A circle of a few hundred yards only in diameter, of which the centre
should be the Duke of Wellington's statue in front of the Royal
Exchange, London, would enclose within its magic girdle a far greater
amount of real, absolute power, than was ever wielded by the most
magnificent conqueror of ancient or modern times. There can be no
doubt of this; for is it not the mighty heart of the all but
omnipotent money force of the world, whose aid withheld, invincible
armies become suddenly paralysed, and the most gallant fleets that
ever floated can neither brave the battle nor the breeze? And this
stupendous power, say moralists, has neither a god, a country, nor a
conscience! To-day, upon security, it will furnish arms and means to
men struggling to rescue their country from oppression, themselves
from servitude and chains--to-morrow, upon the assurance of a good
dividend, it will pay the wages of the soldiery who have successfully
desolated that country, and exterminated or enslaved its defenders.
Trite, if sad commonplaces these, to which the world listens, if at
all, with impatient indifference. I have not a very strong faith in
the soundness of the commercial evangel upon this subject; still, the
very last task I should set myself would be a sermon denunciative of
mammon-worship--mammon-love--mammon-influence--and so on; and this
for two quite sufficient reasons--one, that I have myself, I
blushingly confess, a very strong partiality for notes of the
governor and company of the Bank of England and sovereigns of full
weight and fineness; the other, that the very best and fiercest
discourse I ever heard fulminated against the debasing love of gold,
especially characteristic, it is said, of these degenerate days, was
delivered by a gentleman who, having lived some seventy useful and
eloquent years at the rate of about three hundred a year or
thereabout, was found to have died worth upwards of L.60,000, all
secured by mortgages bearing 7 per cent interest on the Brazilian
slave-estates of a relative by marriage. But as an illustration of
power--and power under any form of development has a singular
fascination for most minds--I have thought it may not be
uninteresting to glance briefly at a few of the more salient features
of the metropolitan mammoth markets.
Standing, then, by the statue of the Iron Duke, we have the Royal
Exchange directly in front, Princes Street and the Poultry
immediately behind, Lombard Street and Cornhill on the right,
Threadneedle Street and Lothbury on the left hand. What an Aladin
glitter seems to dance upon the paper as the names of these
remarkable localities are jotted down, containing as they do so
large a number of world-famous banking and commercial establishments
whose operations and influence are limited only by the boundaries of
civilisation! Let us look closely at one or two of the chief
potentates, principalities, and powers which are there enthroned.
The Royal Exchange, it is well known, owes its origin to the public
spirit of Sir Thomas Gresham, who, close upon three centuries ago,
built the first Exchange upon the spot now before us. It was
destroyed by fire in 1666; the next more costly erection met the
same fate in 1838, and has been replaced by the present very
handsome edifice. On the entablature is Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth,
who inaugurated Sir Richard Gresham's structure--the centre figure
of a number of others emblematic of the all-embracing commerce of
this country, and surmounted by the words: 'The earth is the Lord's,
and the fulness thereof.' If you ascend the steps of the Royal
Exchange, and pass into the body of the building, you will find a
considerable number of business-looking, sleek, earnest men there,
eagerly engaged in canvassing the general affairs of the world, and
more especially their own particular ventures, hopes, anticipations,
investments therein. If you are an artist, or indeed at all
impressionable in matters of taste, you will, I fear, be painfully
affected by a marble figure near the centre of the hall, which many
persons assert to be a statue of the Queen of these realms--a
calumny which I, as a loyal subject, feel bound most emphatically to
deny. But the chief interest attached to this building is that it is
here the celebrated association known as 'Lloyd's' has its
offices--that Lloyd's, whose name is familiar as a household word in
every country the sea touches, and who underwrite the maritime
ventures of every commercial nation of the globe. Very marvellous
has been the rapid development of this gigantic institution, from
the small beginnings of a few persons meeting in a coffee-house,
till now, when it may be said well-nigh to monopolise the
maritime-assurance business of the world. Not even America has been
able to set up a rival to it at all worthy of the name; and hundreds
of the long-voyage vessels of the States, as well as of all European
powers, are insured here. There is, to be sure, a continental
association that has borrowed its name without leave, and dubbed
itself the 'Austrian Lloyd's'--a designation which forcibly reminds
one of the remark of Coleridge when told that Kotzebue assumed to be
the German Shakspeare: 'Quite so,' replied the author of the
_Ancient Mariner_, 'a very German Shakspeare indeed.' The
correspondence of the true Lloyd's is of course immense--enormous:
their agents are everywhere; and so admirably regulated does the
vast machine appear to be that litigation between owners and
underwriters is almost unknown. This is doubtless one of the causes
of the prodigious success of the institution.
There is little more to notice in the Royal Exchange, except that
the interior decorations are very tastefully executed; and therefore
turn we now to this leviathan Bank of England--to the long,
irregular, and by no means imposing line of building on our left.
This is William Cobbett's Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, whose
rickety constitution and failing powers--according to that bold and
blundering financier--betokened almost immediate dissolution more
than a quarter of a century ago. Other men, less dominated by
unreasoning prejudice than the author of the 'Political Register,'
deceived themselves into the same notion; and it is very possible
that there are even now persons who hold the faith as it was in
Cobbett--just as we are told in one of Mr Disraeli's novels, that
the Greek mythology is still the creed of a fragment of humanity
existing somewhere in the mountains of Syria. At all events, since
the late Sir Robert Peel placed it beyond the power of the governor
and company to indulge in dangerous or erratic courses, it is
abundantly manifest that to doubt of the perfect stability of the
Bank of England is tantamount to questioning the infallibility of
arithmetic. In the vaults and coffers of this huge establishment
there is at present--as we learn from the published weekly-returns,
a device of Sir Robert's--the bewildering amount of between
L.14,000,000 and L.15,000,000 sterling in gold and silver!--a sum of
which the figures glide smoothly and glibly enough off the pen or
tongue, but a mass of treasure, nevertheless, that few persons can
realise to themselves a distinct and accurate conception of. And
yet--and what an idea does the fact present of the multitudinous
resources, the unrivalled industry, the latent power of this
country!--all that heap of precious metals, all that is besides in
circulation, with the addition of the bank-note currency, is
comparatively nothing when weighed against the true and real
exchangeable wealth of Great Britain; wealth of which this coined
and convertible paper-money is merely the standard sign of value,
the recognised medium by which all things are bartered. It is easy
to give one or two significant and startling illustrations of this
fact--significant and startling in other respects than in enabling
us to see pretty clearly through the currency-cobwebs industriously
woven from time to time amongst us. All the money in the three
kingdoms, the whole circulating medium of the realm--gold, silver,
copper, paper--does not certainly exceed, if it reaches, which is
very doubtful, the national revenue for one year, to say nothing of
local rates and burdens! And it would, moreover, require all the
money circulating in Great Britain and Ireland, including notes to
the last farthing, to pay for the spirits, beer, and tobacco
consumed annually by the people of the United Kingdom! The
note-issues of the Bank of England are about L.19,000,000; its
reserve in gold and silver, as we have seen, is upwards of
L.14,000,000 sterling: these amounts added together would no more
than about discharge the alcohol and weed score of the country for
little more than seven months! Lightning-flashes these, that throw
vivid gleams over the industrial activity, resources, powers,
plague-spots of this mighty, restless, enterprising, but far from
sufficiently instructed or disciplined British people.
But let us enter the great money-temple. Very imposing to me has
always appeared the army of clerks seated in saturnine silence at
the desks, or gliding with grave celerity about the place, and
variously employed in balancing enormous accounts, shovelling up
heaps of sovereigns, receiving and distributing bank-paper of vast
value as coolly and unconcernedly as if engaged in counting out so
many chestnuts. A strange feeling must, I suspect, perturb the mind
of a newly-appointed clerk amidst all that astounding wealth, until
the genius of the place has so moulded his thoughts and perceptions,
that he has come to regard himself as but one of the dumb and dead
parts of a mighty machine, over whose action he has no more control
than he has over the courses of the stars. All these issue, cheque,
gold, bullion departments, with their numerous busy officials, are
in truth but the husk and body of the establishment. They by whose
will and breath it is animated and directed are nowhere at this hour
to be seen. They met on this as on every other morning in their hall
of inquisition--the Bank parlour--and decided there, without appeal,
without reasons assigned, in the absence of the parties whose
commercial reputation was trembling in the balance, upon the course
of financial action to be pursued, and upon whose paper should or
should not be discounted. A terrible stroke, sharper than a dagger
could inflict, politely, blandly as it is performed, is that which
falls upon a merchant for the first time informed that the Bank must
decline to discount his bills! The announcement is usually received
as smilingly as it is made. 'It is a matter of very slight
consequence, _etcetera_;' but if you had been near enough, you might
have noticed, as the clerk did, the quiver of the lip beneath that
sickly smile, and that the face was as white as the rejected paper
the merchant's trembling fingers were replacing in his pocket-book.
And no wonder that he should be thus agitated, for the refusal has,
he well knew, thrust him down the first steps of the steep and
slippery descent, at the bottom of which lies bankruptcy--ruin! But
these are ordinary downfalls, by the wrecks of which the busy haunts
of commercial enterprise are paved; and we have other places to look
in at. Before leaving the Bank, however, let us step a few paces to
the left of the chief entrance. Now who would believe that in the
very midst of this Mammon-temple, where space is of incalculable
value, a large plot of greensward should have been jealously
preserved, from which spring two fine elms, that from out the heat
and turmoil of the place lift up their fresh leaves to the
sky--bright, waving leaves, that as often as the sun kisses them,
laugh out in sparkling triumph over the heated, anxious, jaded
toilers and schemers below? Yet so it is.
Again in Threadneedle Street, and turning to the left, we reach, at
the termination of the Bank-front, Bartholomew Lane, famous for
nothing that I am aware of, save Capel Court, situate at about the
centre, on the right-hand side. At the end of Capel Court is the
Stock-Exchange, within whose sacred precincts subscribers only, and
their clerks, may enter--a regulation strictly enforced by the
liveried guardian at the door. But you can hear enough of the
stentorian gabble going on within where we now are. Hark! 'A
thousand pounds' consols at 96-3/4-96-1/2.' 'Take 'em at 96-1/4,' is
the vociferous reply of a buyer. 'Mexican at 27-1/2-27; Portuguese
fours at 32-7/8-32-1/2; Spanish fives at 21; Dutch two-and-halfs at
50-1/2-50-1/4:' and so roars on the distracting Babel till the hour
for closing strikes. Much of this business is no doubt
legitimate--the _bonâ fide_ sale and purchase of stock by the
brokers, for which they charge their clients the very moderate
commission of 2s. 6d. per L.100. The ruinous gambling of the
Stock-Exchange is another matter, and is chiefly carried on by
'time' bargains--a sham-business, managed in this way:--A nominally
buys of B L.100,000 worth of stock in consols, to be delivered at a
fixed price, say 96, on the next settling-day. It is plain that if
the market-price of consols shall have fallen, by the day named, to
94, B wins L.2000--the difference between L.100,000 estimated at 96
and 94 per cent. A must pay these L.2000, or, which amounts to the
same thing, receive from B consols to the amount of L.100,000 at 96,
that in reality are procurable at 94. It is simply and entirely a
gambling _bet_ upon what the price of funds will be on the next
settling-day. These transactions have been pronounced fraudulent by
the superior courts, and liabilities so contracted cannot be legally
recovered. It is, for all that, quite certain that these 'debts of
honour' entail misery, ruin, often death, on the madmen who
habitually peril everything upon the turn of the Stock-Exchange
dice--dice loaded, too, by every fraudulent device that the
ingenuity of the two parties engaged in the struggle can discover or
invent. To the 'Bears,' who speculate for a fall, national calamity
is a God-send. Especially a failure of the harvest, or a great
military disaster like that which befell the Cabool expedition, is
an almost priceless blessing--a cause of jubilant thanksgiving and
joy. The 'Bulls,' on the other hand, whose gains depend upon a rise
in the funds, are ever brimful of boasts, and paint all things
_couleur de rose_. If the facts bear out the assertions of these
bands of _speculators_--we prefer a mild term--why so much the
better for the facts; but if not, sham-facts will answer the
purpose, and to manufacture _them_ 'is as easy as lying.' It is a
remarkable fact, by the way, that out of the multitude of British
fundholders there are not more than about 25,000 persons who are
liable from that source to the income-tax--that is, who receive
dividends to the amount of L.150 and upwards annually. The most
numerous class of the national creditors eleven years ago--and there
has, we believe, been no later return--were those whose annual
dividends did not exceed L.50. These numbered 98,946: the next
largest class, 85,069, were creditors whose yearly dividends did not
exceed L.5; whilst only 192 persons were in the receipt of annual
dividends exceeding L.2000.
But leaving these haunts of money-dealers, let us pass over to
Leadenhall Street, turn down Billiter Street, and walk on till we
reach Mark Lane and the plain, spacious, substantial, Doric-fronted
building on the left hand, in which the great London Corn Market is
held every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday--the chief market, however,
being that of Monday. There are no clamorous shoutings here. These
crowds of staid, well-dressed, respectable people fly no kites, deal
in no flimsy paper-schemes and shares. Their commerce is in corn,
flour, seeds--the sustenance of man, in short. There are sober
traders in realities, and the busy hum of voices has a smack of
healthy traffic in it. It would so appear at all events, if we care
not to look beneath the surface; and, in sooth, since the abolition
of the sliding-scale has rendered the corn-supply continuous and
regular as other staples, gambling to any ruinous extent has become
almost impossible.
There is another great change apparent here; albeit this has been a
very gradual one. A stranger will have remarked with surprise that
there are but few, very few, of the knee-breeched, top-booted,
double-chinned, jolly, old-class farmers amongst the numerous groups
who are either watching their sample-bags and waiting for customers,
or chewing and smelling handfuls of wheat and barley, and casting
what they do not swallow on the flags, already carpeted with grain.
Still in addition to a strong sprinkling of 'Friends,' there are, he
perceives, a goodly number of stalwart, handsomely-dressed
individuals, many of them wearing kid gloves, and carrying silk
umbrellas neatly ensconced in oil-skin cases. There is a group, one
of whom has just refused 45s. per quarter for a sample of prime
white wheat. If we approach nearer to them, we shall perhaps
discover their quality. As I guessed! These gentlemen are distressed
agriculturists, who prefer selling their own corn to sending it to
any of the numerous highly-respectable salesmen who occupy the
offices round the two markets. There are scores here of these
well-attired, healthy-faced, hearty-looking, stout-limbed, but
distressed individuals present, with not one of whom I should have
the slightest objection to dine to-day, or on any other day, for
that matter. But we must beware of rash judgments. Appearances are
often deceitful, and we know, besides, from high authority, that
grief is apt to puff up and swell a man sadly at times.
There is no possibility, an eminent salesman informed us, of making
even a proximate guess at the quantity of business done; neither, it
appears, is there any reliance to be placed upon the amount of
'arrivals' as given, either in the newspapers, or in the private
circulars issued weekly to the trade. Corn, in this market, is
usually sold at a month's credit, with discount for cash. The buyer
secures a sample of his purchase in a small canvas bag, and the
seller is of course bound to deliver the quantity agreed for at the
same weight and quality. There is one patent fact highly creditable
to our British cultivators, which I gather from a trade-circular
dated September 29, 1851, and this is, that foreign grains, wheats
especially, do not command anything like such prices as the English
varieties. The highest price of English white wheat is set down at
45s. per quarter; all foreign wheat is marked considerably lower:
Russian is quoted at from 31s. to 33s.; whilst Egyptian and Turkish
are marked from 24s. to 26s. per quarter; and fine American flour is
quoted at a price considerably under 'English Households.' These are
not signs of decrepit or faint-hearted farming.
Being so near, we may as well look in for a few moments at the New
Coal Exchange opposite Billingsgate Market; a sightly, circular
building, of rich interior decoration, that will well repay a visit.
It is one of our newest 'lions,' and is certainly a very significant
sign and monument of the enormous and swiftly-increasing commercial
activity of the country. On the tesselated wooden floor--with the
anchor in the centre, an emblem not long to be appropriate to such a
place, as we shall presently see--thousands of tons of coal are
disposed of with marvellous rapidity; the days of sale being the
same as those of the Mark-Lane Market.
There was a coal-tax, popularly known as the Richmond duty, which
was levied for many years, for the benefit of one family, but was
abolished some time ago. Its origin, and the especial circumstance
which, gossip saith, more immediately led to its infliction, are not
a little curious, perhaps instructive. The first Duke of Richmond of
the present line was a son of Charles II. by Louise René de
Pennevant de Querouaille, a French lady, better known to us as the
Duchess of Portsmouth, to whom Otway dedicated his 'Venice
Preserved' in such adulatory terms. This son, when only nine years
of age, was created a Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter;
and his mother, with the proverbial taste of her country, arranged a
more graceful mode of wearing the blue ribbon, which, as we see in
old portraits, was till then worn round the neck of the knight, with
the George pendent from it. The duchess presented her son to the
king with the ribbon thrown gracefully over his left shoulder, and
the George pendent on the right side. His majesty was delighted,
embraced his son, commanded that the insignia of the order should
always be so worn, presented the youthful knight with 1s. per ton,
Newcastle measure, upon all coals shipped in the Tyne for
consumption in England, and secured the munificent parental gift by
patent to the young duke and his heirs for ever. _Hôni soit qui mal
y pense._
After the fortunate family had enjoyed this revenue for about a
century and a quarter, the then Duke of Richmond, a personage said
to be wise in his generation, negotiated the sale of his patent with
the government; and on the 19th of August 1799 the Lords of the
Treasury agreed that the sum of L.499,833, 11s. 6d., the price of a
perpetual annuity of L.19,000, should be paid for the surrender of
the duke's right. This enormous sum was accordingly actually
disbursed by the Exchequer in two payments, and the obnoxious impost
on the Tyne coal-trade was abolished some thirty years
afterwards--by which time the Treasury had been repaid much more
than it had advanced, a circumstance inducing a belief that his
Grace sold his inheritance much too cheaply. The estimate of the
quantity of coals consumed in the United Kingdom, and exported
during the last year, reaches the staggering amount of 50,000,000 of
tons--a tremendous advance, which proves, if nothing else, that if,
as some will have it, we are an 'old' country, the capacity for hard
work as well as power of consumption increases marvellously with
age. At anyrate the three great business localities I have partially
indicated are stupendous facts, the full significance of which will
be fully comprehended by all and every one who may choose to compare
these slight outline sketches with the great originals.