LETTER VII.
MR. GLADSTONE—MR. COBDEN—THE IRON-CLAD 'MERRIMAC'—EMIGRATION OF WOMEN—POVERTY AMONG THE PEOPLE.
DURING the Parliamentary recess the spirit of domestic politics seems to have fairly died out; Mr. Cobden's pamphlet, "The Three Panics," is about the only ripple on the dull quiet sea. Mr. Gladstone's appearance in Lancashire may be regarded more as a personal than a political ovation. The high spotless character of the Chancellor of the Exchequer raises him above most others in the estimation of the English public—from the Throne to the cottage; and the mercantile and manufacturing classes are justly proud of him, and never lose an opportunity of doing him honour. This was seen with grand effect lately in the House of Commons, when Mr. Disraeli imprudently raised the question of political morality between himself and the accomplished Finance minister, and the deep-wounding retorts of Mr. Gladstone lighted up the independent seats with electrical cheering. It seemed as if the idea of comparison between the two could not be borne.
Mr. Cobden's letter on the law of blockade will have a deeper effect than his pamphlet; and it is impossible to deny that his positions in the one case are much sounder than in the other, while his conclusions are much more lucidly and forcibly reasoned out We may safely infer that Mr. Cobden's arguments have given a blow to the present state of the law, which followed up, as all such clearly-directed blows ever are, from other quarters, will have its effect in some early modification of that barbarous practice of war.
The "duel," as it is called, between the two steel-coated ships in America has given a new turn to the war feeling of England. The frightful destruction—equally frightful in its extent and rapidity—which the Merrimac made so long as she had to do only with "wooden walls," and the certainty, now made terribly clear by an actual engagement, that one of these floating iron monsters can sweep a whole wooden fleet from the sea, has caused a sudden and decided change in all the costlier war preparations. Parliament has unanimously resolved for the speedy building of iron ships, for the steel casing of our wooden frigates, and for the substitution of floating iron castles for fortifications on shore One is fairly stunned by the inventions for destroying human life, and the horrifying results of civilization which every morning brings forth Grim geniuses meet one on every side, clamouring for the adoption of their steam rams, and cannon-balls a ton weight, which are to smash everything to eternal ruin, and sweep men away in multitudes. What will become of Fort Denison, or Pinchgut[1]—which do you call it?—in such blazing times as these!
I mentioned in a former letter something of what is being done by a few benevolent ladies in England to better the condition of the respectable class of poor struggling women. They seem to be coming to the conclusion that emigration is the only way to afford effectual help, and their advisers among influential men and members of the press point in the same direction. British Columbia is the favourite colony at this moment, though Queensland and New South Wales are talked of. The Bishop of Oxford, the Rev. Charles Kingsley, and others, are aiding in this interesting work.
You people of Sidney may form some notion of the pressure on these poor young women from the fact that more than 3000 applied to be engaged as waitresses in the refreshment department of the International Exhibition, all producing high testimonials.
The English winter and spring have been singularly mild, which was very fortunate for the thousands who in different parts of the country are suffering destitution little short of death. Little hard pinching weather has been felt, but an unusual quantity of rain has fallen, and there have been some mischievous late frosts, which in many places have destroyed all the wall-fruits and done other injury to the gardens. I travelled through a great part of England the latter end of last month: from Reading to Oxford much of the land on both sides of the Great Western line was flooded, and Oxford itself looked like a city in the midst of a sea; again, from Tamworth to Burton, in many places the farm-houses were surrounded by water, rendering access to them a work of no little difficulty; and all the low lands along the Trent were in the same predicament The banks of the Severn in many places were overflowed. The young wheat, however, in all directions looks remarkably promising, and I imagine little harm has been done by the wet season, except engendering low fevers in the hovels of the indigent
In the hovels of the indigent poor, O, what a soul-sickening world is there! "The misery of the English poor," at this moment, is no hollow cry raised by a morbid humanity. It meets you in palpable shape at every turn, grinding stout earnest men and comely women in the dust. Pass through Lancashire—you see crowds of men with hunger as plain as winter daylight in every countenance—and often poor pallid creatures tottering under the rapid ravages of consumption—the ghastly messenger of relief which comes from want and a damp dwelling. You have a fearful sense of desolation as you gaze on those enormous factories, with their wildernesses of machinery, all silent as the grave. Ten thousand hands in Manchester wholly thrown out of employment Wigan and Blackburn still more destitute! And yet these sufferers patiently enduring to the death, without a sign of riot, almost without an audible murmur! The power of endurance and the courage on the battle-field seem to me nothing to this. Nor is Lancashire the only district where extreme suffering is to be seen, the ruin fast engulfing the masters as well as the men. Coventry and the neighbouring towns are struggling against an equal load of distress. These latter towns are, however, struggling with a marvellous resolution. Worn out with waiting for a return of prosperity in their staple trade, but still with hope and patience unexhausted, men are striving to introduce new manufactures. The ribbon loom is employed on novel and ingenious woollen fabrics, elastic band manufactories have been opened, and two large cotton mills have been built But the period of adversity has not only starved the operative out of their once comfortable homes, but it has absolutely ruined one-half of the employers of three years ago. I lately passed through Coventry, and I collected some statistics from a gentleman than whom few have a better knowledge of the city. During the last three years real property has been depreciated fifty per cent, and I was told that it is utterly impossible to collect more than one-third nominal rents. At the same time, the owners of property have never done with the tax-collector. The following is a list of the local burdens:—
| s. | d. | |
| Annual poor rate. 5s. in the £ | 5 | 0 |
| District rate, 2s. in the £ | 2 | 0 |
| Watch rate, 6d. in the £ | 0 | 6 |
| Water rate, 6d. in the £ | 0 | 6 |
| Borough rate, l½d. in the £ | 0 | 1½ |
| Church rate, 7d. in the £ | 0 | 7 |
Then come the Imperial taxes:—
| Property tax, 9d. in the £ | 0 | 9 |
| House tax, 1s. in the £ | 1 | 0 |
| 10 | 5½ |
I have not put down the assessed taxes which are levied on horses, dogs, male servants, carriages, armorial bearings, hair powder, and almost every tangible luxury of the rich. But, irrespective of the assessed taxes, and possibly some other burdens I have missed, it will be seen by the above list that the inhabitants of Coventry who have property are now paying 10s., 5½d. in the £ in the shape of taxes.
At Nuneaton an over-stout gentleman farmer stepped into the railway carriage in which I was travelling. An acquaintance in the carriage, after shaking him by the hand, good-humouredly remarked that he was not getting any thinner. "No," said the farmer; "I have just paid £115 for poor rates; if that is not enough to make a man fat, I don't know what is I" Think of a state of things like this, good grumbling Australians, and bless yourselves that you are in a land where labour is, of all things, the thing most valuable.
Let writers and talkers say what they will of the improved condition of the English people, these pictures of blank ruin and despair are to be found all over the kingdom. Three hundred and fifty miles from Coventry I was waiting for a railway train in the valley of the Leven, when I got into conversation with a Scotch labourer. He told me that he and his wife had lived for months past on 4d. to 6d. a day. I asked him what they lived upon, and the reply was, "meal and sour milk." Did he get no meat, I asked him; "not a bit of meat had passed his lips for more than a month." In the valley of the Leven there are some extensive cotton-printing works. There was a strange unnatural sorrow in this old man's piteous complaints that his daughters had got married. He said he had three girls, who were married and settled in Glasgow. "When the lasses were at home," he continued, "they earned fine wages at the printing fields; they were a great comfort; but there is little chance for the old people when the lasses get married." What the old man said led me to make inquiries of other people, as I had more than two hours to wait for the train; and I found that this was not a solitary case of hard pinching poverty in that neighbourhood.
I do not know of anything of special interest to Sydney people I can never make out what becomes of Australian notabilities in England; it is difficult even to hear of them. I suppose they will all be at the Exhibition, but then that will be the very place for them to be utterly lost,
London, April 21, 1862.
- ↑ A small island fortification in Port Jackson.