and that in terror he had uttered the cry heard by the Doctor, although unhurt by the discharge. Uttering a dreadful scream, as though he had received a mortal wound, the watchman fell back, and Young Watson, though almost within his grasp, again escaped.

This event happened in a narrow passage, at the far end of Highgate. Young Watson-freed from the grasp of the watchman with his companion Thistlewood ran forward, climbed over a paling into a garden, and, favoured by the darkness of the night, lay concealed. When the tumult and bustle had in some degree subsided, they clambered into a neighbouring field, and proceeded westward towards Hampstead. It was very dark; and, utterly at a loss which way to bend their steps, they wandered about until they found a footpath leading to a lane crossing Lord Mansfield's estate. Here they lay down under a hedge, for a short time, not knowing where they were; and, while thus ensconced, heard the voices of several persons, evidently in search of them, and who cautioned each other as to "their having firearms."

After some little time they came from their hiding-place, and again wandered about the fields, with the intent of returning to London, and so learn tidings of the Doctor, about whom they were most uneasy. At length, growing weary, they stretched themselves upon some hurdles, and slept soundly.

At daybreak they were awoke by a carter smacking his whip, as he passed along the road with his team. Proceeding onwards, Thistlewood said he knew a woman of the name of Hunt (who had formerly been servant to his wife's mother, and whose husband was a journeyman carpenter), residing in East-street, Manchester-square. To these poor people Thistlewood proposed to go, with Young Watson, to obtain refreshments, and to consult upon future measures. With this determination they walked down the lane through Caen Wood to Hampstead, and so on over Primrose-hill into the Edgeware-road.

They here met a working-man, who stopped, seemed to take notice of them, and smiled; but whether at their dirty condition, or through recollecting them in connection with the previous day, they did not know. They passed on, and reached Hunt's residence in safety, where for the present we will leave them.

H. HOLL.

THE PLACE OF THE FINE ARTS IN THE NATURAL SYSTEM OF SOCIETY.

"WE live in an artificial state of society," is a common assertion, though the boundaries between it and the natural state are not defined nor illustrated. In common language, Nature and Civilisation are opposed to each other-the latter being regarded as an exotic, a forced growth of political skill, a magnificent product of art, in no wise governed by the same natural laws as the original brute condition of mankind, nor formed by the same creative hand which placed the race originally on the earth. Like the locomotive or the ship, civilisation is said to be a contrivance of an individual or a succession of individuals-of some gifted, wise, and foreseeing legislators, who established rules for conduct leading to improvement, and constituted it the duty of a governing class to enforce them on the observance of the vulgar multitude. Reflection suggests a doubt of the accuracy of this theory. The instant our attention is directed to the subject, we perceive that the sexes always preserve their distinguishing characteristics. They are physically and morally different now as at the beginning, and their union is at all times the basis of the whole society. One leading fact, then-one great natural law-lies equally at the foundation of society in its earliest and its most advanced stages. Is the whole vast and complicated, beautiful and various, superstructure of modern society the spontaneous growth of the same great fact, or the artificial contrivance of a succession of lawgivers?

That certain aspiring men have continually attempted to model society, must at once be admitted; that they succeeded in restraining and modifying its exuberant form, and have checked its growth, must also be granted; but that they are therefore the authors of civilisation is no more true, than that the man who fells, and lops, and squares the lofty oak makes the timber of the forest. That they have interposed between Nature and individuals a great barrier of legislation, expressly to ward off the natural consequences of action, and generate the belief that they are the guardians and protectors of mankind, is abundantly

obvious; but through and behind this barrier the forbidden communication always practically takes place, and it guards neither individuals nor society from the consequences of the natural laws which established diversity of sex. Nature every

day loudly and plainly answers the querist that the barrier, for the end proposed, is the most flimsy, worthless, costly contrivance that ever men loaded themselves with. Thus, amongst the many moral and political truths willingly assented to by the people, and forced on the still incredulous statesman by the rapid progress of population within the last half century, there is none clearer or of greater importance than that he is not the author of social progress nor of civilisation. This assertion requires illustration.

One of the most effectual instruments of social progress and modern civilisation is the Press; which legislation, far from having created or fostered, has, from the time at least of Wolsey, regarded as a terrible enemy, and laboured incessantly to chain to its own chariot-wheels. It has failed. Star Chambers and libel laws, censorships and pensions, have mutilated and poisoned, but could not kill. It has survived the malignity of Parliaments and the arrogance of kings, and has triumphed over both. It has become the ruling influence of society, and has everywhere been useful, truthful, and enlightened, in proportion as it has escaped the fetters of the law and the trammels of patronage. Another powerful aid to civilisation is the steam-engine, particularly when applied to locomotion. Never, perhaps, in the world were eighteen millions of human beings more uninterruptedly tranquil, and confident in the results of their own exertions, than the inhabitants of Great Britain during the last ten years. Their contentment is mainly owing to the rapidity and freedom of communication between one part of the island and another. The inhabitants of every part have been almost instantly informed of what the inhabitants of every other part were doing, and that their distant fellow-subjects, like themselves, were unassailed and secure. They have also been informed of everything done by the government, and at no time have they dreaded from that powerful organisation any sudden or violent invasion of their rights. Legislation, by subjecting the promoters of private enterprise to monstrous expenses, by absurd standing orders, ridiculous precautions, and erroneous judgments, has done much to impede locomotion, and nothing to promote it. Gas, too, spreading by

night a light half like that of day through every nook and cranny, every closed-up court and crooked alley, in our old and inconveniently built towns and cities, has, as it were, kept every man always under the eye of the public, and has contributed much to put an end to those violent outrages for which, only a few years ago, our towns were somewhat remarkable. We might run through a score or more of the most remarkable mechanical inventions of modern times, and show their influence in repressing crimes, promoting social order, and bringing about civilisation; though, as in the case of the Press, they have often been the means of effecting it in direct opposition to the lawgiver. These examples are, however, sufficient to confirm the assertion, that civilisation, whatever be its origin, and whatever hand may guide it, is not the child of political or legislative wisdom.

One other leading fact we must briefly advert to. Division of labour, or the exclusive devotion of individuals to particular employments, is undoubtedly a great means of carrying forward the human race. In one or two instances, the legislator, seizing hold of the fact after division of labour has come into existence, has endeavoured, as in India, to confine it under a few denominations, and has divided the people into eastes, appropriating to them different occupations. His success has produced stagnation. Society ceased to be progressive, and became the victim of nations amongst whom the establishment of castes had not suppressed emulation and subdued energy. Division of labour is as completely a natural phenomenon as the diversity of sex. No legislator establishes or promotes it. Man, in all countries and ages, has taken one species of occupation, and Woman another. The aged too, and the young, in all stages of society, have other occupations than the robust, and those who are mature in years and strength. Climate, situation, and peculiarity of dispositionother sources of division of labour-lead one man to be a wine grower, another an iron-founder, a fattener of cattle, a miner, a painter, a poet, or an inventor; and thus, as population increases in any given space, these natural circumstances, for ever existing, continually enforce and maintain a progressive extension of division of labour, to the benefit and civilisation of all.

This principle has been generally considered in its single relation of influencing the production of wealth, and its moral effects, though equally beneficial, have been disregarded. Commerce, which binds nations together in amity, is the result of terrestrial

Rival

division of labour, diversity of climate and situation. governments and statesmen only interrupt the peace and friendship that terrestrial division of labour is continually promoting. The mutual dependence of man on man in the same country, caused by no one completing, of himself and unaided, any piece of work, begets civility and friendship. It establishes a relation of mutual service and mutual kindness between the butcher and the grazier, the farmer and the miller, the spinner and the weaver, and between all the industrial classes. They cannot live without one another. The right hand might as well quarrel with the left, as the shipwright with the sailor, or the tanner with the shoemaker. Division of labour substitutes friendly and just relations, for jealousy, envy, and fear, and contributes to check crime and promote virtue.

Population, as it increases, carries with it a continual extension of the principle of division of labour. It calls new classes of industrious men into existence. New arts spring up, new wealth is created, and new relations are established between individuals and nations. Old laws are continually found to be incompatible with the progress of society, and noxious to human welfare. Does society accommodate itself to the old institutions? No: it bursts them asunder, and they fall away like withes from the arm of the strong man. The lawgiver always essays to bind them on anew, and may succeed, with some relaxation or change of form; but it is only to restore the incompatibility between him and Nature, and at no distant day compel society to destroy his new chains.

The progress of society, against the will of the lawmaker overturning his institutions, has, in modern times, been very marked. It is one of the moral phenomena of the age. The increase of dissenters and catholics made the laws to preserve the dominion of the state-church unbearable, and test acts and penal disabilities were rent asunder and trampled under foot. A wonderful increase of population, forming several new and great towns, made the old system of representation inadequate. Did society reduce itself to the size prescribed by the lawgiver? Quite the contrary: he was compelled to adapt his law to the new circumstances. He yielded, indeed, as little as possible, and coupled his compliance with registration, rate-paying clauses, and other foolish restrictions, to supply evidence hereafter of his present imbecility when they follow the fate of the boroughs in schedule A. Still later, the increase of the manufacturing classes made the laws which confined them for