"Why, as for that, it is very well to be in the Custom-house, to collect

the dues the government ought to have; but, for my part, I never liked

my brother's having to look to the seized goods, which sometimes

happened to be what he would rather have seen anywhere else. If he had

at once set himself to something else----"

"You had better send him here; my master wants more hands."

"With all my heart. If he had set himself to supply people's demands at

home, instead of preventing their being supplied from abroad, it would

have been all very well. But he liked better to marry, and live upon my

father, (supposing father to be rich,) than to work at a new business;

and now I must keep school, and do what I can for them all. Dear me!

what a pretty dance that is! I do not know what I am to do, if the

parents expect my girls to dance in that manner. I forgot to look at

Miss Lucy this time. Oh, ma'am, what can be the matter with her? Do look

how she is crying. Bless her poor heart! how the tears run down!"

Lucy did, at this moment, exhibit a somewhat extraordinary

spectacle,--weeping and cutting capers, sobbing and attitudinizing, and

looking dolorously in the face of her partner (one of the Master Bremes)

whenever the turns of the dance obliged them to regard each other. If

she would have given any rational excuse for her emotion, she would have

been excused from dancing in tears; but she was mute, and must therefore

take her turn with her companions. The fact was, that, while standing up

and waiting for the signal to begin, Lucy had chanced to turn her eyes

on a mirror that hung opposite, and to see a young gentleman behind her

wriggling in imitation of her earlier exploits of this day; and, what

was worse, she saw that Mr. Brown indulged in a broad grin at the joke.

Not all her attempts to think of something pleasant,--of her new frock,

Mademoiselle's museum, and the kitten promised by Adèle,--could enable

her to keep down her tears. They only came the faster the more she

struggled against them; and all hope of concealing them was over before

Rebecca's kind heart became moved by her sorrow, and Adèle squeezed in

sympathy the hand which she encountered in the course of the figure.

This sympathy only aggravated the evil: it caused a long, crowing sob to

resound through the room, moving the boys to laughter, and everybody

else to pity. It was a lost case, and the credit of the day,--of Adele's

first day at the dancing-school,--was irretrievable.

Mademoiselle removed to a seat next nurse, to inquire what could have

been the matter with Lucy all this day; and when told that she had been

well and in high spirits up to the moment of entering the room, she was

anxious to be allowed to feel her pulse, and ascertain whether there was

fever in the case,--nothing short of fever being, in her opinion,

sufficient to account for her alternate boisterousness and melancholy.

Lucy being surrendered to Mademoiselle, presently began to grow calm.

The scarlet flush which had spread over her neck faded, and the sobs

subsided, as she assured her friend that she was not at all ill: it was

all her own fault. This mystery was received in respectful silence, and

a long pause ensued, at the end of which Lucy looked up through her

tears to say,--

"How beautifully Adèle dances!"

"Yes, she dances prettily; but she wants practice, and does not take

exercise enough; and that is the reason why we have brought her to learn

again. Adèle is a lazy girl in some things: are you not, Adèle?"

"But where did she learn to dance? I never saw such dancing. I do not

believe anybody here will ever dance so well. There's Nancy Breme: her

feet go well enough, but she pokes; and her sister carries her head high

enough,--mighty high,--like the proud that are going to have a fall,

nurse says; but she turns in the left foot, as Mr. Brown is for ever

telling her. And there is----"

"Well, well; we will not dispute Adèle's dancing better than any body

here."

"O, but I was going to say myself too. I meant to find fault with my own

dancing, and Charlotte's."

"No occasion, my dear. I have heard what Mr. Brown has to say about it,

you know; and he is a better judge than either of us. Perhaps you will

go with us to Lyons, some day, and see where Adèle used to dance, under

the chestnuts by the river-side. Or, if you must have boards to dance

on, you shall go, to M. Carillon's country-house, where you may waltz in

his summer saloon, with roses hanging in at the window."

"Is that the M. Carillon who sent you those beautiful shells? And is his

great new present come for your museum?"

"It is on its way, and we may hear of its arrival any day. You shall

come and see it when it is unpacked and in its place. Now, do you think

you can dance again? Mr. Brown looks as if he wanted a partner for that

merry boy."

"O, I cannot dance with him," exclaimed Lucy. "Yes, I will, though he

did laugh at me. I find fault with other people, I know, so I suppose it

is fair that they should with me."

And she started up, and offered herself to dance; and a sign from the

good-natured Mr. Brown forbade any one from staring at her red eyes.

"Well, ma'am," said Rebecca to nurse, "and now that I have seen Miss

Lucy comfortable again, I must go. I'm sure if you know of any delicate

children, or others that do not want a finer education than we can give

them, you will think of dame and I."

"Yes, indeed, my dear, for the sake of my poor son. Thank you, I'm sure,

for all you have told me about him; and if your father should happen to

come, so as to give me a call, I think he might manage to remember a

little more. And give my respects to the Lieutenant's lady, and tell her

that I consider my son honoured by her preference; and tell----"

"I have been thinking, Mrs. Nicholas, whether you could not come down

among us. You will be sure to see Mrs. Story yourself then; and we would

make you heartily welcome in our way."

"What! to see the very place? The cliffs, and the beach, and the very

cave and all! O, my dear! Well, we will see; and many thanks to you."

Rebecca thought it right to advertise her intended school in every

possible manner, and therefore made an effort to mention her plan to Mr.

Brown, observing that he was probably in the way of hearing of children

who wanted sea-air and nursing; and that they would be well taken care

of, though she could not pretend to have them taught such dancing as she

had seen that day.

Mr. Brown smirked, said something about reviving breezes, native

elasticity, natural grace, and the hand of art, and bowed her out with

an emphatic screech of his instrument, just at the moment that she was

declaring him very kind.

The remainder of the lesson was passed in silence by the higher powers,

as nurse could not bring herself to speak of the subject uppermost in

her thoughts,--her poor son,--to a French woman, whom, as being French,

she considered as in some sort, concerned in his murder.

CHAPTER V.

HATE AND HAND-BILLS.

When Mademoiselle returned to her own drawing-room, she found her

brother there,--an unexpected visitor at this time of day, when he was

usually engaged in his counting-house. He was standing at the window,

with his eyes fixed upon a newspaper, which he might or might not be

reading, so completely was his attitude one of meditation.

"I have waited for you," he said; "I wished to see you before I went out

again. Are you ready to go back to France?"

"To France! Is there to be a war?"

"Only that war which wars of arms bring on,--war against classes and

individuals, arising out of national jealousy. No, thank God! the

slaughter of tens of thousands is at an end; and what matters the ruin

of one insignificant Frenchman?"

"Ruin! Are they going to ruin you?" asked his sister, her eyes flashing.

"No anger, my dear," said M. Gaubion. "Judge not these English people by

the example of our happier countrymen. They have been trained for

centuries to suspicions like this;--(handing the newspaper to his

sister, and pointing out a paragraph.) "I was aware of this training,

and I ought not to have come. It is for the Frenchmen of two centuries

hence to be the brethren of Englishmen."

"But you can disprove this charge," urged Mademoiselle; "or, as the duty

of proof rests with your enemies, you can dare them to the proof. Let

them show, if they can, that you carry on your business as a cloak to

hidden practices. Let them lay a finger on a single article smuggled by

you. They cannot; and this is a mere calumny,--a newspaper calumny."

M. Gaubion pointed out that the charge was contained in a report of some

significance, and was not one of the common paragraphs which no wise man

thinks it worth while to be vexed at. Its appearance in such a mode

indicated a hostility in persons interested in the silk trade, which

would probably end in sending a peaceably-disposed man home again.

"I have been trying to make myself an English woman ever since I came,"

observed Mademoiselle, "but I will cease the endeavour; it is better to

be French."

"Nay, France may blush for similar follies. How long was it before we

had men wise enough to discover, that if France received cottons, it

must be in return for something that France had produced! When some few

perceived this, what cries issued from our work-shops! What certainty

did some feel that the total disorganization of society would ensue! How

others rehearsed the dirge which must presently be sung over the tomb of

French industry! And who knows but that a Manchester man might then have

been torn in pieces by the prejudiced operatives of France?"

"But did you not say just now that the English are peculiarly prejudiced

on this matter?"

"They have been made so by their national circumstances. Their

manufacturers and merchants have had a greater voice in the government

than is allowed in many other countries; and this voice has for ever

cried out, 'Protect us!'--'Encourage us!' Then of course followed the

cry of other classes, 'Be impartial!'--'Protect us also.'"

"Ah! the difficulty is to stop. Each new protection raises clamour for

more; and some are left dissatisfied after all is done that can be done.

It becomes a scramble which class can cost the country most; how each

article can be made dearest, and therefore how the people may be soonest

impoverished at home, and prevented from selling abroad on equal terms

with their neighbours. So it would be if protection were universal; but

surely it cannot be so in England, or any where else?"

"Not altogether; but her rulers have found themselves perplexed by her

land-owners and tillers being jealous of the manufacturers; and the

ship-owners, of the agricultural class; and the labourers, most justly,

of all these. There will be no peace till the just plea is admitted,

that the interest of those who consume is the paramount interest; and

that the rule of commerce at home and abroad, therefore, is that all

shall be left free to buy where they can buy cheapest. The observance of

this rule would soon quench the desire for protection, as the protected

would have no customers but those from whose pockets their bounties are

yielded. Yet this rule is the last which the ministries of England have

till now regarded."

"Strange! since the consumers are so much more considerable a body than

any class of the protected."

"Nothing is strange when there is a want of money. Does not a minor make

over his property to sharpers for his debts before he has enjoyed it? Do

not the besieged in a city revel in food and wine while starvation

impends? If so, why should not a government, involved in ruinous wars

and other extravagance, stake the commerce of the country for an

immediate supply of money? When new taxes must be imposed, submission

has been bought by new protections. The example once set, other

restrictions have followed, till those who possess nothing but the

fruits of their own labour bear the whole burden. They pay to the

landlords, that bread may be dear; they pay to the India House, that tea

may be rendered a blameable luxury to them, and that what is woven in

eastern looms may be out of their reach; they paid for the wars which

occasioned the restraints which they now pay to keep up."

"But why do they thus pay? And is not all this a reason why they should

welcome you, instead of desiring a continuance of their bondage?"

"Slaves often hug their chains as ornaments, and the ignorant mistake

custom for right. My enemies are not aware how they have suffered from

the long custom of restriction; and it was my folly to expect a welcome

from the poor, who have ever been taught, that what a foreigner gains an

Englishman must lose; or from masters who have been cradled in fear, not

by the generous nurse,--competition, but by the jealous

demon,--monopoly."

"Truly," exclaimed Mademoiselle, "the lark is likely to be hooted and

clawed if she ventures among the owls. You are right, brother; there is

nothing for it but fleeing away."

"These owls being even now transforming into day-birds, and the lark

having once been an owl herself, both should have patience with each

other," replied her brother, laughing. "But though the hooting may be

borne for awhile, the tearing to pieces is hardly to be awaited in

patience. I have been growing more unpopular every day, my dear; I see

it in many faces, whenever I look beyond my own people. They like me, I

believe; but they will soon be threatened out of working for me. They

will also seize on this imputation, that I make use of them as a screen

for practices which take work out of the hands of their brethren. After

they have learned--only through my zeal overcoming their reluctance--to

rival us in the niceties of our art, they will drive us away as if we

had done them an injury."

"And yet you will not let me reproach them."

"If you must blame, blame the selfish monarchs, the temporising

ministers, the barbarous aristocracies, the vain-glorious generations of

the people that have passed away,--rather than the descendants on whom

they have entailed the consequences of their mutual follies. The spirit

of barbarism lingers about its mortal remains. Barbaric wars are hushed,

the dead having buried their dead;--Barbaric shows are fading in

splendour, and are as much mocked at as admired;--Barbaric usurpations

are being resisted and supplanted day by day; but the infatuation which

upheld them so long is not altogether dispelled; and if we rashly

suppose that it is, we deserve to suffer for coming within its reach. I

was wrong to settle among a people who invited us to a contraband trade,

were driven by their own vicissitudes to offer us, with much reluctance,

a lawful one; and now, through the hardness of their own terms, suspect

us wrongfully, and make a great crime of that which they themselves have

taught us."

"They seem to forget that we are on equal terms of obligation; that we

French take as much of the produce of their industry as they take of

ours."

"I shall urge this on our jealous neighbours, and will go as an equal to

a brother manufacturer for counsel," observed M. Gaubion. "Culver knows

little of me, but he holds many of my principles, and to him will I now

go. If he thinks this charge of importance, I will deal with it as he

advises; if not, I will strive to think so too."

Whether the charge was of importance was decided before Mr. Culver could

be appealed to. As M. Gaubion pursued his way through the streets,

hand-bills met his eye at every turn, in which was contained the

newspaper paragraph that had troubled him, accompanied by unfriendly

comments, and hints that the Treasury was well aware of the nature of

the Frenchman's establishment, and of the means by which it was

supported. He saw knots of people gathered round the windows where this

hand-bill was stuck up, and showing it to one another in the alleys. He

would fain have got possession of one to put into Culver's hands, but

did not choose to run the risk of being discovered by making the request

in a foreign accent. He could see nobody who appeared to be employed in

distributing them, or who had two copies. At length he passed a little

shop, where a boy was leaning over the counter, apparently spelling out

the contents of the bill, while another copy hung in the window. M.

Gaubion marched straight in, took the bill from the window, pointing to

the one on the counter, and walked out again, the boy crying after him--

"Stop, sir--stop; we can't spare it. You can get one by asking at

the----"

The rest was lost upon the escaped stranger, who walked on unobserved,

and meeting no one whom he knew till he arrived opposite Cooper's door.

At Cooper's door was a knife-grinder, grinding Mrs. Cooper's scissors as

she stood by, and making sparks at such a rate as to delight master

Ichabod, who stood, now holding by his mother's gown and winking, and

now clapping his hands in delight. As soon as Mrs. Cooper perceived M.

Gaubion at some distance on the other side of the street, she pulled her

gown from the child's grasp, ran in, and instantly returned, followed

presently by her husband, who pretended to be talking to the

knife-grinder, but was evidently watching the approach of the gentleman.

When M. Gaubion was near enough to be saluted, Cooper offered him a shy,

uncertain bow, but seemed very ready to speak when the gentleman crossed

over to ask him if he knew how long this hand-bill had been in

circulation.

"We were just wondering, sir, my wife and I, whether you had seen it. I

hope you don't mind it, sir; that is, I hope you have no reason to mind

it."

"Why, Cooper, you do not believe this bill?"

Cooper believed that many people did not think what mischief they were

about in smuggling. The Spitalfields men had reason enough to know this;

but it had been so long the custom to drive a profitable contraband

trade, without being thought the worse of, that if some people did it

still, it was no great wonder; though he must think it a sin and a

shame.

"But such is not my trade, Cooper; I have not smuggled a single piece."

"Well, it is very lucky if you can say so, sir, for there is nothing the

masters and men are so jealous of now. If you had profited by a

contraband trade, you would not have been the only person in the present

company that must take to something less profitable."

The gipsy knife-grinder looked up saucily, and jabbered a few words of

what might, by an acute discerner, be detected for French;--such French

as might be picked up by means of half an hour's talk with a Guernsey

person, four times a year.--On being asked how he relished the change

from making moonlight trips and fighting midnight battles to tinkering

and grinding among the abodes of men; he answered that if his profits

were smaller than they had been, they were better than he had expected

when he chose this neighbourhood for the scene of his operations. A few

years before, all the knives and scissors were at the pawnbroker's; it

did not signify whether pans and kettles were battered or whole, as

there was nothing to put into them; and there was little employment in

chair-mending, as the people sat on the floor, or ate their crust

standing. Now that there was smoke in almost every chimney, and that

little men,--nodding to Ichabod,--were allowed to pull rushen seats to

pieces, a gipsy's occupation was a better one than he had once known it.

"'Twould be a thousand pities you should have to change your trade,

sir," said Cooper; "and if, as you say, there is no truth in what is

said about the smuggling.... But are you sure you are right in coming

abroad this evening, sir? I don't like saying disagreeable things; but

that is better than leaving you, without warning, to suffer them. From

what I see and hear,--and my wife too,--I should be afraid you might be

roughly spoken to. 'Tis the best kindness to all parties to keep out of

sight when any are disposed to mischief.--Do I know how long this has

been brewing? Why, no. There has been whispering, to my knowledge, for

weeks; and it is four days since my child called us to see the boys

acting the Frenchman under the windows; and the grown-up folks said some

rough words then. But I, for one, never saw the bill till this day."

Cooper now spoke a few words to his wife, which seemed to dismay her

much. She pulled his arm, twitched his coat, and looked miserable while

he proceeded to say,

"If I might take the liberty of so offering, sir, I would propose to

step with you, wherever you are going. I would say 'behind' you, but

that it would not answer the purpose so well. I am pretty well known as

a sound English master's man, and----"

"Prejudice on every side!" exclaimed the Frenchman, in his heart. "This

man evidently believes the charge, or part of it, and he offers me his

protection, on the ground that he is known not to like me and my

doings!"

Cooper's courtesy was coolly declined, and M. Gaubion walked on to

ascertain elsewhere the origin of the calumny.

Mr. Culver recommended his keeping quiet, and, if there was no

foundation for the report, it would soon blow over. "_If_ there was no

foundation!" The same doubt appeared on every hand.

"Just tell me," asked Gaubion, "why I should drive a contraband trade,

when I might legally import, if I chose?"

"The duty is high enough still, sir, to induce smuggling in certain

favourable cases. I was an advocate for the trade being thrown open; and

being so, I am now for such a duty as shall put us on a par with your

countrymen. I think a duty of twelve or fifteen per cent. would do this,

and leave no temptation to cheat us out of our market. I should have

advised a higher duty some time ago; but smuggling is made easier now by

so much silk being brought in legally; and I think we should be better

protected by the lower duty than the higher."

"I see," observed the Frenchman, "that in this case, as in others, some

of those who are the very parties supposed to be protected are the most

willing to resign the protection. It is declared to be a difficult thing

to get a protection repealed; but the difficulty does not always rest

with the protected party."

"That entirely depends on the state of his affairs," replied Mr. Culver.

"If the protection leaves him his business in a flourishing

state,--which seldom happens for many years together,--or even permits

it to remain in a state which barely justifies its being carried on, he

may dread something worse happening by the removal of protecting duties;

but if, for a length of time, his trade declines, and the faster the

more government meddles with it, he will quickly learn, as I have

learned, to preach from the text, 'Protect the people's pockets, and we

shall have as fair a chance as we want.' The difficulty, sir, arises

from the number of interests mixed up in an arbitrary system like that

of protections. While people and money are wasted in spying, and

threatening, and punishing, when they ought to be producing, there will

be many an outcry against a change which would deprive them of their

office, though it would set them free for one much more profitable to

the people. Then again, if persons have been bribed to pay a new tax by

the promise of protection, it is difficult to oblige them to go on

paying the tax, and give up the bribe, unless they have a mind so to do.

They talk of injustice; and with some reason. The long and short of the

matter is, that once having got into an unnatural system, it costs a

world of pains and trouble to get out of it again."

"The only way is to go back to some plain clear principle, and keep it

in view while loosening the entanglements which have been twisted about

it."

"When do you find governments willing to do that?" asked Mr. Culver.

"In this case it would be very easy, there being one, and but one sure

test of the advantageousness of trade in any article of commerce;--the

profit that it yields. If a merchant finds it more profitable to sell

his goods abroad than at home, he will send them abroad, without the

help of the government. If the contrary, it is wasting just so much

money to tempt him to deal abroad. If less profit is made by

manufacturing silks in England than by getting them from abroad in

return for cottons, whatever is spent in supporting the silk manufacture

is so much pure loss."

"But you do not think that this is actually the case with our English

silk manufacture?"

"I do not; as I prove by becoming an English silk manufacturer myself.

For this very reason, I see that there is no need of the protection of

government. The interference of government is either hurtful or useless.

Foreign goods either are or are not cheaper than home-made goods. If

they are cheaper, it is an injury to the buyer to oblige him to purchase

at home. If they are not, there is no occasion to oblige him to purchase

at home. He will do so by choice."

"Aye; but the buyer is the last person considered in these arrangements.

It is hard to discover why, if the merchant can supply more cheaply than

the manufacturer, the customer should be taxed to uphold the

manufacturer. I have no wish that my customers should be so taxed; for I

know that instead of upholding me, they will leave me and buy elsewhere.

If they and I are left free to observe the true rule of interest,--to

buy in the cheapest market we can discover, and sell in the dearest, we

shall find our interests agree, be fast friends, and make commerce the

advantageous thing it was designed to be."

"That is, an indirect source of wealth to all. How can rulers help

seeing that as nothing is produced by commerce, as it is an indirect

source of wealth,--a mere exchange of equivalents of a lower value which

become equivalents of a higher value by the exchange,--the more direct

the exchange, the more valuable it is to both parties? If a portion of

the value is to be paid to a third party for deranging the terms of the

bargain, the briskness of exchanges will be impaired in proportion to

the diminution of their profit."

"And while my customers are prevented from buying in the cheapest

market, I am, by the same interference, hindered,--aye prohibited,

selling in the dearest. My customers complain that my silks are higher

priced than those of your country; but give me the means of a fair

competition with your countrymen, and I will engage to get a higher

price,--(that is, more commodities in exchange,)--in some parts of the

world than any duchess in London will give me. The price would be lower

to the buyer, but higher to me."

"I suppose the excuse for these protections in the beginning was that

the infant manufacture might not be hindered by the vast growth of the

same manufacture abroad. Your rulers expected that your art would be

sooner perfected if fostered."

"And has it proved so? Were we not, three years ago, far inferior to you

in the goodness of our fabrics? And if we are now overtaking you, is it

not owing to our protection being partly removed? Was not any immediate

improvement more than counterbalanced by the waste of establishing and

upholding an artificial system, of diverting capital from its natural

channels, and of feeding, or half feeding the miserable thousands who

were beggared and starving under the fluctuations which our impolicy had

caused?--The businesses which have been the most carefully

protected,--the West India trade, agriculture, and till lately, the silk

trade,--may have been very profitable for a short period, but they have

suffered more from fluctuations, have caused more national waste, and

more misery to whole classes of people than any that have been less

interfered with. The cotton trade is the one to which we owe the power

of sustaining our unequalled national burdens, subsistence for 1,400,000

of our population, and incalculable advantages of exchange with

countries in many latitudes; and the cotton manufacture has been left

unprotected from the very beginning."

"Your ribbon weavers of Coventry do not, however, appear disposed to

take care of themselves. How loud are their complaints of distress!"

"And the distress is real: but it belongs to the old system, and it

would have been not distress only, but annihilation, if the introduction

of the new system had been long delayed. Coventry once believed herself

destined to supply the whole world with ribbons. Then she made the sad

discovery that she must be content with the home market; and now that

this also fails, Coventry complains of the government, instead of

bestirring herself. While our cotton men have been bright and brisk,

depending on their own exertions, Coventry has been dull and lazy,

depending on the prohibitive system. One of her looms prepares five

times less ribbons, with an equal amount of manual labour, as your

improved French loom; and she is reasonable enough to expect that the

world shall buy her ribbons instead of those of her rivals, if our

government can but be brought to order the world so to do."

"Her manufacture would plainly have expired outright, if the government

had not set her free to improve."

"To be sure it would; and it is not overgracious in Coventry to take

this act of justice,--tardy though it be,--as an injury. Coventry and

old governments have been in the wrong together. Let the mischief that

results be made a lesson to all by referring it to its true cause; and

then there may be a chance of such an increase of prosperity as may

remove all disposition to recrimination."

"This is exactly what I have long wished to behold in my own country,"

observed the Frenchman. "Protection has done little less mischief there

than here; but unhappily this is a case in which countries are as

unwilling to take precedence as court ladies are to yield it. Each

country refuses to be first. All cry, 'We will wait till others repeal

their prohibitive systems;' as if every new channel of exchange opened

were not a good."

"And as if commerce consisted of arbitrary gifts, and not of an exchange

of equivalents," replied Culver. "It may be a vexation and disadvantage

to us, if you take no hardware and cottons from us; but that is no

reason why we should not provide ourselves with your claret and brandy;

as, if you cannot receive our hardware and cottons, you will take

something else. If you will take nothing of ours, you can sell us

nothing of yours, and the injury is as great to you as to us. But we

should punish ourselves unnecessarily, if we refused your brandies

because you refuse our scissors and knives. It is saying, 'Because we

cannot sell cottons, neither will we sell woollens.' It is being like

the cross child who sobs, ‘You won't let me have custard, so I won't

have any dinner at all.’ If governments will only, as I said before, let

the people's purses alone, other governments must necessarily do the

same. If your French government lets your people buy cottons in the

cheapest market,--that is, here,--our government cannot prevent our

getting our claret in exchange in the cheapest market,--that is, at

Bordeaux. A much more comfortable and profitable method to both parties

than doing without cotton and claret, or paying more for making them at

home than they are worth."

"How is it," M. Gaubion now inquired, "that holding the same doctrine

with myself as to the principle of trade at large, you can yet be

jealous of me because I am a foreigner? I use the word 'jealous' as not

too strong; for surely, Mr. Culver, your reception of me was but

half-amicable."

Mr. Culvers manner immediately cooled as he observed that there was much

room left yet for unfair dealing; much encouragement to underhand

schemes. He kept himself clear of accusing any man, while matters were

in doubt; particularly a gentleman with whom he had the honour of only a

slight acquaintance; but the duty was undeniably still high enough to

tempt to a contraband trade. It was unquestionable that smuggling was

still carried on, and, to however small an extent, still to the injury

of the home manufacturer; and he, being a home manufacturer, must wish

to have the offence brought home to the right person. No man could

desire more earnestly than he did that such an offence should be

precluded by good management; but, till it was so, all who hoped for his

friendship must clear themselves from the charge of taking his means of

subsistence from under him.

"But how am I to clear myself?" asked M. Gaubion. "This is what I came

to ask of you; and but now you advised me to keep quiet. I am not to

clear myself; but I am not to have your friendship till I have cleared

myself.--I must, I will clear myself, Mr. Culver; and you shall tell me

how. Will an oath do it?"

Mr. Culver drily replied that he required no oath.

"You! no. I would not offer my oath to a private individual who would

not take my word. It must be to some official person. Tell me, Mr.

Culver, will an oath do?"

Mr. Culver believed that oaths were such common things in commercial and

Custom-house affairs that they were not thought much of.

"True indeed!" exclaimed the Frenchman; "and alas for those who set up

oaths against the plain and acknowledged interests of nations, classes

and individuals! How shall the sin of tempting to perjury be wiped from

their souls? If my oath will not avail, to what species of proof shall I

resort?"

"To none, till there is a distinct charge brought against you, fortified

by particulars. It is your interest to keep quiet."

"I will not stay to receive this advice of yours a third time," replied

M. Gaubion. "I will go for advice to one who is not jealous of me; and

if such an one I cannot find, I will, stranger as I am, act without

counsel, without aid against my enemies. I may be compelled to return

whence I came, but I will not go till I have justified myself for my

country's sake."

He went out hastily, leaving Mr. Culver in no very pleasant mood, in the

conflict between his liberal principles and his petty personal

jealousies. He hummed a tune as he took up the obnoxious handbill,

whistled as he laid it down again, and ended with frowning because it

was a close evening, and flinging his pen into a corner because he made

a blot on beginning to write.

M. Gaubion found nothing in the streets as he pursued his way home to

make him desire Cooper's escort. They were remarkably quiet, and he

supposed that the weavers had resorted to their gardens for their

evening amusement, or had gone to rest in preparation for the early toil

of the next day. When he was within a few hundred yards of his own

house, however, a hum came upon his ear, like the murmur of a multitude

of voices at a distance. After listening for a moment, and satisfying

himself that the cries which mingled with the hum must proceed from some

unusual cause, he ran forward, trying to resist the persuasion that all

this must have some connexion with himself, and to decide that a fire

had probably broken out somewhere in his neighbourhood.

It was now dusk. A few lamps showed a flame uncongenial with the

prevailing light, and the lamp-lighter was seen, now flitting from post

to post with his ladder on his shoulder, and now pausing for an instant,

with his foot on the lowest rung, to listen. A lamp-lighter was a safe

person of whom to make inquiry, M. Gaubion thought;--one who had no

interest in commercial squabbles, and would not betray him on account of

his foreign speech. Of him, therefore, the Frenchman inquired what was

going on; but the man could offer only conjecture. He had not yet

lighted the lamps in that direction, and he did not think he should

carry his lantern much further till he knew whether they had not fire

enough and too much already. M. Gaubion passed on for better

satisfaction; and as he threaded his way among the loiterers, runners,

and gazers, who began to thicken as he proceeded, he longed for an

English tongue for one minute, that he might learn that which every one

else seemed now to know. He was glad to perceive a woman's head emerge

from a vault, and gaze slowly round, as if at a loss to account for the

bustle. He took his stand for a minute within hearing of the inquiry

which he hoped she would make.

"Why, I say there!" cried she presently, "is there a fire?"

The runner applied to shook his head, and passed on.

"You, there! Can you tell me what it is if it's not a fire?"

The boy snapped his fingers at her, and ran on.

"What, are ye all running after you don't know what? What is it, I say?"

"Come and see, if you can't ask civilly," growled an old man, making his

way on his two sticks as fast as he could.

"What care I what's the matter?" muttered the woman, turning to descend

once more into the vault.

"O, ask this person!" cried M. Gaubion. "He looks as if he could and

would tell us."

"Ask him yourself, can't ye, instead of watching and listening to what I

may say. If you have nothing better to do than that, you might go and

see for yourself, I think."

As he turned to go away, the lady condescended to make one more effort

to satisfy her curiosity.

"It is something about the Frenchman, I don't know exactly what," was

the reply. "Something about his having smuggled goods while he pretended

to weave them. They are looking for him, to give him three groans, or a

ride, or a ducking, or something of the sort."

"Perhaps they won't have to look very long if they come to the right

place," observed the woman, with an ill-natured laugh towards M.

Gaubion, who did not stay to hear more. When he arrived at the end of

his own street, his first impression was that all was quiet, and the

place empty; but a moment convinced him that the dark mass extending up

and down from his own house, which he had taken for shadow, was in

reality a crowd. The occasional movement of a woman with a white cap, or

an apron over her head, showed him what the picture really was; and this

was the only stir seen for awhile.

"O dear! sir, O sir, is it you? Let me advise you to turn back," said a

respectable body who stood at her shop-door, and instantly knew M.

Gaubion. "It is as much as your life is worth, sir, to go near. There!

here comes somebody out of the crowd, I declare! Bless you, sir, do take

care of yourself!" and she stepped backwards, and shut the door full in

the gentleman's face.

"You take good care of yourself, at least," thought the persecuted man

to himself. "You are afraid even to ask me to shelter myself with you

from this storm. But you need not have feared. I must first learn how my

sisters are."

This was done by boldly pushing through a crowded thoroughfare into the

back row, stepping over a paling or two, taking the liberty of crossing

two or three gardens, dispersing a few broods of chickens by the way,

climbing a wall, crawling along the roof of an outhouse, where the

pigeons wondered at the new companion who had come among them, and

finally taking a vigorous leap just by his own back-door. No hue and cry

disturbed these manœvres. There was less danger of this than there would

have been in the dead of night. All eyes were more securely absent than

if they had been closed in sleep, for they were occupied with what was

passing in front of the house.

"Mercy on us! here they come in from behind!" cried the terrified

kitchen damsels as their master burst open the back-door. "God save us!

it's my master himself, and he'll be murdered. O, sir, why did not you

stay away?"

"Fasten up that door," said the gentleman. "As one got in that way, more

might. Lock and bolt it.--Where is your mistress; and Miss Adèle, where

is she?"

"Upstairs, and towards the front, sir; and do you know, Mademoiselle has

been to the lower windows, behaving as brave as a general; so miserable

about you, sir, all the time. She went down to tell the people that you

were not here; but she has been in such a terror every moment, lest you

should come and thrust yourself into the midst of it. We have been

thinking of all ways to get somebody out to give you warning; but there

was nobody but us women. Mademoiselle wished to have gone herself; but,

besides that we could not think of such a thing, she was wanted to amuse

the people with observing her, as she says. So she keeps about the front

windows. We think some help will be here soon, to do away with their

idea of waylaying you; but my mistress is in mortal terror, though she

is above showing it to the wretches without."

"Well, tell her that I am safe in the house----"

"And upstairs, sir? You will go upstairs out of sight?"

"Willingly: into the loft, if it will make my sisters any easier. But do

not go as if you had a piece of news to tell her. Let it drop quietly,

that the people may not find out that she is hearing anything

particular."

The maid performed her office with some prudence, and brought back a

message that Mademoiselle dared not come to speak to him yet; but that

if he would go into the back attic, Adèle should visit him presently

with some refreshment.

With deep disgust at being compelled thus to skulk on his own premises,

the gentleman ascended to the top of the house, and venturing to take a

brush from his own chamber as he passed, was occupied in brushing his

coat when his younger sister appeared. She nearly let fall the tray she

was carrying, as she cried,

"They have had hold of you, after all, I do believe!"

"What! because I look a strange figure? No, my dear. This dust is from

the wall I had to get over, and these cobwebs from the top of the

outhouse."

"How horrid! But the first thing I am to tell you is----What are you

listening to? Yes, it is! It is a band. There are soldiers or somebody

coming at last. We thought they never would. We thought nobody would

help us.--Stay! where are you going? Into the front room? O, you must

not! Indeed, indeed you must not go there!" And Adèle hung her whole

weight upon her brother's arm, and screamed.

"Hush! hush! you silly child," he said. "One scream may do more harm

than anything I mean to venture. I will only peep from the corner of the

blind to see what is coming; that is all."

Adèle sobbed with terror as her brother performed the projected feat.

"Ah, there is some protection coming for us, I suppose, by the crowd

making way. And yet the people do not look frightened. Nobody moves off.

Music! what wretched music! It cannot possibly belong to a regiment. A

drum and two fifes. What is it that they are playing, Adèle?"

Adèle sobbed out that it was the "Dead March in Saul," she believed.

"Ah! so it is! Now, my dear, come here! Do look! It will make you laugh,

instead of crying. What is all this about, do you think?"

"What a ridiculous figure!" exclaimed Adèle, laughing. "How can grown-up

men play with such a thing?"

"It is meant for me. Do not you see?"

"But you do not wear powder, nor a long pigtail all down your back: and

you do not stick out your elbows in that ridiculous way."

"Some people think that all Frenchmen do so; and many in this

crowd--most of them, I believe--have never seen me. But you will

perceive presently how they would treat me, if they could get hold of

me."

M. Gaubion being more inclined to observe in deep silence what was going

on than to proffer any further explanations, left his sister to discover

for herself that there was a cord round the neck of the effigy, that the

piece of wood over its head was meant for a gibbet, and that a double

death was to be typified by its fate, preparations being already in

progress for a fire in the midst of the crowd.

There was scarcely wood enough collected to broil the effigy thoroughly,

and further contributions were speedily brought in from all quarters, as

soon as the want was made known. Men from the neighbourhood brought old

lumber which their wives had pointed out as being to be spared. Lads

brought pales and faggots, no one knew whence. The very children seemed

to catch the spirit, casting from their little hands such bits of paper

and of shavings as they could pick up. One poor little fellow, however,

was less patriotic than his companions. He cried bitterly at seeing his

wheelbarrow sacrificed, and pulled his merciless father's coat till a

box on the ear struck him dumb and tearless. It was true the barrow was

without a wheel, had lost a leg, and presented only one shaft; but still

it was his barrow, and had been used to the last for purposes much more

congenial to the child's tastes than roasting a Frenchman.--M. Gaubion

internally blessed this child,--not for an instant supposing that

anything but attachment to his barrow was the cause of his

resistance,--but loving him for being the only one unwilling to feed the

insulting fire.

"The very children," thought he, "that have smiled and nodded at me,

when I stepped out of the way of their marbles, and come confidently to

me when their kites have fallen over my wall, are at this moment taught

to mock and hate me, they know not why. That boy who is pinning the

effigy's name--Mounseer Go-be-hung--on its back, was taught to write by

my order. There goes my green wicket!--off its hinges, and into the

heap! The lads that pulled it down have often passed through it with my

work under their arms, and my money in their pockets.--O, you fiend of a

woman! Do you put shavings into your infant's hand, that it too may have

a share in the inhospitality of your country? May that infant live to

subsist upon my resources, and to make you thank heaven that the

Frenchman came among you!--Ah! you are all calling for fire. By heavens,

I believe you will get none! Yonder housewife shakes her head; and in

the next house they are raking out the fire. There is not a candle to be

seen through a window, the whole length of the street. Can it be that my

neighbours feel for me? Alas! here is a lighted slip of wood procured at

last! Bravo! good woman! brave woman! to empty your pot of beer upon it!

Who is that they have laid hands on there? The lamp-lighter; the same

that I spoke to. He should not have brought his lantern! They will take

it from him. Not they! dash it goes against the wall; and what a yell as

its fragments fly! I _have_ friends, I see; but they are of those who

have nothing to do with silk-weaving; of those who owe nothing to me,

instead of those whom I have benefited. Well; I will not blame the

people, but the discipline of jealousy in which they have been brought

up.--Here is fire at last! I will not seek to know who gave it. God

forgive him!"

It was enough to madden the most gentle who was interested in the case,

to see how the effigy was treated in the fire;--poked with pitch-forks,

made to dance upon the gibbet, to fold its hands, to turn its labelled

back, and nod to the ladies who were supposed to be peeping from some

corner of the windows. So searching a glance traversed the whole front

of the house from a thousand upturned and gleaming faces, that M.

Gaubion felt it necessary to withdraw, and forego the rest of the

irritating sight. He could not go out of hearing of his new

name,--Mounseer Go-be-hung,--shouted in the intervals between the groans

with which the flaming of the last tatters of the effigy was hailed; but

the presence of his sister made him calm. He could not agree in the

conviction of the housemaid, that he would be a prodigious favourite

with the people in a few days; like a master in whose family she had

once lived, who was burned in effigy one week, and the next, received

amidst the touching of hats wherever he went, the question about wages

between him and his men having been settled in the interval. M. Gaubion

did not stand so good a chance for popularity;--in the first place,

because he was a foreigner; and in the next, because whatever evils the

people were suffering from the speculation and overtrading of their

masters, could not be remedied so speedily as a dispute about wages

could be temporarily settled. As for dissociating foreigners in the

minds of the people, from their hardships,--that was likely to be as

much a work of time as the removal of the hardships themselves.

Before the crowd had quite ended their grim pastime, the expected

interruption happened. An alarm of the approach of the authorities

spread from a considerable distance, and all dispersed hither and

thither, leaving it to the winds to play with the smouldering embers,

and to the gazers from the surrounding windows to watch the last little

puffs of smoke, as they wandered into the upper air.--A thundering rap

brought down M. Gaubion, grave and stiff, followed by his sisters, grave

and pale, to open the door which the servants could not be induced to

unlock and unbar.

When everything had been ascertained from the inhabitants of the house

which could be told by the young ladies and the trembling, loquacious

servants (at length persuaded to look their protectors in the face,

instead of peeping at them over the banisters) about the circumstances

of the riot, and from their master about its supposed causes, the

magistrate departed, with the persons he brought with him, except one

constable who was left to guard the house, and a messenger who seemed to

come on other business.

He shortly explained his errand. Taking a newspaper from his pocket, he

pointed out that the Secretary of the Treasury, and the whole Board of

Customs, were charged with being cognizant of the fact of the

foreigner's smuggling transactions, and parties to his scheme for

ruining the trade of his neighbours. So grave a charge rendered it

necessary for his Majesty's government to sift the matter to the bottom,

and to ascertain the real state of the case with regard to the

Frenchman, as well as to prove their own innocence. It was possible that

irregularities on the part of a mercantile firm might have been connived

at by some of the inferior servants of the Customs Board; and though it

was far from being the intention of the Board to impute such

irregularities to M. Gaubion, it was desirable that he should, if

possible, put it in their power to acquit him wholly of the charge.

"Thankfully,--most thankfully will I do so," was his reply. "How shall

we commence the proceeding?"

"By your accompanying me with the least possible delay to the Treasury,

where your accusers will meet you."

"I am ready at this instant. Let us go.--But what kind of proof will be

required? Is it necessary to prepare my proofs, or will a clear head and

an honest heart suffice for my defence?"

The messenger had no orders but to bring the gentleman himself. It was

too late this evening; but he would wait upon him the next morning, to

guide him into the presence of his accusers.

This arrangement completely restored M. Gaubion's spirits. His sister

was somewhat fluttered by the idea of such an examination as he was to

undergo; but assented to its being the thing of all others now to be

desired. Adèle could not be talked out of the idea that her brother was

going to be tried, and that something very dreadful must happen. She

cried herself to sleep, to be awakened by visions of the effigy dancing

in the flames. Her brother lost even the oppressive sense of being the

object of popular hatred in his satisfaction at being allowed an

opportunity of justifying himself, and slept undisturbed by the ghosts

of the events of the bygone day.

CHAPTER VI.

INVESTIGATIONS.

While Mademoiselle was striving to employ herself diligently the next

morning, during her brother's absence, three quarters of her

acquaintance came to condole, or to enquire, or to use any pretence

which might enable them to satisfy their curiosity. Of the remaining

fourth part, some had the kindness to stay at home, and content

themselves with a message of enquiry how the family found themselves

after the alarm of the last evening; while others contented themselves

with remaining at home, and _not_ sending, dropping a hint at the

breakfast-table that it would be time enough to take notice of past

events when it should appear whether the Gaubions could clear

themselves, and what would be thought of them henceforward. Mr. Culver

left no orders, before he went out, as to what his young people were to

do; and when the question was proposed by themselves, there was a

difference of opinion. Nurse believed that foreigners were a bad set

altogether, and that it would be better to have nothing more to do with

any of them. Charlotte thought it would look rather odd to break off

intercourse so suddenly; and Lucy offered to vouch for poor Adèle's

having done nothing very bad about smuggling, however the case might

stand with her brother. The girls agreed that it might be a kindness to

take Adèle for the day; and even nurse was open to the argument that it

would be very pleasant to hear the whole story of the riot from the very

best authority. The debate ended in nurse and Lucy--Lucy as being

Adèle's special companion--setting off to bring her back with them;--an

object less easy of accomplishment than they had imagined.

Being sent for to speak to them in the hall, Adèle appeared, to urge

their proceeding to the dining-room.

"Every body is there," said she, "and you will hear all about it, if you

will come in. The room is almost full; but you know most of the people.

We never thought of so many coming at once, but it would not do not to

see them; it would make them think there is more the matter than there

really is; and I am sure they all mean to be very kind. Do come in."

In answer to the suggestion that they could hear every thing much more

comfortably from her in Devonshire-square, the little French girl

positively declined leaving home this day. She gave so many good reasons

for her resolve, that there was nothing for it but following her into

the parlour, if they wished to carry home any tidings.

"Such a pity, to be sure," Mrs. Piggins was saying, "when you had

painted and made all nice so lately. It is but a month, scarcely a

month, I think, Betsy, since I got a daub of green paint on my cloak

(all my own carelessness, ma'am; I'm sure I don't mean----) from your

green wicket, and now it is pulled down and burned to ashes! and the

smoke, I see, has blackened the cornice; so lately as it was painted! We

just looked up before we knocked at the door, to find whether the front

of the house seemed any-how different; and then Betsy pointed out to me

that the cornice was blackened."

"And so brutal it was of the people, Mademoiselle," observed Miss

Harvey, "to make you light the pile that was to burn your brother. I

wonder how you ever did it,--only that I suppose you could not help

yourself."

"O, that is quite a mistake," replied Mademoiselle, smiling. "They asked

us for fire, and we told them our fires were out; that was all."

"Well, to be sure!" cried Miss Harvey, looking at her sister, "we were

told that they dragged you among them, and made you set the bonfire

alight with a torch, and that you cried out loud, 'My hand but not my

heart consents.' So this is not true?"

Mademoiselle shook her head.

"Then it may not be true either--It is better to ask at once," said the

lady, in answer to her sister's wink and frown, "it may not be true

either that M. Gaubion was handcuffed when he was fetched away to the

Treasury."

"What is that?" asked Mademoiselle, whose ear did not happen to have

ever been met by the word 'handcuffed.'

By gesture, as well as explanation, the sense was made known to her; and

then her laugh had as much of indignation as of mirth in it.

"You might have supposed that was false without asking," said the

younger Miss Harvey to her sister. "As it was not true that M. Gaubion

had his right arm broken, and that Miss Adèle lay without hopes of

recovery----"

"I!" exclaimed Adèle; "they did nothing to me; they never thought about

me at all."

"So I find, my dear; but that is the way people will talk."

"Now, Mademoiselle," observed good, kind Mr. Belson, "if you are quite

sure that neither my wife nor I can do any thing for you, I had better

be going, instead of helping to fill your room when you cannot possibly

be much disposed for entertaining company. You are very right, my

dear,--quite right to open your doors, and let people see how little is

to be seen; but there is no need for me to trouble you any longer. When

you wish to see my wife, just send across to tell her so, and make any

use you like of me. Good morning, ladies."

More visitors came in, and Mademoiselle had again to begin the

ten-times-repeated tale.

"And which window was it you first looked out of, ma'am? The first

story, did you say? We were told the lower----"

"It is certainly a hackney-coach, Adèle," cried Mademoiselle, who had

started from her seat in the midst of that which was being said to her;

"it is a hackney-coach with two gentlemen in it."

And without ceremony the two young ladies ran out of the room, closing

the door behind them, and leaving their visitors to look wondering and

wise upon each other. Miss Harvey stepped to the window in time to see

the tenants of the coach alight, whispering to her sister that

Mademoiselle had not absolutely denied the story of the handcuffs, after

all.

Free in respect of the hands, however, and apparently light of heart,

the gentleman alighted, nodding to his sisters, but not entering the

house till his slow-paced companion was ready to precede him. The coach

was not discharged; the ladies did not at once re-enter the room; and

the second person was certainly not a gentleman; but it was impossible

to suppose that matters were going wrong, while M. Gaubion wore so

cheerful a face. Thus decided the observers in the dining-room.

"Is it all over?--all well over?" whispered Mademoiselle, on meeting her

brother.

"All brought to an issue which cannot fail," he replied. "They will have

my books; and my books are the best witnesses I could bring,--eloquent,

silent witnesses of my innocence."

"They do not believe you then?"

"The Board of Customs does, I am confident; but they cannot refuse to go

to the bottom of the matter, now they have begun, and it is very well

for me that it should be so; but I cannot stay now; I must not keep the

officer waiting----"

"The officer!"

"Yes; I asked for him. Do not look so frightened; I requested that he

might come with me, that I might not be suspected of leaving some of my

books behind, or destroying any papers. I did propose sending to you for

the books; but I thought you might, in your hurry, omit something."

"I am glad you came yourself."

"So am I, as it will satisfy you that the affair must end well. Now that

they have brought me to the proof, I am safe."

Mademoiselle could not deny this; yet the thought of an officer being on

the premises cast a shade over her face as she returned to her visitors.

One of the ladies proffered the consoling consideration that, if the

worst came to the worst, the punishment would be nothing in comparison

with what many gentlemen had undergone for treason, and such things. She

supposed a fine would be all; and it could not be very difficult for M.

Gaubion to pay a fine; and if there should be a short imprisonment

added----

"I thought I had explained, madam, that there is no danger of any kind

of punishment; there is not even a prosecution; and, if there were, my

brother has clear proof to bring forward of the falsehood of the charge.

My concern is only on account of its being imagined that he could be so

false, so treacherous, as to come and seem to rely on the hospitality of

a foreign nation, for the very purpose of injuring their trade. Let his

acquittal be as honourable as possible,--as honourable as it will

be,--still we can never forget that he has been suspected of this

despicable offence against the society he lives in."

As all was now known that could be known within the limits of a decent

visit, one after another of the visitors dropped away; those who

lingered in the street agreeing with those who overtook, that

Mademoiselle was a very sweet creature, certainly, and probably

perfectly delightful in her native society; but that she was rather

high-flown for this sober country.

Mademoiselle had need of all her high-flown thoughts to sustain her this

day. Her brother did not come home to dinner, nor appear at tea-time,

nor arrive before the last moment to which Adèle was permitted to sit

up, in hopes of his customary evening blessing. A little while before

midnight he returned, languid,--whether only in body, or likewise

depressed in spirits, his sister could not at first discover. He

solemnly assured her that all was going on well; that his books had been

minutely examined, and every transaction found to be regular, and every

statement correct. The declaration of the amount of his stock was found

to be consistent with the number of weavers whose English names stood in

his books; and the work declared to be now in their hands tallied with

the unfulfilled orders which were registered. Yet all was not over; it

remained to send round to the houses which were set down as the abodes

of his weavers, in order to discover whether those weavers really lived

there, and were actually employed on the work declared to be in their

looms. This was to be done to-morrow, and when it should have turned out

favourably for the foreigner, it was difficult to conceive of any

further pretence being found for doubting his word, or persecuting him

as an enemy.

Yet Mademoiselle was certain that her brother was dejected--that his

confidence was impaired; and she told him so. He admitted it, and

ascribed the change in his spirits to the alteration which had taken

place in the relative feelings of himself and his accusers. While it was

merely that he was not esteemed by them, his consciousness of innocence

was sufficient to bear him up. But he had, since morning, seen so much

jealousy, heard so much cavilling, witnessed such unwillingness to

relinquish each charge, and such extraordinary ingenuity in imagining

methods of fraud which might possibly have been put in practice by him,

that he felt he could no longer respect or esteem some among whom he had

hoped to live in amity.

It was very painful, he observed, not to be esteemed by them; but not to

be permitted to esteem them was an intolerable evil. He did not know

what he could do but go away, after all.

"Wait; be patient till the more liberal policy has had time to work,"

was his sister's advice. "If it be true that the former system made them

subtle and jealous, the latter and better system may restore to them the

attributes of that brotherhood which must some day prevail. If it is

already too late for them to be thus wrought upon, there is hope from

their children and successors. Let us remain to prove it."

"It is folly," he replied, "to expect that the blighting effects of a

prohibitive system can be removed from the heart and mind, any more than

from the fortunes, in the course of one generation, or of many

generations; but if we can aid the work of amelioration by staying, let

us stay, and convert into friends as many of our neighbours as we can."

The next morning was rather a warm one for the work which M. Gaubion had

to do. It is warm work on a freezing winter's day to have one's good

faith questioned, and to listen to cross-examinations conducted with the

express object of discovering discrepancies in one's statements, and

under the certainty that every mistake detected is to be accounted a

lie. When to this is added the climbing the stair-cases of Spitalfields,

in summer weather, the glare in the streets from long rows of burnished

lattices, and the trippings and slippings on cabbage-stalks and leaves

in the alleys, any degree of lassitude may be pardoned at the end of the

excursion. The Frenchman had to take heed to his steps in more ways than

one. He was careful not to dictate to the examiners in any way, and

never to precede them in their walks and their clambering. They had with

them a plan of Spitalfields, and he left it wholly to them to discover

the abodes entered in his books, and to satisfy themselves that the

persons named really dwelt there. He stood passive--(whether also

patient was best known to himself)--while a consultation was held in the

broiling sun whether they should turn this way or that, and how they

should discover the right number when there was no visible sign of it.

He followed up stairs merely to see that he had fair play, and then, for

the first and last time in his life, could not condescend to speak to

his own weavers.

Notwithstanding lungs, stomach, and head, Mrs. Ellis was still at work,

and still able, by brandishing her brush, to raise clouds as

instantaneously as Jupiter himself could cleave them with a motion of

his armed right hand. Her locket still shone, only somewhat more coppery

than before; and her hair was decidedly grown, its front ringlets now

tickling her chin as they danced in the breath of her loom.

"A beautiful piece of velvet, indeed, Mrs. Ellis! Your name is Ellis, I

think."

"Alas! yes, sir; and the worse for me that I ever knew the name; much

more took it. Such a life as I had with my husband----"

"Well, we did not come to hear about your husband, but about you. You

are a person of much more importance to us, Mrs. Ellis."

The lady came out of her loom to make a more extensive curtsey than the

space within its bench would allow.

"A beautiful figure that velvet has, to be sure. What house are you

weaving it for?"

"Mr. Corbyn's, sir. We all weave for Mr. Corbyn."

The examiners looked at one another, and one of them was disposed to

think she meant to say Culver, as there was no manufacturer of the name

of Corbyn in the neighbourhood.

"Do you mean Mr. Culver or M. Gaubion, good woman?" asked an impartial

examiner.

"Same's he they call Mounseer Go-be-hung," Tom called out from behind.

"What, this gentleman?" and they made way for the Frenchman to show

himself. At the sight of him, Tom reddened prodigiously, and poked over

his work as if his life depended on his weaving half a yard an hour.

"What are you ashamed of, all in a moment?" asked one of the visitors.

"I am afraid you had some hand in the riots the other night, like many

an idle boy. Come, tell me; do not you like to light a bonfire?"

"Indeed I can't say that my Tom is any thing better than a middling

boy," observed Mrs. Ellis. "Would you believe it, gentlemen, he left his

work a full quarter of an hour sooner than he had leave to do, the night

of the riot; and when he came home, the skin was off the palm of his

hand as clean as if it had been peeled, and he has never had the grace

to seem sorry for it."

"Indeed, I don't know who should be sorry for such a misfortune, if he

is not," observed a visitor, gravely. "Come, Tom, tell me how it

happened. You had been pulling down shutters, or pulling up palings, I

am afraid."

"I hadn't though," said Tom, attempting to set the treadles going, but

being instantly deprived by his mother of his shuttle.

"Then I doubt you helped to carry the gibbet, and hang the effigy?"

"I didn't though," answered Tom.

"Who hurt your hand so, then? It must have been somebody in a great

passion."

"No, 'twarnt; I got it done myself."

"Well, I wonder at your taste. I would always keep a whole skin, if I

could."

Tom pulled his forelock respectfully, and went on with his work, his

mother shaking her head, as if she thought his case desperate. Other

people's leaving off speaking to him was the signal for M. Gaubion to

begin.

"I think I saw you, Tom, the night of the riot." Tom looked up.

"Was it not you that cut the rope, and tried to drag the effigy away?"

Tom nodded.

"What did you do next? I was obliged to go from the window then."

"So you _war_ there! I jist crinkle-crankled myself up in the rope, so

that they couldn't burn you without me too."

"But they did not burn you, I hope?"

"Jist singed a bit; no more. This," pointing to his hand, "comed of a

great nail in the gibbet, that gived me a good hould as long as it

lasted."

"So you pulled it out."

"We split the gibbet's self 'mong us; and then 'twar all over with me,

and I comed home directly then."

"Why did not you stay to see the sight, when once you found you could

not help its going forward?"

"They put me in a rare passion, 'mong 'em; and I didn't want to see

nought of their sights."

"What were you in a passion about? What had you to do with it?"

To this question no answer was to be got, but instead thereof an

inquiry.

"For all they say, you won't think of going away for sich as they?

They'll come round, when they see you don't go off in a huff."

"And if I do go, you will easily get work, Tom. You weave well now, and

Mr. Culver and many others will have work to give you."

"No fear," Tom said; but he did not seem to wish M. Gaubion to go away

the more for that.

"Do ask her," said one of the visitors to the Frenchman,--"you know her

better than we do,--do ask her why, in times like these, she does not

live in more comfort. The wonder is that she lets these looms at all in

a room where a saucepan-full of cabbage-water stands in a corner, and

her peppermint-bottle on the sill, and not a window open."

M. Gaubion did not see that it was any business of his; but Tom

overheard the remark, and gave assurance that his mother had so little

appetite that she could not eat her breakfast without her little rasher

and greens; and that she was so subject to sinking of her inside, that

she was obliged to keep her peppermint-bottle beside her.

"And do you take any of it, boy?"

"Why, no, sir: my inside don't sink often till night; and then I go and

garden."

"That is better than taking peppermint, depend upon it. Mrs. Ellis, it

seems to me a pity that you should bring up both these young folks as

weavers. If you were to make this boy something else, there would be a

better chance for you all when bad times come; and meanwhile, you could

let his loom for half as much as he earns."

Objections sufficient to knock down half-a-dozen such proposals were

poured out on the instant, and re-urged so vehemently on the mention of

bad times, that it was plain the widow did not anticipate bad times, but

thought weaving the best occupation she could bring up her children to.

She ended by saying, that to be pretty sure of work, at Tom's age, under

such a master as M. Gaubion, was more than he could expect in any other

employment; and that if there was any change, she thought _she_ should

have the benefit of it. Heaven only knew what she had gone through, from

Tom's age till now--in her husband's time especially. She always

thought, in her youth, that her's was a hard lot, so much at the loom as

she was; but all that was nothing to the confinement afterwards. Her

husband was of a jealous temper, God forgive him! and kept at home and

within himself sadly; and he could not bear that her acquaintance should

be so much more general than his; so that she had more trouble than

enough if she moved three yards from her own door, to have a chat with a

neighbour. Since she lost him, poor man! (which would have been a great

relief but for her having such a family upon her hands,) she had had to

work for bread, and for any little comforts which her weak health made

necessary; and now, if anybody was to have rest, or any advantage, it

should be herself, and not Tom, who was but just----

"But would you apprentice yourself to a gardener, or to learn any new

business?" inquired M. Gaubion. "That was what I contemplated for Tom.

If he could weave like you,--if this velvet were his work,--I should not

propose the change."

The widow laughed at the idea of her boy weaving as well as herself, but

would not yet hear of any change. The examiners found that it was time

to make a change in the scene of their inquiries; and declaring

themselves satisfied that Mrs. Ellis was Mrs. Ellis, and that she lived

and wove as declared, they left poor Tom to throw his shuttle amidst

reveries of ranunculus, geranium, tulip, and hyacinth.

The names of Dickens and Rogers were down on the list; and it was

therefore necessary to go to Cooper's, where their looms stood.

There was not a more cheerful house in all Spitalfields than Cooper's.

Short had resumed his ancient song, and sat, with his grizzled hair

hanging about his round shoulders, cheerily weaving his fiftieth last

piece. Dickens and Rogers were no less busy, and, consequently, equally

amiable. No dispute ever arose within these four walls, but when the

comparative merits of the masters, English and French, were in question;

or when, by chance, any old-world custom was brought into contrast with

any new. On such occasions, Mrs. Cooper's good-humour presently charmed

away strife; and she contrived, ultimately, to persuade each disputant

to be content with his own opinion, as he was with his own species of

work. Let him who weaves gros-de-Naples feel himself enlightened in his

advocacy of what is modern; and let him who weaves velvet plume himself

on his fidelity to what is ancient. Such was her philosophy,

communicated in a timely smile, and a gentle word let drop here and

there. Ichabod was an admirable auxiliary in restoring peace when his

grown-up companions were ruffled. He could at any time be made to

imitate the loom's smack and tick, or to look into Rogers's pocket to

see what he could find there; or to stroke old Short's cheek, and rock

upon his shoulders, regardless of the dusty coat-collar; or to stick a

daisy into Dickens's button-hole; after any one of which feats he was

blessed, and winked at behind his back, as the rarest child that ever

was seen. If, on hot days, a pint of beer was wished for, Ichabod could

bring it without spilling, provided it was in a quart pot. Surrounded by

both arms, and tightly squeezed against his breast, it arrived safe,

Mrs. Cooper removing every stick and straw out of her child's path, that

he might get credit and confidence, instead of disgrace and a panic.

Cooper, meanwhile, worked away for his wife and boy, trusting to go on

to do so, notwithstanding any temporary mischief caused by the

speculations of throwsters, and when the discordant prophecies of those

about him should have issued in acquiescence in the lasting benefits of

an unrestricted commerce.

The examiners were even more tempted to forget their immediate object

here than at Mrs. Ellis's. One walked straight up to the clear, bright

window, to look out upon the patch of garden-ground behind; while the

other took notice of a curious foreign clock (once belonging to Cooper's

ancestors), which had been preserved as family property through all

chances and changes of fortune. It was true that now either of the

almost equally short hands might point as it happened, to six or twelve;

that the machine, like other machines, sometimes went to sleep at night,

and was now and then drowsy in the day; but the case was inlaid as

curiously as ever, and the chimes set all the lively children who might

be within hearing chiming, morning, noon, and night. Whatever might be

Ichabod's destined education in other respects, he was sure to know

enough of German text to read the name of the maker of this clock, and

sufficient geography to be able to tell whereabouts on the earth's

surface lay the Flemish town where it received its wondrous being.

"You should see my husband's other garden, out of doors, sir," said Mrs.

Cooper. "You seem to like this; but it is nothing to the one out of

doors. I do not mean for size, but for the beauty of the flowers."

"Ay," observed Short, "he pays ten shillings a year for it; and he does

not make half so much out of it as used to be made in my young days."

"I get health and wholesome amusement out of it; and that is enough when

one cannot get more. You see, gentlemen, ours is a bad occupation for

the health and the nerves. You may see a sort of scared look, they say,

that we weavers have, and bent backs, by the time we come to middle age;

and even my hands shake so sometimes, at the end of a long day's work,

that I should soon begin to feel myself growing old, if I did not turn

out to breathe a little, and occupy myself in something pleasant. It is

well worth while making a little less money than one might do, and to

keep one's health."

"Certainly; if you are lucky enough to be able to afford it."

"Why, sir, our people here do mostly contrive to afford some fancy or

another; either a garden like mine, or birds, or flute-playing, or

drawing. Drawing for the most part requires a steadier hand than a

weaver has; but we hear many a flute far and near in the summer

evenings. There are few fancies that may not be found here and there

among us: though there are not many men that, having but one child and a

managing wife, are so free to afford them as I am."

"The way to afford them is to make them pay," observed old Short. "Folks

understood that matter in my time. A root that Cooper here sells for

eighteen-pence, used to bring five guineas. Those were the times to grow

flowers in."

"I had rather see a hundred roots of any beautiful tulip in a hundred

gardens," observed M. Gaubion, "that a hundred owners might enjoy its

beauty, than have the single root from which the hundred sprang, even

though it might make me envied by all my neighbours, and moreover be

worth five or fifty guineas."

"So had I, sir," said Cooper: "for the same reason that I had rather see

any useful or pretty article of manufacture growing cheap, and spreading

over the world, than have it remain scarce, that I and a few others

might have the sale of it to ourselves. My flowers answer their purpose

better in giving pleasure to me and mine, than in being wondered at and

snatched up for their rarity; and it is the same with things that are

wrought by the hand of man. They must be scarce at the beginning; but

that scarcity is a necessary fault, not a virtue, as far as their

usefulness is concerned. But, as to making them more scarce than they

need be, I would not be the man that had to answer for it!"

"Then you deserve the due and true reward of the liberal,--to have

plenty while giving others plenty. I see you work for one master, and

these neighbours of yours for another. You seem all to be busy enough."

"Yes, sir. Thank God! M. Gaubion has had enough for his people to do;

and we,--that is, I,"--nodding with a significant smile towards

Short,--"cannot but improve by seeing what is all the same as French

work going on under one's eyes. Our fabrics, sir, are quite another

thing already to what they were three years ago."

There was indeed a manifest difference between Short's piece (which

might be taken as a specimen of what the English fabric had been five

years before) and Cooper's, whose work was little, if at all, inferior

to that which M. Gaubion's trained men were achieving with his improved

apparatus.--That gentleman took no part while the comparison was being

made; and when looked for, as his companions were about to leave the

room, was found in a corner with Ichabod, cooking dinner in the kitchen

of a baby-house which was the little lad's favourite toy. Twice had the

jack been wound up, nine times had the goose revolved, and again and

again had the lady inhabitant been brought down from her toilet to the

kitchen fire, and led from the kitchen to her jointed table, before

Ichabod would leave hold of M. Gaubion's right-hand cuff, and allow him

to go about other business than his gallant cookery.

"Your little son has his fancy as well as you," the gentleman observed

with a smile. "Though far from the age of being worn and weary, Ichabod

has his fancy;--the first fancy, I hope, of many."

"It is as much Mr. Short's fancy as Ichabod's, or more," replied Mrs.

Cooper. "Mr. Short has been good enough to make the greater part of this

toy with his own hands. These little chairs are cut with his own knife;

and the looking-glass,--do look, sir, how nicely so small a bit of glass

is framed,--this looking-glass is of his making; and so little time as

he has now too!"

Short let his shuttle rest while he watched complacently how the grave

men of business gathered round his baby-house, to admire one and another

of its toys. He did not hear Cooper whisper that Mr. Short seemed to

have more time now for the child than when he used to sit over the fire

all day, moping because he had nothing to do. Now, it was a regular

thing, on a Sunday morning, for the old man to take Ichabod on his knee,

and turn over the big bible, that was brought down out of the cupboard,

looking at the pictures, and at Short's great-grandfather's handwriting.

And there was scarcely an evening that he was not about one little

kind-hearted job or another, while the child was asleep, little thinking

what treats were preparing for him.

"Well! long may we all be able to afford to keep a fancy!" said one of

the visitors. "That is, if the fancy is of a better kind than that of

accusing this gentleman here, because he is a foreigner, of practices

which it is clear to me he never dreamed of."

All present joined in the wish, and Rogers and Dickens desired no more

than to be as free from care, if they lived to old age, as Short was

now. He was sure, from his claim of long service, of work from a good

master, as long as any work was to be had; and there was little doubt of

this whenever the consequences of the first disorder, inevitable on the

occasion of a change of system, should be surmounted, and speculation

subside into its natural channels. This would soon happen now, and Short

need not, they hoped, say any more that he had woven his last piece,

till he should find his hand refuse to throw the shuttle, or his feet

grow stiff upon the treadles.

M. Gaubion had a bow from the entire audience as he left the room, Short

himself being propitiated by his act of winding up the jack.

Others of the gentleman's foes were not so easily won. He very simply

supposed, and led his sisters to suppose, that all was well over when

the haunts of his weavers had been examined, and his statements found

correct. No such thing. Some one was wise enough to discern that this

entire method of examination and verification might be a concerted

plot;--concerted between the Treasury and the Frenchman.

What was to be done next?

Some proof must be afforded that M. Gaubion had no French goods in his

possession.

"A proof easily afforded," replied he. "Go to my warehouse; turn over

every piece of silk it contains; and with the first article of foreign

manufacture which you can thence produce, I will restore to you my

esteem, and forfeit yours."

One, and another, and another, declined the commission, on the plea of

want of confidence in their own judgment and experience; though it was

scarcely three years since any notable little girl of ten years old

could tell a French from an English silk by a mere glance or touch. This

new-born modesty was not allowed to be an obstacle to the experiment. M.

Gaubion requested that the most acute detector of foreign fabrics on the

Customs establishment should precede him to his warehouse, and try what

could be found there. As it was impossible to devise a more searching

trial of the foreigner's good faith than he had himself proposed, his

plan was agreed upon.

Day after day, the inquiry was prosecuted; and M. Gaubion allowed the

free range of his warehouse to all the parties concerned, except

himself. He began to fancy, naturally enough, that he had mistaken his

way on leaving home, and got set down in some country where the

Inquisition still thrives, commerce being its subject instead of

religion; silks its object instead of creeds; the fabrics of human hands

instead of those of human heads. He could very confidently identify the

working spirit.

He opposed an invincible patience to the workings of this spirit; and

read with a calm eye the Report of the Custom House agent that

thirty-seven pieces had been selected from among many hundred as

undoubtedly French; and stood by with an unmoved countenance to witness

their seizure; and followed with a steady step to the depôt, albeit

greeted with insults at every turn, in the neighbourhood where he was

known. Unassisted even by his own clerks, that no room might be afforded

for a further charge of collusion, he made out from the books to which

access was granted on his petition, a list of the weavers of these

thirty-seven pieces; issued summonses to them, and went home to await

the appearance of those who had to travel from Macclesfield to swear to

their own work. His sisters had no more bitter jokes about handcuffs to

amuse him with: but it was pretty evident to them, (though their

neighbours were not so plain-spoken to the ladies as to their servants,)

that it was thought not to look well that the matter was so long in

hand; and that that which had been declared so easy of proof should be

so tardily acknowledged. Mademoiselle was also quite of the opinion that

all this did not look well. For whom it looked ill was another question.

CHAPTER VII.

PROSPECTIVE BROTHERHOOD.

When the Macclesfield weavers arrived to swear to their handiwork, it

was remarked with some surprise that they did not appear to bear the

same similitude to their Spitalfields' brethren as one race of weavers

usually bears to another. Several of them measured more than five feet

five; and though some were pale and thin, they did not show the peculiar

conformation of shoulders and of face which marks the weaving son and

grandson of a weaver. The simple reason of this was, that most of these

men had but lately taken to the craft; only in consequence of the

magnificent promises held out, and the large speculations entered into,

on the determination of parliament to repeal the restrictions of former

years. When many thousands of apprentices were advertised for, and a

multitude of new hands quarrelled for by ambitious capitalists, the

temptation was great to quit employments which were poorly paid, for the

sake of the wages which the masters vied with each other in offering. It

happened, of course, that many, both of masters and men, were

disappointed. The inundation of smuggled silks, caused by the

prohibition of pieces of a certain length, prepared for the opened

market, was a serious misfortune to the masters; and the immediate

extension of sale, in consequence of the greatness of the supply, did

not equal their expectations. As their stocks accumulated, some of their

men were compelled to betake themselves to other occupations, or to wait

for a clearance of the market, complaining, meanwhile, the foolish of

the new measures by which a competition was established with the French,

the wise of the miscalculations by which the good effects of the new

measures had been for a time obscured. M. Gaubion's men alone had no

cause for lamentation. The superiority of his goods ensured his

immediate prosperity on his settling in England; and of his many

workmen, none went back disappointed to an inferior kind of labour, or

sat listless, waiting for better times.

These men had something cheerful to say even of those of their brethren

whose hopes had been disappointed as to the silk manufacture. It

happened "luckily," as they said,--"of course," as M. Gaubion and Mr.

Culver agreed,--that there was an increased demand for labour in some

other businesses, in exact proportion as French silks sold in our

markets. This was natural enough, as the French must have something in

return for their goods; and they would of course take those articles

which we can produce better than they. It was not the less a happy

thing, however, for the poor man, because it was a matter of course,

that if one of his sons had to wait for the clearing of the silk market,

another who was a cutler, and a third who was a cotton spinner, were in

a state of increased prosperity. The fact was, that the distress of the

weavers had been greater in 1816 than at any time since, while it was

occasioned by causes much more likely to be lasting in their operation,

and was in no degree compensated by increased briskness in other

departments of British manufacture. The sum and substance of the news

from Macclesfield was that some scores of slightly-built cottages were

certainly tumbling into ruins, but that many dozens were inhabited which

had not been in existence five years before;--that there had undoubtedly

been a transference of some hundreds of apprentices from the various

branches of the silk manufacture to other departments of labour, but

that a much greater number had been added to the silk throwing and

weaving population;-and that, if many were still waiting for employment,

they were not so many by half as those who had been taken on by other

classes of masters.

It could not be otherwise, an officer of the Customs declared, as the

imports of raw and thrown silk were already nearly double what they had

been in the busiest year under the old system, and as our exports of

manufactured silks had increased 300 per cent. since the trade had been

thrown open.

"You left your own country just at the right time, sir," observed

another officer to M. Gaubion. "The French exports have been

declining,--not so fast as ours have risen,--but enough to show that the

English need not fear competition with their foreign neighbours."

"But who could have guessed," asked the first, "how amazingly the

manufacture would improve in this short time? The heavier sort of

fabrics have improved more in three years than in any quarter of a

century before. As to gauzes, and ribbons, and other light kinds of

goods, the French still surpass us there, and will do so, probably, for

a long time to come; but in the substantial and more important fabrics

of our looms, we can undersell our neighbours in many countries abroad."

"For which we are partly indebted to this gentleman, whom some of you

have taken upon you to persecute," observed a plain-spoken Macclesfield

man. "Poor man as I am, I had rather be myself, working under him, than

them that have been working against him. And how it came into their

heads to suspect him is more than I can guess. Come, gentlemen, I am

ready to swear to my piece. That's the piece I wove: I can swear to it,

by certain marks, as confidently as my wife could to our eldest by the

mole on his arm."

One of the Customs officers could give an account of one circumstance

which had aggravated the suspicions against M. Gaubion. A

mysterious-looking package had arrived at the Custom-house, addressed to

Mademoiselle, and declared to contain a mummy for her museum. This

package had been detained for some time, on pretence of its being

difficult to assign the duties on an article which it did not appear had

been in the contemplation of the framers of the Customs regulations at

the period of their origin. A mummy could scarcely be specified as raw

produce; and if considered as a manufactured article, it would be

difficult to find a parallel by which to judge of the rate of duty for

which it was liable. Under this pretence, the package had been detained;

but there were suspicions that it enclosed some other stuffing than the

linen swathing-bands of Egyptian production, and it was reserved for

examination, in case of the whole train of evidence against the

gentleman miscarrying. The more it was examined, the more the package

looked as if it must conceal prohibited goods in some of its recesses;

but the proof was kept for a grand explosion, as the catastrophe of poor

M. Gaubion's trials. The gentlemen of the Custom-house had begun now to

think that there might be possibly no more dishonesty in this package

than in those of M. Gaubion's proceedings which had been already

investigated; and the box had therefore been opened and examined this

morning, when they found the mummy, the whole mummy, (which was well for

Mademoiselle's museum,) and nothing but the mummy, (which was equally

well on her brother's account.)

Nothing now remained but to verify the authorship of the thirty-seven

pieces. Three men swore to two each as their own; and every one of the

others was claimed by a maker. These thirty-seven pieces of

unquestionable French goods were all woven in Macclesfield and

Spitalfields!

Culver examined the men, and the marks they pointed out, and did not

glance towards the Frenchman while the investigation was going on. Just

so was it with the persevering accusers of the stranger. The difference

between them and Mr. Culver was, that neither did they look in M.

Gaubion's face finally, but slunk away, after the wont of false

accusers; while Mr. Culver went up to the acquitted to say--

"I never gave worse advice, sir, than when I recommended you to keep

quiet, and let matters take their course. Innocent as you are proved to

have been all this time, I hope you would have disregarded my advice, if

our riotous neighbours had not compelled you to throw it behind you. I

thought I was giving you the most friendly counsel, sir; for, to say the

truth, I thought,--without having a bad opinion of you, either,--that

you had most probably been involved as these gentlemen said you were."

"Without having a bad opinion of me! How could that be?"

"Why, sir, when one considers how long our prohibitive laws have been

evaded by all classes of people in turn,--so that the bad were not held

to be the worse for such practices, and they were considered no stain

upon the good,--it seemed natural enough that, if your interest tempted

you particularly, you should continue the contraband trade when other

people were thinking to have done with it."

"In declaring that I might violate public loyalty and private faith in

one set of circumstances, without being a bad man," said M. Gaubion, "it

seems to me that you pass the severest of censures on the power which

framed those circumstances."

"I have no objection, sir, to having my words considered in that light.

The business of governments is to guard the freedom of commerce, and not

to interfere with it. If they choose to show partiality, and to meddle

with affairs which they cannot properly control, they become answerable

for the sin of disobedience which is sure to arise, and for all the

mischiefs that follow in its train. If, moreover, governments take up

any wrong notion,--such as that which has caused us a world of

woe,--that the benefits of commerce arise from what is exported rather

than from what is imported,--if such a notion is taken up, and

obstinately acted upon, long after the bulk of the people know better,

the ruling powers are responsible for all the consequences that visit

themselves and the subjects whom they have afflicted, either by

commercial misfortunes or by legal punishments."

"Then you consider your ancient governments (less liberal and

enlightened than the present) answerable alike for my guilt, if I had

smuggled, and for my troubles under the suspicion of having smuggled?"

"Just so; and for more within my little circle of observation than I

should like to have to bear my share of."

"For the late prosperity of Breme and his brother,--prosperity of which

the neighbours were jealous because it arose from amidst the destitution

of a host of native weavers?"

"I could soon bring myself to bear the thought of that, seeing that

Breme is more prosperous still, now that there is not destitution among

his neighbours. The Brighton concern may have gone down in some degree;

but the London one has flourished in greater proportion. I could much

sooner forgive myself for Breme's former prosperity, let it come whence

it might, than for breaking the heart of a fine fellow,--a friend of

Breme's,--on the coast. I mention him because he is a specimen of a

large class who were induced by the temptations of a flourishing

contraband trade to quit their proper business, and set their hearts

upon a cast which must disappoint them, sooner or later. Poor Pim was

made for as hale and cheerful an old age as man need have: but he and

his neighbours flourished too much under a bad system, and now they

flourish too little under a better; and there sits the poor man, grey

before his time, moping and moaning by his fireside, while his daughter,

who should have gone on to be the best of housekeepers to a father she

looked up to, is now striving to keep the house in another sense, and

toiling in vain to preserve the appearances on which their scanty bread

depends. Pim would never have been tempted to be anything but what he

was fit for, if he had not unhappily fallen under an artificial system.

Poor fellow! I hoped there had been comfort in store for him in the

shape of a companion to gossip with. Our poor nurse----"

"My ancient enemy," observed M. Gaubion, smiling. "I fear she will

hardly be glad to hear the news of me that you will carry home. To your

daughters, at least, I trust it will be welcome."

"There is little intelligence that will be welcome to them to-day, even

though it concerns yourself. They are mourning their old friend, who

died this morning."

"What, nurse! I shall be more grieved than ever that I caused her so

much pain as I believe I did, by making myself, as far I could, an

Englishman. But I could not help it. She left us no message of peace, I

fear."

"Not exactly a message, for she left no messages except one for my son,

and one for Rebecca Pim; but I heard her speaking more pleasantly of

your family yesterday than I should have expected. She kept her own

opinions to the last; but she seemed to grow tired of the enmities which

sprang from them. She felt kindly towards everybody latterly, as far as

I know, except Mrs. Mudge's nurse-maid. Why, I can tell you no more of

Mrs. Mudge's nurse-maid (nor could poor nurse herself, I fancy) than

that she wears, and has for some time worn, a silk gown. It was this

which occasioned the message to my son; viz. that, as our firm is now

prospering, she hoped we might do very well without tempting people to

wear silks who never wore them before; and that, dying, she could not

countenance what she had been so little used to, even if it was to

benefit her master's trade and family. The message to Rebecca Pim

related to those of Rebecca's neighbours who had been kind to nurse's

poor son."

"Ah! I remember your daughters told my sisters that sad story. Can we be

of any service to your family? Shall I send Adèle, or----"

"My dear sir! why do you stand here, letting me talk about a hundred

things, while your ladies are in suspense about your affair? I

deserve----"

"Not so. I have sent to relieve them, and shall now follow. Tell me if I

can serve you."

"Yes, if you can make your sisters forgive the part I have acted towards

you. For those who have done worse, I will offer no defence."

"None is needed beyond that which is before our eyes in the struggles of

an expiring system of monopoly. But a few days ago, I thought I could

hardly forgive my opponents; but now I am disposed to wait and see the

effects of a natural co-operation of interests. Let your Coopers have

hearts open for 'fancies,' and a purse wherewith to indulge them;--let

your old friend Short leave an unfinished piece upon his loom when his

hour shall come;--let your daughters purchase French or English dresses

as they list;--let our neighbours and ourselves be free to sell where we

find customers most eager to buy;--let the government trust us to

prosper after our own manner,--and there will be no antipathies mixed up

with our bargains; no loss of time and temper in suspiciously watching

one another's proceedings; no mutual injury in apprehension, any more

than in reality."

"Do you really expect to see the day when all will go so smoothly with

us?"

"That the day will fully come I believe, because I already see the dawn.

But a few hours ago it seemed to me all clouded, and I fretfully

declared I would not abide the uncertainty."

"And now? You cannot now think of leaving us,--to our everlasting shame?

You will allow us to repair our disgrace?"

“We will repent our mutual offences;--I my precipitancy, and you your

misapprehension. Yes; I will stay, and in our brotherhood as individuals

discern the future brotherhood of our respective nations.”

_Summary of Principles illustrated in this and the preceding Volume._

The countries of the world differ in their facilities for producing the

comforts and luxuries of life.

The inhabitants of the world agree in wanting or desiring all the

comforts and luxuries which the world produces.

These wants and desires can be in no degree gratified but by means of

mutual exchanges. They can be fully satisfied only by means of

absolutely universal and free exchanges.

By universal and free exchange,--that is, by each person being permitted

to exchange what he wants least for what he wants most,--an absolutely

perfect system of economy of resources is established; the whole world

being included in the arrangement.

The present want of agreement in the whole world to adopt this system

does not invalidate its principle when applied to a single nation. It

must ever be the interest of a nation to exchange what it wants little

at home for what it wants more from abroad. If denied what it wants

most, it will be wise to take what is next best; and so on, as long as

anything is left which is produced better abroad than at home.

In the above case, the blame of the deprivation rests with the

prohibiting power; but the suffering affects both the trading

nations,--the one being prevented getting what it wants most--the other

being prevented parting with what it wants least.

As the general interest of each nation requires that there should be

perfect liberty in the exchange of commodities, any restriction on such

liberty, for the sake of benefiting any particular class or classes, is

a sacrifice of a larger interest to a smaller,--that is, a sin in

government.

This sin is committed when,--

First,--Any protection is granted powerful enough to tempt to evasion,

producing disloyalty, fraud, and jealousy: when,

Secondly,--Capital is unproductively consumed in the maintenance of an

apparatus of restriction: when,

Thirdly,--Capital is unproductively bestowed in enabling those who

produce at home dearer than foreigners to sell abroad as cheap as

foreigners,--that is, in bounties on exportation: and when,

Fourthly,--Capital is diverted from its natural course to be employed in

producing at home that which is expensive and inferior, instead of in

preparing that which will purchase the same article cheap and superior

abroad,--that is, when restrictions are imposed on importation.

But though the general interest is sacrificed, no particular interest is

permanently benefited, by special protections; since

Restrictive regulations in favour of the few are violated, when such

violation is the interest of the many; and

Every diminution of the consumer's fund causes a loss of custom to the

producer. Again,

The absence of competition and deprivation of custom combine to make his

article inferior and dear; which inferiority and dearness cause his

trade still further to decline.

Such are the evils which attend the protection of a class of producers

who cannot compete with foreign producers of the same article.

If home producers can compete with foreign producers, they need no

protection, as, _cæteris paribus_, buying at hand is preferable to

buying at a distance.

Free competition cannot fail to benefit all parties:--

Consumers, by securing the greatest practicable improvement and

cheapness of the article;

Producers, by the consequent perpetual extension of demand;--and

Society at large, by determining capital to its natural channels.

----------------------------

W. CLOWES, Stamford-street.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Transcriber’s Note

The word 'visitor', though more common, is spelled in several places as

'visiter'. Both are retained.

Words hyphenated on line or page breaks have the hyphen removed if the

preponderance of other occurrences are unhyphenated. Those words

occurring midline are retained regardless of other occurences.

(summer-house/summerhouse, sea-side/seaside, fire-side/fireside,

silk-worm/silkworms, hand-bill/handbill, ill-natured/illnatured,

house-wife/housewife, back-ground/background). On some occasions, a word

spans a line break, but the hyphen itself has gone missing. These

fragments are joined appropriately without further notice here.

Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected,

and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the

original. Given the independent pagination of the original, these are

divided by volume.

Messrs. Vanderput and Snoek.

7.5 Have you any of your pain to[ /-]day? Replaced.

96.22 of no little import[t]ance. Removed.

108.23 [“]and Gertrude knows that I do; Added.

The Loom and the Lugger.--PART I.

62.4 to the lady----[”] Removed.

122.29 got into a corner[.] Restored

122.30 (Pim’[s] own son) Restored.

The Loom and the Lugger.--PART II.

4.33 cried the house-wife from the window[,] Added.

12.29 but he would [r]ather not hear him Restored.

15.1 wondering in h[i]mself. Inserted.

94.32 so I won't have any dinner at all.[”/’] Replaced.

109.17 the alarm of the last[e / e]vening Transposed.

142.31 brotherhood of our respective nations.[”] Added.