tion, financial embarrassment, sudden changes in the accustomed course of commerce, are all recognized causes and symptoms of the decline of nations. Of none of these do we find a trace in the present condition of England. On the contrary, never, perhaps, was there a period when national prosperity, judged of by these historical tests, stood higher. England stands without dispute, the first naval and commercial power in the world. It would be easy to accumulate facts; but it is not necessary for our present purpose, which is simply to show that the country exhibits, as yet, no decided symptoms of declining wealth, and that whatever may be the evils which afflict society, the want of a sufficient capital to set industry in motion, and to sustain the national burdens, is certainly not among them. Where, then, is the cause of this wide-spread distress?
If neither the political circumstances, the financial conditions, now considered with reference only to the amount of wealth—the economical state of the country, shew any indications of decay and danger, how is it that so many serious men shake their heads with gloomy apprehensions, and at times feel tempted to doubt whether the amount of evil in the present social condition of England does not preponderate over the good. It is in the condition of the laboring classes that the danger lies.
Amidst the intoxication of wealth and progress, and the dreams of a millennium of material prosperity to be realized by the inventions of science, the discoveries of political economy, and the unrestricted application of man's energy and intelligence to outward objects, society has been startled by a discovery of the fearful fact, that as wealth increases, poverty and crime increase in a faster ratio, and that in almost exact proportion to the advance of one portion of society in opulence, intelligence, and civilization, has been the retrogression of
