This old Meadowlands observed through the open window on the lawn, which he had approached to ask Lookout and his son to take a walk with him down to the dog-kennels. Amazed and confounded, the old squire stood stock-still, screened by the mass of curtains at the side of the open window, and saw further. Young Meadowlands having wiped his slate, as stated, threw it on the floor of the drawing-room, amid the convulsive laughter of Lookout, and then rung the bell, and on the valet appearing, said with well-feigned astonishment,--'See, Tom! what the Italian Greyhound has done. It has pulled the wig off the table, and mauled it pretty nicely, as you may see. What will the old governor say to you, eh!" 66 At the sight of the wig, and expectation of the old governor's wrath, the enraged valet gave the unsuspecting dog a kick which might have broken its ribs; and at the same moment a tremendous "D-d scoundrel !" was vociferated from the open window, which fell like a thunder-clap into the room. In less than ten minutes Mr. Sharpe Lookout was on the road to seek another tutorship, and young Meadowlands was in a few weeks packed off to Eton. At this school he found himself amongst a crowd of gentlemen's sons, all preparing for the university, and for fitting themselves to profit as much as possible by one another, and the nation. There were elder sons and younger sons. The elder sons were all soon taught to look upon themselves as peculiar people. People who had a great figure to cut in the world with great estates, and to make the fortunes of younger sons with churchlivings, and state offices. Of course, all the glories of tuft-hunting, and aristocratic emulation were soon com prehended and commenced here. The whole tribe looked on themselves born to run à race-the elder ones in rivalry in style, and fashion, the younger in getting all they could of the good things that the elder ones and the nation had to bestow. As to the people--the great mass of the nation-of them they knew and cared nothing. They never had come near such a vulgar race-they never were likely to, except at elections. The Plebs-what were they to our golden youths? They were educating for the good of the country-just in that sense which the imperfect English of one of George II'sGerman mistresses expressed when surrounded by the infuriated mob,-" Good people, why are you so angry with us -we are come for all your goods!" To which an unfeeling ragamuffin replied,- Ay, curse you, and all our chattels too!" Songs. He who touches the hearts of the people, enters into their homes and finds a welcome there, moves their pity or their indignation by turns, raises the laugh or draws the tear, excites their sympathy with his satires of folly and his denunciations of wrong, is no humble teacher. Songs are often as powerful as laws, and they are more influential in rousing the feelings of an oppressed people than even the speeches of the greatest orators. The Bourbon Government recognised this extensive power in their repeated prosecutions of Beranger. Song-writers have been called the popular priesthood of nations. None have so large an audience as they. How much even of a nation's history is to be read in its songs and ballads, from the days of Homer to our own. Although written in a comparatively civilized and educated age, these songs of Beranger contain perhaps the best history of his period in France. They are the reflex of the thoughts, feelings, and aspirations of the living men of his time. The song-writer has here entered into the real life of the people, depicting it in the most vivid manner; and what is history worth, if it exhibits not this? For all the goods of the country, the aristocratic lads of our aristocratic schools are duly trained. From these schools they go to the university where the same training is perfected. There lords and dukes, and wealthy young squires are duly taught their importance, and while they are filled with the ambition to outshine each other in horses, equipages, trains of servants, "The people," says Beranger, "that is my Muse fine horses, and fine wives, the multitude of both scho- When I speak of the people, I mean the crowd-the lars, and professors are carefully calculating how they mass-the very lowest, if you will. They may not apcan climb by these useful auxiliaries into seats in parlia-preciate the achievements of intellect, or the refined deliment, offices in state, army, navy and colony, into bish- cacies of taste: be it so! But for that very reason, auoprics, arch-bishoprics, and other heavenly places. thors are obliged to conceive more boldly, more grandly, Such is the aristocratic education of the aristocratic in order to arrest their attention. Adapt therefore to classes in England from the cradle to the majority; they their strong nature, both your subjects and their style of are regularly baptized, drilled and trained into it. "Do treatment: it is neither abstract ideas nor figures which men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?" They they require of you: shew them the naked human heart. gather what grows there, and England has gathered a grand old debt, and a system of taxation-"The envy and admiration of the world," from its aristocratic education. (To be continued.) POETS OF THE PEOPLE. BERANGER. IN the year 1821, a book of songs was published in Paris, which so excited the ire of the restored Bourbon Government, that the writer was prosecuted, condemned to pay a fine of 300 francs, and cast into the prison of Saint Pelagie for three months. The following year he was again prosecuted for republishing his provoking songs-for they were exceedingly popular, and were sung in the streets, the workshops, ginguettes, every where-but by some good luck or other he was acquitted. Again, in 1828, he published another book of songs, for which he was again prosecuted by the Government, and condemned to be immured for nine months in the prison of La Force, and to pay a fine of 10,000 francs. And of what was this song-writer found guilty? Of making the people laugh and sing in the fulness of their hearts. He had touched their tenderer feelings too, and drawn sweet tears from many eyes. But his delicate strokes of satire at wickedness and folly in high places, at imbeciles grinning in the seat of power-at established cant parading in demure faces and broad phylacteries-this it was which drew down upon Beranger, for it is of him we speak, the anger and prosecutions of the Government. I have never made any pretensions to be more than a writer of songs," says Beranger; "such has been the extent of my humble mission.' But it is no such humble mission, that of the writer of According to an inveterate habit, we still judge of the people with exceeding prejudice. They present themselves to us as a gross mass, incapable of elevated, generous, or tender impressions. Yet, if poetry has a resting-place in the world, it is, I firmly believe, in their ranks that you must go seek for it. But to find it, you must first study this people * * Would that our authors set themselves seriously to labour for this crowd, so well prepared to receive the instruction which they need. In sympathizing with them they would help to render them more moral, and the more they added to their intelligence, the more would they extend the domain of genius and of true glory." 66 Such, in brief, are Beranger's ideas of the people for whom he has written, and written so well. Beranger has throughout life, stood by his order-the poor. He has refused office-refused case-because he had the humour," as he says, of remaining independent. "I am low-born, low-born very," he sings in one of his exquisite songs: and he still continues, in his old age, among the same humble class from which he sprung. "The extent of my ambition," he observes in his preface to his "new and last songs (Chansons nouvelles et derniers) "has never been more than a morsel of bread for my declining years. It is satisfied, though I am not even so much as an elector, far less can I ever hope to have the honour of being elected, spite of the Revolution of July, to which I owe nothing on that ac count." This popular song-writer was born in Paris, in the year 1780, in the house of a tailor, his " poor and old grandfather," as he himself tells us, in his song-" The Tailor and the Fay" (Le Tailleur et la Fée.) Beranger's father and mother cut a small figure in his history, at least as regards his education and bringing up. The old grandfather was both father and mother to him in this respect: the father seems to have been what the Scotch call a "neer do weel"-a bustling, vapouring, idle sort of person, with ideas far above his station, and never settling quietly down to any industrial pursuit. He was a Royalist too, and buzzed away like a fly on a wheel, amid the great Revolution. Beranger's mother was a soft good-natured woman, with none of that spi substance of the song-reflecting its dominant idea, and often containing the idea itself-sometimes it was a little drama in a word, ringing its music and meaning in the popular ear. ritual temperament which has usually distinguished the the popular ear, and dwelt there. In the refrains or mothers of great men. burdens of his songs, he was especially happy. The burBeranger lived for nine years with the old tailor-den was at once the shadow and in a great measure the running wild, without restraint, romping and playing with whom he liked, knowing nothing of schools or books. The Revolution still raging in its fury, he was sent to Perronne, his father's native town, there to live with an old grand-aunt, who kept a small public-house, and where for a time he officiated as pot-boy. This old woman, eighty years of age, although herself ignorant, had the boy taught to read, and in course of time he could read "Telemachus," "Racine," and the other books that her slender library contained. She gave him religious instruction too, after a manner, and the boy took the sacrament for the first time when he was eleven and a half years old. At fourteen he was put apprentice to a printer, and his labours at this trade tended in no small degree to aid his literary culture, though he made but slow progress in spelling. He attended also an excellent primary school at Perronne, and making better progress there, became partially instructed in the art of literary composition. Beranger's exercises in course of time took high rank in the school. Poetic influences were also operating upon him at this time-his sensitiveness was extreme, and he is said to have burst into tears the first time that he heard the Marseillaise Hymn sung. Political events by degrees came to exercise an important influence on the mind of Beranger, and his songs gradually assumed a more serious vein. This was very apparent in his second collection, written at various periods, between 1815 and 1821, in which some of his very finest and most powerful pieces appear. In these, he speaks comfort to the poor, the afflicted, the people. France was in a melancholy humour-it was gay France no longer-under the Bourbons it felt oppressed as under a nightmare. Freedom sighed, and Beranger's songs were its echo. "Certain amateurs," said he, "have complained of the seriousness of these later songs of mine. Here is my reply: Song comes from the inspiration of the moment. Our epoch is serious-even sad: I have only taken the tone thus given me. It is probable that I had no other choice." When about seventeen years old, he returned to Paris to work at "the case." Here he was in the midst of a busy world-the centre of life, action, pleasure, and din. The idea of writing verses first flashed across his mind about this time. An attender of the theatres, he dreamt of writing a comedy, and had actually sketched the out-ing Paris. Then was the period of his bitter songs, at lines of one; but having read Moliére with attention, he abandoned his project in a kind of despair of ever being able to come up to this great master. He cultivated his style, however, and practised the art of composition with diligence. His next project was an epic poem; but in the midst of these glorious dreams, work failed, and the young poet endured the bitterest suffering and privations. He thought of going to Egypt, to the world's end-anywhere. But this dream also passed; and he remained in Paris, to suffer, to love, to study, and finally to triumph. At twenty-three, he had written a great quantity of verses-meditations, idyls, dythirambics, &c., but what was he to do with them? He could not afford to print them he was unknown, almost without bread. But he made them up into a packet, addressed them to Lucien Buonaparte, brother of the First Consul, and despatched them to him, accompanied by a very dignified and yet modest letter. Lucien was struck by the merit they displayed, and wrote the young poet a letter full of good advice, and suggesting corrections. He did more: without even seeing him, he presented the young man with the small pension which he drew from the French Institute a means of support which Beranger enjoyed till the year 1812. Up to this time he was also occasionally engaged in literary labours, acting for some two years as compiler of the "Annals of the Museum" (Annales du Musée), and he afterwards obtained an appointment as copy-clerk in the University-office, at a small salary, which he retained for about twelve years. The Bourbons expelled him from this post on the publication of his second book of Songs. The first collection was published in 1815; but it excited comparatively little attention. The songs were full of the young animal-gay, laughing, jolly, licentious, with here and there some fine strokes of satire and wit. An occasional vein of poetry was touched, but not pierced. These songs were thrown off at a heat-they were the amusement of his bye-hours-" the mere caprices," as he afterwards confessed, "of a vagabond spirit," and yet, as he also added, "these are my most dearly cherished offspring." Some of these songs caught "I was Like all the other young and ardent spirits of France, Beranger was disappointed at the restoration of the Bourbons. Not that he was an out-and-out admirer of Napoleon-" not all my admiration for his genius," says he, could ever blind me to the crushing despotism of the Empire." But Beranger writhed at the sight of foreign armies on French soil, thrusting the deposed Bourbons on the French people with their bayonets. He shed bitter tears at the sight of the allied armies enterFrench forgetfulness of former glory, and English and Prussian welcomings in the Tuileries. My “Lord Vilain-ton" came in for his share of scorching irony. Still, says Beranger, my opposition to the Bourbons was not one of hatred, as has been alleged against me. not hostile to the restored monarchy, though I had the firm conviction that they never would constitutionally govern France, nor would France be able to compel them to adopt liberal principles. This conviction, which never abandoned me, I owed less to the calculations of my reason than to the instinct of the people. I have studied every succeeding event with a religious seriousness, and I have almost always found these sentiments in such unison with my own thoughts that they have formed the rule of my conduct in the part which I have been called upon to perform in the public movements of my time. The people-that is my muse. It is this muse which has made me resist the pretended sages, whose counsels, based on chimerical hopes, many times pursued me. The two publications which have brought down upon me the prosecutions of the law, at the same time stripped me of many of my political friends. I ran all risks of this. The approbation of the masses remained faithful to me, and the friends returned.". In 1821, Beranger's friends induced him to publish his second collection of songs: 10,000 copies were subscribed for, and the impression was immediately bought up. This collection contained numerous biting political satires, and the writer was immediately pounced upon by the Government, who had long waited for such an opportunity. His political songs had, until then, been floating about amongst the people-passed from hand to hand-sung in the streets--and every where exercising a great influence among the mass. Still the Government could not lay hold of him until he had owned his paternity to the songs, which he now openly did by publishing them in a collected form. He was accordingly pounced upon, prosecuted, and laid up in prison for three months. A series of political satires and lampoons, still more stinging than the past, was the fruit of his confinement in Saint Pelagie. These were published so as to defy |