Machines used in the Mint.

Mr Barton's Machine for reducing Plates of Metal to an equal thickness.

Perspective View: Fig. 5.

Published by A. Constable & Co., Edinburgh, 1824. of Lancaster, whither the pix is removed, together with the weights of the exchequer and mint, and where the scales which are used upon this occasion are suspended, the beam of which is so delicate, that it will turn with six grains, when loaded with the whole of those weights, to the amount of 48 lb. 8 oz. in each scale.

"The jury being seated, the indenture, or the warrant under which the master has acted, is read. Then the pix is opened, and the money which had been taken out of each delivery, and enclosed in a paper parcel, under the seals of the warden, master, and comptroller of the mint, is given into the hands of the foreman, who reads aloud the indorsement, and compares it with the account which lies before him. He then delivers the parcel to one of the jury, who opens it, and examines whether the contents agree with the indorsement.

"When all the parcels have been opened, and found to be right, the monies contained in them are mixed together in wooden bowls, and afterwards weighed.

"Out of the said monies so mingled, the jury take a certain number of each species of coin, to the amount of one pound weight, for the assay by fire; and the indented trial pieces of gold and silver, of the dates specified in the indenture, being produced by the proper officer, a sufficient quantity is cut from either of them, for the purpose of comparing with it the pound weight of gold or silver which is to be tried (after it has been previously melted and prepared) by the usual methods of assay.

"When that operation is finished, the jury return their verdict, wherein they state the manner in which the coins they have examined have been found to vary from the weight and fineness required by the indenture, and whether, and how much, the variations exceed, or fall short of, the remedies which are allowed; and, according to the terms of the verdict, the master's quietus is either granted or withheld."—Archæologia, Vol. XVI.

We shall conclude our observations upon the subject of coinage, by detailing the mode of manufacturing the dies. An original die is engraved upon a piece of soft cast steel, of the size of the money to be made. The table of the die must be perfectly level or square. The impression engraved is, of course, cut into the steel, and its depth in proportion to the relief ultimately wanted upon the coin. When the engraving is finished, the die, or matrix, as it is called, is hardened. This is a very nice process, and requires considerable care to perform it. The die is put into a cast iron pot, completely embedded in animal charcoal, chiefly made from leather. The pot is placed in an air furnace in which coke is burned, which gives a more steady and uniform degree of heat. The square of the furnace is also considerably larger than the pot, that the die may have the greatest possible equality of temperature. When the die has attained its proper degree of heat, it is withdrawn from the furnace, and immersed in a large cistern of water, the temperature of which is kept as uniform as possible by a stream of cold water constantly flowing in and out of the cistern, while the process of hardening continues. It frequently happens, that in this process (either from the steel being faulty or heated to excess) the die will fly in pieces, and the whole labour of the artist is lost. When, however, the matrix is perfect, it is placed in the multiplying die press, which works in every respect like a coining press, but moved by men. An impression is taken from the matrix upon a blank die of cast steel, similar to the mode of impressing the money. The blank die is fixed as the lower die of the coining press; and, by working the screw of the press, which has very long and heavily loaded arms, the matrix is made to strike the blank die with great force, and bring its impression in relief upon its surface. The hardness, by compression of the steel, is so great, that an impression of the matrix cannot be obtained without annealing the die perhaps twice or three times, which is done in iron pots, as in the case of hardening, but are allowed to cool gradually. An impression taken in this way is called a puncheon die. When the engraver has given all the delicate outlines of the original to it, it is hardened in the same manner as its original, and used to give impressions to blank dies by a similar process, the impression being sunk into the dies, which dies being used for coining, gives the impression in relief to the money.

This important department of the mint is under the superintendence of the clerk of the irons, who never suffers the multiplying press to be used but in his presence. He has also the care of all the dies, and must account to the Board of Management for all matrixes, puncheons, and dies, made and destroyed in the mint.

(A. A.)

C O L D.

It is often disputed whether Cold has any actual existence, or should be considered as merely the privation of Heat. Nor is that question of a modern date; Plutarch attempted to discuss it, in his Tract De primo frigido, and the reasonings which he there employs, though abundantly vague, are yet curious. Cold, he says, affects the senses as well as heat; and it is not less active, since it condenses and consolidates bodies. He, therefore, inclines to the opinion, that cold is a distinct and independent power in nature. With the Stoic philosophers, he regards air as by its constitution cold and dark; and hence water drawn from a well freezes on being exposed to the atmosphere, while rivers overshadowed by high banks seldom freeze, and even where their surface congeals, the heat is not exhaled, but only driven down nearer the bottom.

It is contrary to sound physics to admit more principles than are indispensably required, and this argument alone may be sufficient for the rejection of cold as a distinct power in nature. What we term cold, in reference to our feelings, is merely the diminution of heat. But the existence and materiality of heat rest on a very different foundation. The introduction of heat into a body is accompanied by the infusion of a certain extrinsic repulsive force, and its passage through the mass is connected with a series of depending internal motions, which imply the regular expenditure of time and ve- The contraction which follows on the diminution of heat, is due to the mutual attractive powers of the particles of the substratum, now exerted with less opposition. That expansion, again, which some fluids manifest in the act of congelation, proceeds from the operation of the principle of crystallization, with the recondite nature of which we are still unacquainted.

The notion that cold has a separate and independent existence appears, however, to receive some countenance, from the elegant experiment of collecting and concentrating the frigorific impressions in the focus of a metallic reflector. This curious fact is one of the oldest in physical science, but again lately revived, and combined with circumstances of peculiar interest. The experiment was first mentioned about the year 1590, by Baptista Porta, in the enlarged edition of his *Magia Naturalis*, when the four books of which it originally consisted were augmented to twenty, at the very time that his ingenious countryman, Sanctorio, had invented and applied to medical purposes the air-thermometer. Porta relates, that, if a shut eye be held in the focus of a speculum before which is placed a ball of snow, intense cold will be felt on the eye-lid.* Cavalieri, the celebrated discoverer of infinitesimals, in his work on the conic sections, printed in 1632, and entitled *Lo Specchio Ustorio*, extended the experiment to all impressions which he conceived to be propagated in straight lines—not only to those of heat and cold,—but to those of sound and even smell.†

It was afterwards frequently repeated at Florence, by the Academy del Cimento, with the important addition of the thermometer, which that learned body had the merit of introducing into practice. Similar experiments were next performed by Mariotte in France.

Specula and burning glasses appear, in the sequel, to have been allowed to fall into great neglect. We find scarcely any mention of their application to physical researches, till after the lapse of more than half a century, Kraft repeated, at St Petersburg, during the severe winter of 1740, the frigorific experiment of the Italian philosophers, with a reflector belonging to the Cabinet of the Imperial Academy. Ambitious to operate on a grand scale, he selected three huge blocks of clear ice, nearly of a cubical form, each side being 2, 4, and 5 feet; but to save the trouble of transporting them, he carried the speculum out of doors. No sensible effect, however, was then perceived by him, though he used the air thermometer on account of its extreme delicacy. In 1744, this Academician again resumed the observation, and with scarcely better success, having obtained only a doubtful cold of three degrees. The cause of the failure was evidently, his performing the experiment out of doors, and not in a warm room. The blocks of ice had, by long standing, acquired almost the same temperature as their ambient medium. Had the air happened to become suddenly colder, they might, from their relative condition, have excited impressions even of heat, and thus have perplexed philosophy for many years afterwards.

Such unsatisfactory results, from the action of a mass of ice of above a ton weight, seem, for a long time, to have shaken the belief in former experiments; and the subject was almost forgotten, when Pictet of Geneva, in 1781, repeated the original observation on a small scale, indeed, but with entire success. Since that time, a pair of brass reflectors, with a wire case for holding charcoal or snow, has been deemed an essential apparatus in every physical cabinet. The concentration of cold in the focus of a speculum, always excites surprise; and the experiment is often exhibited with a sort of mysterious air, as if

* Si quis candelam in loco, ubi spectabilis res locari debet, apposuerit, accedet candela per aerem usque ad oculos, ut illas calore, et lumine effendet; hoc autem mirabilius erit, ut calor, ita frigus reflectitur, si eo loco nix objiciatur, si oculum retigerit, quia sensibilis, etiam frigus percipiet.

† Cavalieri mentions that, with a spherical speculum made of lead and indifferently polished, he was able to inflame dry substances by the reflexion of a charcoal fire; and that, with a deep truncated parabolic speculum badly polished, he produced the same effect in the open focus, from a small fire of wood at the distance of five feet.—Esperienza di questo hò fatto io, che con uno Specchio sferico di piombo ancor mal polito, hò acceso il fuoco nella materia arida al fuoco di carboni; e di più l'hò fatto con la superficie parabolica, cioè con vn canone parabolico, che hauea il suo foco vicino alla cima, essendo esso specchio parabolico trócat pur nella cima, qual' era di stagno, e mal polito, tal che opponendolo al fuoco, ò alla fiamma di ben poca legna, nella distanza di tre braccia, ponendo la mano li, dou'era la parte trócat, et il foco della parabola, non vi si potea sostener, anzi vi s'accese fuoco; la qual cosa potria alcuno applicare al riscaldaméto delle stanze, ò alle distillazioni, pp. 85, 86.—In general, says this ingenious mathematician and philosopher, the same form of speculum which concentrates light and heat, must likewise collect cold, which spreads from its source, from a mass of snow, for instance, in straight lines. The hyperbola is, therefore, the figure which he thinks the best adapted for the purpose; and he proposes this for condensing the smells radiated from an odoriferous substance.—Hora dunque basterà quello, che si è detto di sopra intorno al lume, e calore, potendo noi nell'istesso tempo intendere le medesime cose anco per il freddo, che dilatatosi dal corpo freddo ad ogni posizione per linea retta, e percio nell' infinite linee, che si partono dal corpo freddo, come dalla neve, essendou dentro le parallele, che sono vnite dalle spechie parabolico, e le divergenti, che sono vnite dall' ellittico, e le convergenti vnite dall' iperbolico, con opporre alcuni di questi specchi ad una massa di neve, ò di ghiaccio, sentiremo nel loro foco essere il freddo fatto molto gagliardo, ma per questo effetto sarà più atto l'iperbolico di tutti, come quello, che raccoglierà maggior quantità di linee fredde; e questo basti ancora circa il freddo, potendosi forsi in vn certo modo creder, che tale effetto accadesse anco intorno à gli odori, provando noi dilatarsi pur quelli dall' corpi odoriferi verso ogni banda. Id. p. 128. it established, or at least rendered probable, the distinct and material existence of cold. But, in fact, it is not more difficult to conceive the impressions of cold to be collected than those of heat. Both those impressions are only relative to the temperature of the atmosphere, which serves as the medium of their transmission. The one process terminates with the deposition of a portion of heat, the other with its abstraction.

The diminution of heat, or the increase of cold, is produced in Nature under four different circumstances: 1. By the obliquity or absence of the sun; 2. By the tenacity of the higher atmosphere; 3. By the evaporation which takes place in dry air; and, 4. By the chilling impression shot downwards from a clear and serene sky.

1. In our temperate climates, the thermometer in winter very seldom descends 15 degrees on Fahrenheit's scale, below the point of congelation. But, in the higher latitudes, the intensity of the cold is often far greater. In the northern parts of Sweden and Russia, the rivers and ordinary lakes are frozen to the depth of several feet; wine, and even ardent spirits, become converted into a spongy mass of ice, and, as the cold still augments, it penetrates the living forests, and congeals the very sap of the trees, which occasionally burst from this internal expansion with tremendous noise. The Baltic Sea has been repeatedly covered with a solid floor of ice, capable of transporting whole armies, with all their stores and engines of war. Those waters, indeed, are only brackish; but the more northern ocean itself has often been frozen to a very considerable thickness. In Siberia and Hudson's Bay, and even in the northern provinces of Sweden, mercury has been at some times observed contracted by exposure into a solid semi-metal; and, consequently, the cold which then prevailed must have exceeded 71 degrees, or 39 below the commencement of Fahrenheit's scale.

2. In elevated tracts the increase of cold is very striking. Even at an altitude of three miles and a half, the air is generally 68 degrees colder than at the level of the sea. On the summit of the Andes, therefore, a thermometer would often sink perhaps under the beginning of Fahrenheit's scale; and it seems probable that mercury would naturally freeze in winter on the top of Mont Blanc. Mountains are hence regarded as the grand stores or depositories of cold in the milder climates. In every country, therefore, the air of subterraneous caves, and the water of deep springs or wells, are during the summer months comparatively cold. Hence the obvious advantage of cellars, in addition to their preserving an uniform temperature, which is so favourable to the ripening of the liquors deposited in them. But the air at the bottom of an open and very deep pit must be colder than the mean state of the ground, for in all the changes which take place at the surface, the cold air will descend, and the warm air still float over the mouth of the pit. The wealthier classes of antiquity were accustomed, accordingly, to cool the wine for their tables, by suspending it for some time in a bucket let down near the surface of profound wells.

3. Evaporation is a natural process, by which heat is powerfully abstracted by the exhaling moisture, while this assumes a gaseous constitution in the act of combining with dry air. The fact seems to have been known in the warm regions of the east at a very early period of society, suggested probably by the familiar use of a rude unglazed pottery for all culinary purposes. The Egyptians, and other inhabitants of the sultry shores of the Levant, have, from the remotest ages, cooled the water for drinking in their porous jars. Athenaeus reports, from a history of Protagorides, that King Antiochus had always a provision for his table prepared in that way. The water having been carefully decanted from its sediment into earthen pitchers (ἀγγεῖα ἀκαρπά), these were transported to the highest part of his palace, and exposed to the clear and keen atmosphere (ἀκαρπόν), two boys being appointed to watch them the whole night, and keep constantly wetting their sides. This labour of sprinkling the surface of the jars seems to have been afterwards spared, in consequence probably of the adoption of a more porous kind of earthen-ware. Galen, in his Commentary on Hippocrates, relates, that he witnessed the mode of cooling water, which was practised in his time, not only at Alexandria, but over all Egypt. The water, having been previously boiled, was poured at sun-set into shallow pans (ἀγγεῖα ἀκαρπά), which were then carried to the house-tops, and there exposed during the whole night to the wind; and to preserve the cold thus acquired, the pans were removed at day-break, and placed on the shaded ground, surrounded by leaves of trees, prunings of vines, lettuce, or other slow conducting substances.

The bottles or bags made of goat-skins, in which the wandering Arabs are wont to carry their scanty provision of water, allowing a small portion of the liquid to transude and exhale, render it by consequence comparatively cool, and better fitted to mitigate or allay the intolerable thirst created in traversing their sandy deserts. In Guinea, it is customary to fill gourds or calabashes with water, and suspend them all night from the outer branches of trees.

The Moors introduced into Spain a sort of unglazed earthen jugs, named bucaros or alcarrazas, which, being filled with water, present to the atmosphere a surface constantly humid, and furnish by evaporation, during the dry and hot weather, a refreshing beverage. The same practice has been adopted by degrees in various parts of the south of Europe. In India, during certain months, the apartments are kept comparatively cool, by dashing water against the matting of reeds or bamboos, which line the doors and the outside of the walls. Even the more luxurious mariners, in their voyages between the tropics, are accustomed to cool their wines, by lapping the bottle with wet flannel, and suspending it from the yard or under the cabin-windows. In all such cases, the effect is accelerated, though not augmented, by the swiftness of the current of air. What have been called Egyptian coolers, and lately produced by our potters, are less perfect in their operation. Being very thick, they require only to be soaked in water, and the evaporation from their surface cools the adjacent air. On the inside, however, where the bottle is placed, the action, in consequence of the confined humidity, must be enfeebled. In damp weather, those vessels, it is evident, are entirely useless.

The natives of India likewise are enabled, by directing a skilful process of evaporation, to procure for themselves a supply of ice during their short winter. In the upper country, not far however from Calcutta, a large open plain being selected, three or four excavations are made in it about thirty feet square and two feet deep, and the bottom covered to the thickness of nearly a foot with sugar canes or dried stalks of Indian corn. On this bed are placed rows of small unglazed earthen pans, about an inch and quarter deep, and extremely porous. In the dusk of the evening, during the months of December, January, and February, these are filled with soft water previously boiled and suffered to cool, when the weather is very fine and clear a great part of the water becomes frozen during the night. The pans are regularly visited at sunrise, and their contents thrown into baskets which retain the ice. These are now carried to a conservatory made by sinking a pit 1½ or 15 feet deep, lined with straw under a layer of coarse blanketing. The small sheets of ice are thrown down into the cavity, and rammed into a solid mass. The mouth of the pit is then closed up with straw and blankets, and sheltered by a thatched roof.

It was stated in the article Climate, that impressions of cold are constantly showered down from a clear and azure sky. These effects are no doubt more conspicuous in the finer regions of the globe. Accordingly, they did not escape the observation of the ancients, but gave rise to opinions which were embodied in the language of poetry. The term Αἴρεις was applied only to the grosser part of the atmosphere, while the highest portion of it, free from clouds and vapour, and bordering on the pure fields of aether, received the kindred appellation of Αἰρετής. But this word and its derivatives have always been associated with ideas of cold. We have seen that the verb ἐκαύματος is used by Athenaeus to signify, the cooling of a body, by exposure under a serene sky. Homer uses the term Αἰρετής, in speaking of the reception of his hero, when overcome with cold and toil. The same poet of nature applies the epithet Αἰρετής or Αἰρετής or frigorifico, to Boreas, the north wind. The chorus in the Antigone of Sophocles deprecates the pelting storm, and likewise the cold (αἰρετής) of inhospitable frozen tracts. The word αἰρετής is employed by Herodotus to signify a chill as well as a dry atmosphere. Of the same import is the expression in Horace—Sub Jove frigido.

In the finer climates, especially, a transpiercing cold is, therefore, felt at night under the clear and sparkling canopy of heaven. The natives carefully avoid exposing themselves to this supposed celestial influence; yet a thin shed of palm leaves may be made sufficient at once to screen them from the scorching rays of the sun, and to shelter them against the chilling impressions rained from the higher atmosphere. The captains of the French galleys in the Mediterranean used formerly to cool their wines in summer, by hanging the flasks all night from the masts. At day-break, they were taken down and lapped in several folds of flannel, to preserve them in the same state. The frigorific impression of a serene and azure sky, must undoubtedly have concurred with the power of evaporation, in augmenting the energy of the process of nocturnal cooling, practised anciently in Egypt, and now systematically pursued in the higher grounds of India. As the chillness accumulated on the ground is greatest in clear nights, when the moon shines brightest, it seemed very natural to impute this effect partly to some influence emanating from that feeble luminary. It was long imagined that the lunar beams are essentially cold; and some philosophers, at no remote period, have attempted even to prove the fact by experiment. Mr Boyle, though he rejected judicial astrology, was yet disposed to admit the notion of stellar influences.

The obvious mode of cooling water, or other liquids, by the infusion of ice or snow, was practised in the warmer countries from the earliest ages. It is even mentioned in the Proverbs of Solomon: "As the cold of snow in the time of harvest, so is a faithful messenger to them that send him." Aristotle, presuming that the finer parts of water are dissipated by congelation, maintained that it is pernicious to drink melted snow. This speculative opinion seems not, however, to have been regarded by the ancients. Theocritus calls snow-water an ambrosial drink,—πάνω αὐξητής. Xenophon mentions the practice of cooling wine, by the addition of snow. It is related by the historians of Alexander the Great, that, in his Indian expedition, when he laid siege to the city of Petra, he commanded thirty pits to be dug and filled with snow, which was covered over with oak branches. The luxurious Romans had excavations regularly formed for keeping snow the whole year, chaff and other light substances being employed to preclude from it the access of heat. But, as the snow, preserved in this way, could not escape being soiled, instead of mixing it directly in the drinking cup, a more refined practice was introduced, of surrounding the silver goblet which contained the liquor with a mass of the melting snow. This improvement was ascribed to the profligate emperor Nero. Similar modes of storing up

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* Αἴρεις και καυμάτων διδυμίους ῥυτεῖ εἰς ξένον. Odyss. Lib. XIV. 318. † Ὅσο δ' ἔστι παραγόντα πρὸς ἄλλης ἀποτελεῖσθαι, ὁρχαῖ ὅσαι ἤτοι αἰρετής Βορέας. Iliad. Lib. XIX. 357-8. Kal Βορέας αἰρετής, μέγα κύμα κυλών. Odyss. Lib. V. 296.

‡ δοκεῖν ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀνεμοῦ ἀνεμοῦ, καὶ δοκεῖν ἀπὸ τοῦ ἀνεμοῦ ἀνεμοῦ. Antigone, 357. || Θερμότητος γὰρ ἂν ἦν τῷ ὄντι τῷ ἀνεμοῦ ἀνεμοῦ καὶ τῇ ὄρεσι. Euterpe. snow have been adopted in all the warm countries. The caves on the sides of Mount Etna are considered as natural magazines, for supplying a material which is not only carried down to Palermo and Messina, but even shipped to the island of Malta. The Italians formerly cooled their wine, by setting the large glass flasks containing it, in wide vessels of wood or cork, the intervening space being filled with snow, on which water was poured.

Salt-petre or nitre being almost a natural production of the east, its property of rendering water cold by solution, was probably known, from a very remote period, to the oriental nations. This process of cooling is described in the Institutes of Akbar as the discovery of that enlightened prince, who governed India with parental mildness, from the year 1560 to 1605. One part of nitre is directed to be thrown into a vessel containing two parts of water, and a guglet of pewter or silver filled with pure water, and having its mouth close stopped, is then stirred quickly in the mixture for the space of a quarter of an hour.

The frigorific property of nitre was probably first communicated from India or Persia to Europe, and seems to have become known to the Italians about the middle of the sixteenth century. As early as the year 1550, all the rich families in Rome cooled the liquors for their tables, by dissolving that salt in water. Into a vessel of cold water, the nitre was gradually added in the proportion of a fourth or fifth part, while a globular bottle, with a long neck, containing the wine or water to be cooled, was whirled rapidly round its axis. The salt, being afterwards recovered by crystallization, would always serve the same purpose again, with undiminished effect. In India, every family of distinction keeps a domestic, whose sole employment is to cool liquors by this process; but nitre being cheap in that country, it is used in larger proportions, and the water charged with it is allowed to become a perquisite of the operator.

The application of salts to produce cold was extended by Boyle, and afterwards more successively by Fahrenheit. But, within these twenty years, Mr Walker of Oxford, and Professor Lowitz of St Petersburg, have resumed the subject, and produced compound saline powders, possessed of intense frigorific power. The solution of salts in water, expanding that liquid, augments its capacity for heat, and consequently depresses its temperature. This effect is likewise the greater, in proportion to the quantity of saline matter which can be dissolved. But after water is saturated with one species of salt, it can still absorb some portion of another. Hence the frigorific effects of solution are always increased, by employing a compound dry powder. Nitre and sal-ammoniac, or the nitrate of potash and the muriate of soda in equal parts, added in the form of a dry powder to three parts by weight of water, will sink Fahrenheit's thermometer 40 degrees. But equal parts of the muriate of ammonia and of the nitrate of potash, with one part and a half of the sulphate of soda or common Glauber's salt, will cool down three parts of water 46 degrees. A still greater effect, amounting to 57 degrees, is produced, by dissolving equal parts of the nitrate of ammonia and of the carbonate of soda, in one part of water. The frigorific action is in general augmented, by throwing the desiccated powder into dilute acid instead of water. Thus, three parts of the phosphate of soda and two parts of the nitrate of ammonia joined to rather more than one part of weak nitric acid, will sink the thermometer 71 degrees.

These changes induced on the temperature of the Principle of liquid menstruum are, no doubt, considerable, yet they are still only transient, and the process requires some address and manipulation, not always readily attained. But the principle of evaporation, when rightly understood, leads to a far easier mode of cooling liquids, which may be prolonged at pleasure. A close investigation of that principle, at the very commencement of his philosophical labours, has conducted Professor Leslie through the whole train of his discoveries on the subject of refrigeration. The process of evaporation had not then been examined with attention. The depression of temperature which always accompanies it, was hastily supposed to be proportional to the rate with which the moisture is dissipated, and to be therefore augmented by every circumstance that can accelerate this effect. If water, contained in a porous vessel, expose on all sides its surface to a current of air, it will cool down to a certain point, and there its temperature will remain stationary. The rapidity of the current must, no doubt, hasten the period of equilibrium, but the degree of cold thus induced will be still the same. A little reflection may discover how this happens. Though the humid surface has ceased to grow colder, the dispersion of invisible vapour, and the corresponding abstraction of heat, still continues without intermission. The same medium, therefore, which transports the vapour, must also furnish the portion of heat required for its incessant formation. In fact, after the water has been once cooled down, each portion of the ambient air which comes to touch the evaporating surface must, from its contact with a substance so greatly denser than itself, be likewise cooled to the same standard, and must hence communicate to the liquid its surplus share of heat, or the difference between the prior and the subsequent state of the solvent, which is proportional to the diminution of temperature it has suffered. Every shell of air which encircles in succession the humid mass, while it absorbs, along with the moisture which it dissolves, the measure of heat necessary to convert this into steam, does, at the same instant, thus deposit an equal measure of its own heat, on the chill exhaling surface. The abstraction of heat by vaporization on the one hand, and, on the other, its deposition at the surface of contact, are, therefore, opposite contemporaneous acts, which soon produce a mutual balance, and thereafter the temperature induced continues without the smallest alteration. A rapid circulation of the evaporating medium may quicken the operation of those causes; but, so long as it possesses the same drying quality, it cannot, in any degree, derange the resulting temperature. heat deposited by the air on the humid surface becomes thus an accurate measure of the heat spent in vaporizing the portion of moisture required for the saturation of that solvent at its lowered temperature. The dryness of the air is therefore, under all circumstances, precisely indicated, by the depression of temperature produced on a humid surface which has been exposed freely to its action.

Guided by these views, Mr Leslie was enabled to construct a correct Hygrometer that should indicate the dryness of the air, from the diminution of temperature which a small body of water, exposed on all sides, suffers by evaporation. His efforts again to improve this instrument, led him next to the invention of the Differential Thermometer, which was converted into an hygrometer, by having one of its balls covered with cambric, lint or tissue paper, capable of being easily wetted. Reduced to such a delicate and commodious form, it detected, with the utmost precision, and under all circumstances, the relative condition of the air in regard to dryness.

It appears that absorbent substances, exposing a broad surface, are capable of assimilating to their previous state the air confined over them. Flannel, for instance, which has been intensely dried, will support a remarkable degree of dryness in a close receiver. The trap-rock and compound clays, brayed into a coarse powder, and desiccated before a strong fire, will exert a more powerful and extended action. But dried oat-meal will act with equal energy, and for a longer time. Of the saline substances, the muriate of lime absorbs moisture with the greatest and most protracted force. After it has become drenched with humidity, it may likewise be recovered again, though the process of restoring it unaltered, is rather troublesome. But the best and most powerful absorbent is the concentrated sulphuric acid, or the oil of vitriol of commerce, which continues for a long time to attract moisture with almost undiminished force, and possesses, besides, the valuable property, after it has become charged with humidity, of being easily restored again, by the application of heat, to its original strength.

To cool water, in any climate or state of the atmosphere, we have only therefore to put it into a small porous vessel, presenting on all sides a humid surface, and to suspend this within a close wide cistern, of which the bottom is covered with a layer of sulphuric acid. The broad surface of the acid, absorbing the moisture as fast as it diffuses itself through the confined air, keeps that medium constantly at a point of extreme dryness, and thus enables it to support, with undiminished vigour, the process of evaporation.

In practice, the cistern or refrigeratory, having a broad cylindrical form, from twelve to sixteen inches in diameter, and composed of dense well-glazed earthenware (See Plate LXV. fig. 7.), is placed in a cellar or other cool place, and charged with sulphuric acid to the height of about half an inch from the bottom. One of the porous earthen pots, being filled up to the lip with water fresh drawn from the well, is set upon a low porcelain stand in the middle of the cistern, to which the lid or cover is then carefully adapted. In the space of from three to perhaps five hours, the cooling is nearly completed, and the pot should now be removed; for though the water will be kept at the same degree of coldness as long as it remains shut up within the refrigeratory, the acid would be unnecessarily weakened by the incessant absorption of moisture.

The production of cold is greater when the cistern is large, or when a small pot is used, insomuch that the effect will be diminished one half, if the humid surface should equal that of the acid, the opposite actions of such surfaces inducing an exactly intermediate state, with respect to dryness and moisture, in the condition of the aerial medium. The power of evaporation is also diminished in the low temperatures. Thus, if the atmosphere were at 95° Fahrenheit, the water within the refrigeratory might be cooled down 36°, or brought to 59°; but if the thermometer be at 50° the water can be cooled only 18°, which brings it to the freezing point. This seems to be a very convenient property, since the power of the refrigeratory is always the greatest at the season when its application is most wanted.

It is easy, therefore, by such means, to cool water in our climate at all times, to near the freezing point, and, even under the torrid zone, to reduce it to the temperature of 60 degrees, which, in those regions, is sufficient perhaps for essential comfort.

By supplying a succession of porous earthen pots, the acid will continue to act with scarcely diminished force, till it has absorbed half its weight of moisture; during which time it will have assisted in cooling about fifty times that quantity of the water exposed to evaporation. At this stage, the dilute acid should be drawn off, and a charge of concentrated acid again introduced into the refrigeratory.

This method of procuring cold, it will readily be perceived, could be employed with advantage for various domestic purposes. For instance, butter may in summer be kept cool for the table, by putting it, after being washed with water, into a wet porous pot, and shutting this up for a couple of hours in the refrigeratory. To cool wine sufficiently, one bottle only is used at a time in the smallest refrigeratory: A sheath of stocking or flannel previously soaked in water being drawn over the body of the bottle, it is laid in a reclined position on one of the porcelain sliders, near the surface of the acid, and allowed to remain shut up during the space of three or four hours.

The refrigerating combination here employed produces its effect, by a sort of invisible distillation carried on by the play and circulation of the included air. The minute portions of moisture which successively combine with the contiguous medium, must abstract from the mass of water as much heat as would support them in the state of vapour, or would in ordinary cases convert them into steam. This vapour again, being conveyed through the air, is attracted by the sulphuric acid, and, recovering its liquid constitution, deposits the heat which it had borne away. The acid is therefore warmed at the expense of the water subjected to evaporation, and the whole performance of the apparatus consists in a mere transfer and interchange of condition. CONGELATION

Is the passage of any substance from the liquid to a solid form, in consequence of the abstraction of heat. The conversion of water into ice could not fail to draw the notice of men in all ages. The minute and divided fragments of the same production, which descend from the clouds in the shape of snow or hail, displayed the various powers of nature. The ancients imagined, that water which has lain for ages in a frozen state acquires at last a permanent consolidation. They extended, accordingly, the name of ice (κρυστάλλος or crystal) to the pure and pellucid kind of quartz, which often occurs on the sides of lofty mountains, near the boundary of perpetual congelation.

It was early remarked that melted ice has the lightness and quality of boiled water. In fact, the portion of air combined with ordinary water is discharged in the act of freezing as well as in that of boiling. Water thus deprived of its air, is therefore prepared for a readier congelation. The ancients accordingly, we have seen, always boiled the water which they designed afterwards to cool. Aristotle relates in his Meteorology, that the fishermen who cast their nets in the Pontine Lake, used to carry in close vessels boiled water, for the purpose of sprinkling the reeds, that these might quickly freeze together, and cease to disturb the fish by their rustling noise. The expulsion of air from water during the progress of congelation, was afterwards fully proved by Mariotte, one of the earliest members of the French Academy of Sciences. If two wine glasses, filled, the one with water from the well, and the other with water recently boiled, be exposed to the frost, the ice of the latter will seem almost uniformly pellucid, while the ice of the former will appear charged with small air-bubbles crowding towards the centre of the mass, to which they are driven by the advance of the congelation.

That congelation shoots at angles of 120 degrees, was first observed in the beginning of the seventeenth century by the great Kepler; and this ardent and inventive genius, in an elaborate Dissertation, which he printed as a New Year's present, investigated the various forms and modifications of the icy crystals. The subject was next discussed by Des Cartes and Bartholinus, and about a century afterwards resumed by Mairan, and may be considered as a step towards the general theory of crystallography, which has been since reared by the patience and ingenuity of Häuy.

Other liquids, such as vinegar, dilute mineral acids, weak spirits, and saline solutions, are likewise capable of being frozen; but they yield an ice distinctly different from that of pure water, resembling an aggregation rather than an uniform solid, and wanting consistency, strength, and clearness. The frost appears to seize on the water only, and to fill the compound liquid with close spicular shoots, entangling the stronger acid or brine in their interstices. It was a mistake, therefore, to assert that the ice of seawater is really fresh. In the process of melting, some portion of the brine may probably flow off, but the residue still is always brackish. This fact is even positively stated by the missionary Crantz, in his accurate account of Greenland. The very intelligent and enterprising navigator, Mr Scoresby, reckons the specific gravity of the spongy salt-water ice to be .873, while that of fresh-water ice amounted to .937.

The ancients were altogether unacquainted with artificial congelation, and with any cold, indeed, below that of freezing. The application of nitre to the cooling of water seems, before the close of the sixteenth century, to have suggested to the Italians the experiment of mixing it with snow. A very intense degree of cold was thus generated, capable of converting speedily into solid ice a body of water contained in a smaller vessel immersed in the dissolving mixture. Sanctorio, who may be regarded as the father of modern physics, mentions, in his Commentary on Avicenna, that he produced the same effect, by employing common salt instead of nitre, in the proportion of the third part of the snow, and had repeatedly performed the experiment in the presence of a numerous auditory.

From Italy, this discovery was gradually communicated over the rest of Europe. In the course of the seventeenth century, iced creams, fruits, and various confitures, were first produced on the tables of the luxurious. The famous coffee-house, Procope, was founded at Paris in 1660, by a Florentine of that name, a vender of lemonade, who was very successful in the art of preparing rich ices. Thirty years afterwards, the use of such artificial delicacies in that city had become quite common.

The cold resulting from the addition of saline powders to snow or pounded ice, depends on the more powerful attraction of those salts which restores the frozen mass to its liquid form, and therefore augments its capacity for heat. Fahrenheit fixed the commencement of his thermometrical scale at the temperature of the compound of salt and snow, conceiving it to be the lowest possible. But much lower degrees of cold are now produced. One part of the muriate of soda, or purified common salt, being added to two parts of dry snow or pounded ice, will sink the thermometer five degrees below zero. One part of sal-ammoniac, and two of common salt, joined to five parts of snow, will bring it seven degrees lower. But equal parts of the nitrate of ammonia and common salt, joined to two parts and a half of snow, will depress the thermometer 25 degrees below the freezing point.

Still more intense cold might be produced, if the ingredients were, before their mixture, cooled down to congelation. Thus, five parts of the muriate of lime, added to four parts of snow, will sink the thermometer to 40 degrees below the beginning of the scale, or the limit of freezing mercury; and, if the muriate of lime were crystallized, the effect would be 10 degrees more. The same extreme energy is exerted, on adding four parts of dry caustic potash to three parts of snow. The mineral acids likewise, in a diluted state, produce similar effects. Two parts of weak sulphuric acid, joined to three of snow, will sink the thermometer to 23 degrees below zero. The muriatic and nitric acids, in nearly the same proportions, will depress it from 4 to 7 degrees more. By repeating the applications, therefore, a most intense cold may be created. Yet, to succeed completely, a skilful manipulation is required. The saline matters should be reduced to a fine powder, and the freezing mixtures should be made in very thin vessels, not larger than will barely hold them. In this way, by successive stages of cooling, Mr Walker once obtained the enormous cold of 91 degrees below the commencement of Fahrenheit's scale.

The mere evaporation of some very volatile liquids is sufficient to produce excessive cold. Thus, if a thermometer, having its bulb covered with lint, be dipped in the common or sulphuric ether, it will, on exposure to the air, sink perhaps 30 or 40 degrees. This effect is augmented under the receiver of an air-pump. If a narrow thin tube of glass, filled with water, and cased on the outside with lint soaked in ether, be suspended above the pump, and the exhaustion quickly made, a cylinder of ice will be formed.

The same property is manifested in a higher degree by a singular liquid, discovered by Lampadius in 1796, by distilling a mixture of pyrites and charcoal. It was called at first the alcohol of sulphur, but now more appropriately the sulphuret of carbon. According to Dr Marcey, who has completed the investigation of its properties, a thermometer having its bulb covered with lint wetted by this liquid, and held in the open air, will sink not fewer than 60 degrees. But if the same experiment be performed within the exhausted receiver of an air-pump, the alcohol of the barometer will even descend to 82 degrees below zero. It must be observed, however, that these effects produced by the evaporation of ether, and of the sulphuret of carbon, are quite evanescent, and that the receiver becomes soon charged with their fumes, which then prevent any farther action. Those fumes likewise corrode the valves of the pump, and soon render it quite useless. Neither ether, therefore, nor the sulphuret of carbon, could be applied in practice with any sort of advantage, to the production of ice, even on the smallest scale.

We have now to relate a discovery which will enable human skill to command the refrigerating powers of nature; and, by the help of an adequate machinery, to create cold and produce ice, on a large scale, at all seasons, and in the hottest climates of the globe. But, to explain this interesting subject with greater clearness and accuracy, it is requisite to trace the successive advances which conducted to the result. Where a conclusion appears simple, the careless observer is apt to suppose it easily attained; yet, though sound philosophy tends always to simplification, the rare quality of simplicity is scarcely ever the flash of intuition, but the slow fruit of close and patient investigation.

In pursuing the researches with his hygrometer, Professor Leslie was early induced to inquire into the condition of the higher atmosphere, and its relations to humidity. He thus detected a fact of great importance in meteorology, and pointing at various ulterior views.

As rarefaction enlarges the capacity of air for investigating heat, so it likewise augments the disposition to hold its moisture; at the same time, that the removal of the ordinary pressure facilitates the expansion of the liquid matter, and its conversion into a gaseous form. Accordingly, if the hygrometer be suspended within a large receiver, from which a certain portion of air is quickly abstracted, it will sink with rapidity. In summer, the additional dryness thus produced amounts to about 50 hygrometric degrees, each time the air has its rarefaction doubled; so that, supposing the operation of exhausting to be performed with expedition, and the residuum reduced to a sixty-fourth part, the hygrometer would mark a descent of 300°. But this effect is only momentary, for the thin air very soon becomes charged with moisture, and, consequently, ceases to act on the wet ball of the hygrometer. The cold, however, excited on the surface of that ball, by such intense evaporation, will have previously frozen the coating.

The increased power of aqueous solution which air acquires as it grows thinner, being ascertained and carefully investigated, the object was to combine the action of absorbent with the transient dryness produced within a receiver by rarefaction. The sentient ball of the hygrometer being covered with dry salt of tartar, the instrument first indicated increasing dryness, and afterwards, as the rarefaction proceeded, it changed its course, and marked humidity. The same variation of effect nearly was observed, when the hygrometer had been wetted as usual with pure water, and a broad saucer containing the mild vegetable alkali was placed on the plate of the air-pump. It was thus proved, that the action of this imperfect absorbent is soon overpowered by the tendency to vaporization in attenuated air, and that, beyond a certain limit, it surrenders its latent moisture.

Mr Leslie resolved, therefore, to try the effect of sulphuric acid, whose peculiar energy as an absorbent he had, under other circumstances, already ascertained. But various incidents prevented him, for a considerable time, from resuming his philosophical inquiries. At last he began those projected experiments, and was almost immediately rewarded by the disclosure of a property, the application of which blazed on his fancy. In the month of June first April 1810, having introduced a surface of sulphuric acid under the receiver of an air-pump, he perceived with pleasure that this substance only surpassed its peculiar attraction for moisture, to the ordinary effects resulting from the progress of exhaustion; and, what was still more important, that it continued to support, with undiminished energy, the dryness thus created. The attenuated air was not suffered, as before, to grow charged with humidity; but each portion of that medium, as fast as it became saturated by touching the wet ball of the hygrometer, transported its vapour to the acid, and was thence sent back denuded of the load, and fitted again to renew its attack with fresh vigour. By this perpetual circulation, therefore, between the exhaling and the absorbing surface, the diffuse residuum of air is maintained constantly at the same state of dryness. The sentient ball of the hygrometer, which had been covered with several folds of wetted tissue paper, was observed, at an early stage of the operation, suddenly to lose its blue tint and assume a dull white, while the coloured liquor sprung upwards in the stem, where it continued, for the space of a minute, stationary, and again slowly subsided. The act of congelation had, therefore, at this moment taken place, and the paper remained frozen several minutes, till its congealed moisture was entirely dispersed. Pursuing this decisive intimation, the hygrometer was removed, and a watch-glass filled with water substituted in its place. By a few strokes of the pump, the whole was converted into a solid cake of ice, which, being left in the rare medium, continued to evaporate, and, after the interval of perhaps an hour, totally disappeared. A small cup for holding the water was next adopted, and the whole apparatus gradually enlarged.

The powers, both of vaporization and of absorption, being greatly augmented in the higher temperatures, the same limit of cold nearly is in all cases attained, by a certain measure of exhaustion. When the air has been rarefied 250 times, the utmost that, under such circumstances, can perhaps be effected, the surface of evaporation is cooled down 120 degrees of Fahrenheit in winter, and would probably sink near 200 in summer. Nay, a far less tenuity of the medium, when combined with the action of sulphuric acid, is capable of producing and supporting a very intense cold. If the air be rarefied only 50 times, a depression of temperature will be produced, amounting to 80 or even 100 degrees of Fahrenheit's scale.

We are thus enabled, in the hottest weather, to freeze a mass of water, and to keep it frozen, till it gradually wastes away, by a continued but invisible process of evaporation. The only thing required is, that the surface of the acid should approach tolerably near to that of the water, and should have a greater extent, for otherwise the moisture would exhale more copiously than it could be transferred and absorbed, and, consequently, the dryness of the rarefied medium would become reduced, and its evaporating energy essentially impaired. The acid should be poured to the depth perhaps of half an inch in a broad flat dish, which is covered by a receiver of a form nearly hemispherical; the water exposed to congelation may be contained in a shallow cup, about half the width of the dish, and having its rim supported by a narrow porcelain ring upheld above the surface of the acid by three slender feet. (See fig. 1 and 2. Plate LXV.) It is of consequence that the water should be insulated as much as possible, or should present only a humid surface to the contact of the surrounding medium, for the dry sides of the cup might receive, from communication with the external air, such accessions of heat, as greatly to diminish, if not to counteract the refrigerating effects of evaporation. This inconvenience, however, is in a great measure obviated, by investing the cup with an outer case at the interval of about half an inch. If both the cup and its case consist of glass, the process of congelation is viewed most completely; yet when they are formed of a bright metal, the effect appears on the whole more striking. But the preferable mode, and that which prevents any waste of the powers of refrigeration, is to expose the water in a pan of porous earthen-ware. If common water be used it will evolve air bubbles very copiously as the exhaustion proceeds; in a few minutes, and long before the limit of rarefaction has been attained, the icy spicule will shoot beautifully through the liquid mass, and entwine it with a reticulated texture.

As the process of congelation goes forward, a new discharge of air from the substance of the water takes place, and marks the regular advances of consolidation. But after the water has all become solid ice, which, unless it exceed the depth of an inch, may generally be effected in less than half an hour, the circle of evaporation and subsequent absorption is still maintained. A minute film of ice, abstracting from the internal mass a redoubled share of heat, passes, by invisible transitions, successively into the state of water and of steam, which, dissolving in the thin ambient air, is conveyed to the acid, where it again assumes the liquid form, and, in the act of combination, likewise surrenders its heat.

In performing this experiment, the object is generally to seek at first to push the rarefaction as far as the circumstances will admit. But the disposition of the water to fill the receiver with vapour, being only in part subdued by the action of the sulphuric acid, a limit is soon opposed to the progress of exhaustion, and the included air can seldom be rarefied above a hundred times, or till its elasticity can support no more than a column of mercury about three tenths of an inch in height. A smaller rarefaction, perhaps from ten times to twenty times, will be found sufficient to support congelation after it has once taken place. The ice then becomes rounded by degrees at the edges, and wastes away insensibly, its surface being incessantly corroded by the play of the ambient air, and the minute exhalations conveyed by an invisible process to the sulphuric acid, which, from its absorbing the vapour, is all the time maintained above the temperature of the apartment. The ice, kept in this way, suffers a very slow consumption; for a lump of it, about a pound in weight and two inches thick, is sometimes not entirely gone in the space of eight or ten days. During the whole progress of its wasting, the ice still commonly retains an uniform transparent consistence; but, in a more advanced stage, it occasionally betrays a sort of honey-combed appearance, owing to the minute cavities formed by globules of air, set loose in the act of freezing, yet entangled in the mass, and which are afterwards enlarged by the erosion of the solvent medium.

But almost every practical object is attained, through far inferior powers of refrigeration. Water is the most easily frozen, by leaving it, perhaps for the space of an hour, to the slow action of air that has been rarefied only in a very moderate degree. This process meets with less impediment, and the ice formed by it appears likewise more compact, when the water has been already purged of the greater part of its combined air, either by distillation or by long continued boiling. The water which has undergone such operation, should be introduced as quickly as possible into a decanter, and filled up close to the stopper, else it will attract air most greedily, and return nearly to its former state in the course of a few hours.

The most elegant and instructive mode of effecting artificial congelation, is to perform the process under the transerrer of an air-pump. A thick but clear glass cup being selected, of about two or three inches in diameter, has its lips ground flat, and covered occasionally, though not absolutely shut, with a broad circular lid of plate glass, which is suspended horizontally from a rod passing through a collar of leather. (See fig. 6. Plate LXV.) This cup is nearly filled with fresh distilled water, and supported by a slender metallic ring, with glass feet, about an inch above the surface of a body of sulphuric acid, perhaps three quarters of an inch in thickness, and occupying the bottom of a deep glass bason that has a diameter of nearly seven inches. In this state, the receiver being adapted, and the lid pressed down to cover the mouth of the cup, the transerrer is screwed to the air-pump, and the rarefaction, under those circumstances, pushed so far as to leave only about the hundred and fiftieth part of a residuum; and the cock being turned to secure that exhaustion, the compound apparatus is then detached from the pump, and removed to some convenient apartment. As long as the cup is covered, the water will remain quite unaltered; but, on drawing up the rod half an inch or more, to admit the play of the rare medium, a bundle of spicular ice will, after the lapse perhaps of five minutes, dart suddenly through the whole of the liquid mass; and the consolidation will afterwards descend regularly, thickening the horizontal stratum by insensible gradations, and forming in its progress a beautiful transparent cake. On letting down the cover again, the process of evaporation being now checked or almost entirely stopped, the ice returns slowly into its former liquid condition. In this way, the same portion of water may, even at distant intervals of time, be repeatedly congealed and thawed successively twenty or thirty times. During the first operations of freezing, some air is liberated; but this extrication diminishes at each subsequent act, and the ice, free from the smallest specks, resembles a piece of the purest crystal.

This artificial freezing of water in a cup of glass or metal, affords the best opportunity of examining the progress of crystallization. The appearance presented, however, is extremely various. When the frigorific action is most intense, the congelation sweeps at once over the whole surface of the water, obscuring it like a cloud. But, in general, the process advances more slowly; bundles of spicule, from different points, sometimes from the centre, though commonly from the sides of the cup, stretching out and spreading by degrees with a sort of feathered texture. (See fig. 4.) By this combined operation, the surface of the water soon becomes an uniform sheet of ice. Yet the effect is at times singularly varied; the spicular shoots, advancing in different directions, come to inclose, near the middle of the cup, a rectilineal space, which, by unequal though continued encroachment, is reduced to a triangle; and the mass below, being partly frozen, and therefore expanded, the water is gradually squeezed up through the orifice, and forms by congelation a regular pyramid, rising by successive steps; or, if the projecting force be greater, and the hole more contracted, it will dart off like a pillar. The radiating or feathered lines which at first mark the frozen surface, are only the edges of very thin plates of ice, implanted at determinate angles, but each parcel composed of parallel planes. This internal formation appears very conspicuous in the congealed mass which has been removed from a metallic cup, before it is entirely consolidated.—Sea-water will freeze with almost equal ease, but it forms an incompact ice like congealed syrup, or what is commonly called water-ice.

When cups of glass or metal are used, the cold excited at the open surface of the liquid extends its influence gradually downwards. But if the water be exposed in a porous vessel, the process of evaporation, then taking effect on all sides, proceeds with a nearly regular consolidation towards the centre of the mass, thickening rather faster at the bottom from its proximity to the action of the absorbent, and leaving sometimes a reticulated space near the middle of the upper surface, through which the air, disengaged by the progress of congelation, makes its escape.

When very feeble powers of refrigeration are employed, a most singular and beautiful appearance is, in course of time, slowly produced. If a pan of porous earthen-ware, from four to six inches wide, be filled to the utmost with common water till it rise above the lips, and planted above a dish of ten or twelve inches diameter, containing a body of sulphuric acid, and then a broad round receiver placed over it; on reducing the included air to some limit between the twentieth and the fifth part of its usual density, according to the coldness of the apartment, the liquid mass will, in the space of an hour or two, become entwined with icy shoots, which gradually enlarge and acquire more solidity, but always leave the fabric loose and unfrozen below. The icy crust which covers the rim, now receiving continual accessions from beneath, rises perpendicularly by insensible degrees. From each point on the rough surface of the vessel, filaments of ice, like bundles of spun glass, are protruded, fed by the humidity conveyed through its substance, and forming in their aggregation a fine silvery surface, analogous to that of fibrous gypsum or satin-spar. At the same time, another similar growth, though of less extent, takes place on the under side of the pan, so that continuous icy threads might appear vertically to transpierce the ware. The whole of the bottom becomes likewise covered over with elegant icy foliations. (See fig. 5.) Twenty or thirty hours may be required to produce those singular effects; but the upper body of ice continues to rise for the space of several days, till it forms a circular wall of near three inches in height, leaving an interior grotto lined with fantastic groups of icicles. In the meanwhile, the exfoliations have disappeared from the under side, and the outer incrustation is reduced, by the absorbing process, to a narrow ring. The icy wall now suffers a regular waste from external erosion, and its fibrous structure becomes rounded and less apparent. Of its altitude, however, it loses but little for some time; and even a deposition of congealed films along its coping or upper edge, seems to take place, at a certain stage of the process. This curious effect is owing to a circumstance, which as it serves to explain some of the grand productions of nature, particularly the Icebergs of the Arctic Circle, merits particular attention. The circular margin of the ice, being nearer the action of the sulphuric acid than its inner cavity, must suffer, by direct evaporation, a greater loss of heat; and, consequently, each portion of thin air that rises from the low cavity, being chilled in passing over the colder ledge, must deposit a minute corresponding share of its moisture, which instantly attaches itself and incrusts the ring. Whatever inequalities existed at first in the surface of the ice, will hence continually increase.

Artificial congelation is always most commodiously performed on a large scale. Since the extreme of rarefaction is not wanted, the air-pump employed in the process admits of being considerably simplified, and rendered vastly more expeditious in its operation: Two or three minutes at most will be sufficient for procuring the degree of exhaustion required, and the combined powers of evaporation and absorption will afterwards gradually produce their capital effect. In general, plates of about a foot in diameter should be preferred, which can be connected at pleasure with the main body of the pump. The dish holding the sulphuric acid is nearly as wide as the flat receiver; and a set of evaporating pans belongs to it, of different sizes, from seven to three inches in diameter, which are severally to be used according to circumstances. The largest pan is employed in the cold season, and the smaller ones may be successively taken as the season becomes sultry. On the whole, it is better not to overstrain the operation, and rather to divide the water under different receivers, if unusual powers of refrigeration should be required. As soon as the air is partly extracted from one receiver, the communication is immediately stopped with the barrel of the pump, and the process of exhaustion is repeated on another. In this way, any number of receivers, it is evident, may be connected with the same machine. If we suppose but six of these to be used, the labour of a quarter of an hour will set as many evaporating pans in full action, and may, therefore, in less than an hour afterwards produce nearly six pounds of solid ice. The waste which the water sustains during this conversion is extremely small, seldom indeed amounting to the fiftieth part of the whole. Nor, till after multiplied repetitions, is the action of the sulphuric acid considerably enfeebled by its aqueous absorption. At first that diminution is hardly perceptible, not being the hundredth part when the acid has acquired as much as the tenth of its weight of water. But such influence gains rapidly, and rises with accelerated progression. When the quantity of moisture absorbed amounts to the fourth part by weight of the acid, the power of supporting cold is diminished by a twentieth; and, after the weights of both these come to be equal, the refrigerating energy is reduced to less than the half. Sulphuric acid is hence capable of effecting the congelation of more than twenty times its weight of water, before it has imbibed near an equal bulk of that liquid, or has lost about the eighth part of its refrigerating power. The acid should then be removed, and concentrated anew by slow distillation.

When the exhaling and absorbing surfaces are rightly disposed and apportioned, the moderate rarefaction, from twenty to forty times, which is adequate to the freezing of water, may be readily procured by the condensation of steam. In all manufactures where the steam-engine is employed, ice may, therefore, at all times be formed in any quantity, and with very little additional expense. It is only required to bring a narrow pipe from the condensing vessel, and to direct it along a range of receivers, under each of which the water and the acid are severally placed. These receivers, with which the pipe communicates by distinct apertures, may, for the sake of economy, be constructed of cast-iron, and adapted with hinges to the rim of a broad shallow dish of the same metal, but lined with lead to hold the acid.

The combined powers of rarefaction and absorption are capable of generating much greater effects than the mere freezing of water. Such frigorific energy, however, is at all times sufficient for effecting the congelation of mercury. Accordingly, if mercury, contained in a hollow pear-shaped piece of ice, be suspended by cross threads near a broad surface of sulphuric acid under a receiver; on urging the rarefaction, it will become frozen, and may remain in that solid state for the space of several hours. But this very striking experiment is easily performed without any foreign aid. Having introduced mercury into the large bulb of a thermometer, and attached the tube to the rod of a transferrer, let this be placed over the wide dish containing sulphuric acid, in the midst of which is planted a very small tumbler nearly filled with water: After the included air has been rarefied about fifty times, let the bulb be dipped repeatedly into the very cold but unfrozen water, and again drawn up about an inch; in this way, it will become incrusted with successive coats of ice, to the thickness perhaps of the twentieth part of an inch: The water being now removed, the pendant icicle cut away from the bulb, and its surface smoothed by the touch of a warm finger, the transferrer is again replaced, the bulb let down within half an inch of the acid, and the exhaustion pushed to the utmost: When the syphon-gage has come to stand under the tenth of an inch, the icy crust starts into divided fissures, and the mercury, having gradually descended in the tube till it reach its point of congelation, or 39 degrees below zero, sinks by a sudden contraction almost into the cavity of the bulb; and the apparatus being then removed and the bail broken, the metal appears a solid shining mass, that will bear the stroke of a hammer.

But a still greater degree of cold may be created, by applying the same process likewise to cool the atmosphere which encircles the apparatus itself. A glass mattress was blown nearly of a hemispherical shape, its bottom quite flat, and about three inches in diameter, and its neck about half an inch wide and cut square over: The whole was covered with a coat of patent lint, which takes up water very copiously, a portion of sulphuric acid was next introduced, forming a layer of perhaps a quarter of an inch thick, and a spirit of wine thermometer, having its bulb also cased with wetted lint, was then inserted within the mattress, a brass ring attached to the tube securing it in the right position. Things being thus arranged, the mattress or flat bottle, with its thermometer, was placed on a slender stool with glass feet, about an inch above the sulphuric acid in the broad basin, and the large receiver luted over it. The air was then partly extracted, till the gage came below one inch: In a few minutes, the lint was frozen entirely, and looked white. After an interval of a quarter of an hour, to allow time for the evaporation of that icy coat to cool down the interior apparatus, the pump was again urged, and the exhaustion pushed to about three-tenths of an inch. In a short while, the inclosed thermometer sunk not fewer than 180 degrees, and remained stationary, till the ice had wasted away.

It is obvious, therefore, that the refrigerating powers could be pushed still farther by a judicious combination of the apparatus. An idea of the mode of proceeding may be formed from the inspection of figure 8. It would be easy to show, that the maximum effect is obtained, when the dimensions of the successive cases rise in a geometrical progression. The action, however, is not doubled for each additional case, but increased rather more than one-half.

These plans are difficult in the execution, and though they enlarge our conceptions of the extent of the descending scale of heat, yet they furnish merely speculative results. A very important practical improvement has been lately made in the process of artificial congelation. Sulphuric acid is certainly a cheap and most powerful agent of absorption; but the danger in using such a corrosive liquid, especially by unskilful persons, formed always a serious obstacle to its general adoption. Mr Leslie had early noticed the remarkable absorbent quality of our mouldering whinstone or porphyritic trap; and, in April 1817, he substituted that material, grossly pounded and dried before a kitchen fire, instead of sulphuric acid, and actually froze a body of water with great facility. This earth will attract the fifteenth part of its weight of moisture before its absorbent power is reduced to the one half; and is hence capable of freezing the sixth part of its weight of water. It may be repeatedly dried, and will, after each operation, act with the same energy as at first.

But an absorbent still more convenient and powerful has since occurred to Mr Leslie;—it is merely parched oatmeal. With a body of oatmeal of a foot in diameter, and rather more than an inch deep, he froze a pound and a quarter of water, contained in a hemispherical porous cup. The meal is easily dried and restored again to its action. In a hot climate, the exposure to the sun alone might prove sufficient. By the help of this simple material, therefore, ice will be easily and safely produced in any climate, and even at sea.

Other substances could, no doubt, be employed as absorbents. But, except the muriate of lime, or what is called the oil of salt desiccated, none hold out any prospect of success. Dried common salt will barely effect congelation; and stucco, or the sulphate of lime, deprived of its water of crystallization, which might seem to promise a powerful absorption, has scarcely any efficacy whatever.

EXPLANATION OF PLATE LXV.

Fig. 1. Represents a large air-pump intended for the purpose of freezing water, consisting of six receivers, each of them having a broad glass saucer for holding sulphuric acid, and a small porous earthen cup containing the water.

Fig. 2. A section of the above, showing the communication between the receivers and the body of the pump.

Fig. 3. The lever key, for opening and shutting the cocks.

Fig. 4. The more ordinary appearance of the surface of the water in the porous cup, at the moment when the act of congelation begins.

Fig. 5. The very singular kind of ice, striated, columnar, and cavernous, which, under a slight rarefaction, but in cold weather, rises slowly and changes its form by degrees, while part of the remaining water is drawn through the substance of the cup, and covers the outside with a thick icy collar above those irregular foliations.

Fig. 6. Represents an elegant mode of almost instantaneously freezing within a transferrer; above the saucer of the sulphuric acid, is placed a glass cup holding water, and the air having been previously exhausted, and the instrument detached from the pump, on pulling up the rod, the water, now left exposed to the most powerful evaporation, quickly runs into spicular ice, which gradually increases and consolidates into a pure transparent mass. The lid being let down again upon the glass cup, the action ceases, and the ice returns slowly to the state of water.

Fig. 7. A refrigeratory for cooling water at all times to a moderate degree, without the operation of an air-pump; a body of sulphuric acid lying at the bottom of the pan, while a porous vessel containing water is set in the centre of the refrigeratory, and the air is confined about it by replacing the lid.

Fig. 8. Exhibits a system of vessels for producing spontaneously great cold. It consists of a series of leaden or pewter vessels, placed one within the other, and whose surfaces form a descending geometrical progression, being covered externally with soft wet lint, and holding each of them a portion of sulphuric acid. The powerful evaporation maintained by this arrangement causes the interior vessels to become successively colder, and thus augments, by a repeated multiplication, the final effect. Placed under the receiver of the air-pump, this system of evaporating vessels, with no very high degree of exhaustion, and at all seasons, excites ultimately the most intense cold yet produced, far exceeding what is required for the congelation of mercury.

A number of the machines here described have been constructed, under the direction of the inventor, by Mr Cary, Optician, London, and sent to various parts of the Globe. It is only to be regretted, that the demand has not been sufficient for establishing a manufactory of them, which, by greatly reducing the cost, would encourage their general introduction. The term Colony has not been used with much precision. Dr Johnson defines it, "A body of people drawn from the mother country to inhabit some distant place;" and it would not be easy to find a short expression better calculated to embrace all the particulars to which, at any time, the term is applied. Yet this will be found to include some very heterogeneous objects; and, what is more, to express particulars to which the term Colony really does not extend. When the French Protestants, for example, settled, in great numbers, in England, and in the United Provinces, they were "a body of people drawn from the mother country to inhabit a distant place," but did not, for that reason, become a colony of France. Let the first part of the definition be supposed to be correct, and that a colony must, of necessity, be "a body of people drawn from the mother country;" something more is necessary to complete the definition, than the idea of inhabiting a distant place; for not every sort of inhabiting constitutes them a colony.

It seems necessary that, inhabiting a distant place, they should not come under the authority of any foreign government, but either remain under the government of the mother country, or exist under a government of their own. Of colonies remaining under the government of the mother country, the West India islands of the different European states afford an example. Of those existing under a government of their own, the most celebrated example is found in the colonies of the ancient states of Greece. The United States of America, as they constituted an example of colonies of the first sort, before the revolution which disjoined them from the mother country, so they may be regarded as constituting an example of colonies of the Grecian sort, now that they exist under a government of their own; though our resentment at their preferring to live under a government of their own, has prevented us from regarding them in the endearing light of a colony, or daughter country—has made us much rather apply to them the name of enemies—and our feelings towards them, to possess a greater share of those of the hostile, than of those of the amicable sort.

Again, however, the term Colony is sometimes employed in a sense in which the idea of a body of people, drawn from the mother country, hardly seems to be included. Thus, we talk of the British colonies in the east, meaning, by that mode of expression, the East Indies. Yet it can hardly be said, that any body of people is drawn from the mother country to inhabit the East Indies. There is nobody drawn to inhabit, in the proper sense of the word. A small number of persons, such as are sent to hold possession of a conquered country, go; and, in this sense, all the conquered provinces of the ancient Roman empire might be called, what they never have been called, colonies of Rome.

In the meaning of the term Colony, the predominant idea among the ancient Greeks and Romans, appears to have been that of the people,—the going out of a body of people to a new and permanent abode. Among the moderns, the predominant idea appears to be that of the territory,—the possession of an outlying territory; and, in a loose way of speaking, almost any outlying possession, if the idea of permanency is united, would receive the name of a colony. If we use the term with so much latitude as to embrace the predominating idea both of ancients and moderns, we shall say that a colony means an outlying part of the population of the mother country, or an outlying territory belonging to it; either both in conjunction, or any one of the two by itself.

We shall first treat of that class of them in the conception of which the idea of the people is the predominating idea. Of this sort were the Roman and the Grecian colonies, and of this sort are some of the British colonies.

The Roman colonies arose out of a peculiarity in the situation of the Roman people. In that, as in other countries, the lands were originally regarded as belonging to the state; and as belonging to the people, when the people took the powers of government to themselves. A sense of convenience, there, as everywhere else, rendered the land private property by degrees; and, under a form of government so very defective as the Roman, the influence of the leading men enabled them, in a short time, to engross it. The people, when reduced to misery, did not altogether forget, that the land had once been regarded as theirs; and every now and then, asserted their claims in so formidable a manner, that, when aided by circumstances, they compelled the ruling few to make something of a sacrifice. They did not, indeed, compel them to give up the lands which they had themselves appropriated, but it always happened, that in the countries conquered by the Romans, a portion of the lands was public property, and continued to be cultivated for the benefit of the Roman state. When the importunity of the people for a division of lands began to be troublesome or formidable, a portion of these lands was generally resorted to, enough to take off the most fiery of the spirits, and contenting the leaders, to quiet the populace for a time. The portion of land set apart for the purpose was divided, at the rate of so much for every man; and a sufficient number of persons to occupy it, and to form a community, were sent out, more or less provided with the various supplies which were necessary for commencing the settlement.

In the nature of an establishment of this descrip- tion there is no mystery, and hardly anything which requires explanation. The colonists lived in a Roman province, under Roman laws, and differed not materially from the people of any other local jurisdiction. Being once got rid of, no farther advantage was expected from them than from the other inhabitants of the country, in paying taxes for example, and furnishing men for the army. In some few instances, some benefit in the way of defence was looked to in the planting of colonies, when they were established in newly conquered countries, the people of which were not yet patient under the yoke, or when they were placed in the way of invading enemies. But not much advantage of this sort can be derived from a colony, which in general has more need to receive than ability to yield protection.

These colonies were planted wholly for the benefit of the Roman aristocracy. They were expedients for preserving to them the extraordinary advantages and powers they had been enabled to assume, by allying that impatience of the people under which the retention of them became difficult and doubtful. The wonder is, that the people were so easily contented, and having certain means of intimidating the aristocracy to so great a degree, they did not insist upon greater advantages. And the pity is, that they understood so little what was for their advantage. If, instead of demanding a portion of land, the benefit of which, at best, was only temporary, they had demanded good laws, and had obtained efficient securities for good government, securities against that prevalence of the interests of the few over the interests of the many which existed to so great an extent in the Roman government, as it has existed and still does exist in almost all other governments, they would have done themselves, and they would have done the human race, the greatest of all possible services. But the progress of the human mind was then too small to enable it to see distinctly what was the real object of good government, or what the means which would be effectual in attaining it.

We next come to the class of colonies which are exemplified in the case of those sent out by the Greeks; and we take them in order posterior to the Roman, because there is something in them for which rather more of explanation is required. Of those early migrations, which carried a Greek population into Asia Minor, and at a later period into Italy and Sicily, we have not a sufficient number of historical facts, to know very accurately the cause. And it may be, that internal commotions, as often as a superabounding population, were the source from which they were derived. When, of two contending parties, one acquired the ascendancy, they frequently made the situation of their opponents so painful to them, and sometimes also the shame of defeat was so great, that the vanquished party chose rather to live anywhere, than subject to the power and contempt of those over whom they had hoped to dominate. The leaders proposed emigration, and a great part of those who contended under their banners were ready to depart along with them. In this way they might remove in large bodies, and, carrying with them all their moveable effects, would be in circumstances, when they established themselves on a fertile soil, to attain, in a little time, a great degree of prosperity. All this seems necessary to account for so great a degree of prosperity as was attained very early by the Greeks in Asia Minor, where arts and sciences flourished sooner, and civilization made still more rapid strides, till checked by Persian domination, than in the mother country itself, where a more dense population, and a less fertile soil, opposed obstructions to the happiness of the people, and the progress of the human mind.

There is nothing in modern times which so much resembles the colonization of Asia Minor by the Greeks, as the colonization of North America by the English. Of the first English planters of North America, a large proportion went out to escape the oppression of a predominating religion, as the Greeks to escape the oppression of a predominating political party. One difference there was, in that the English did not go off, at once, in any considerable bodies, under distinguished leaders, or with any great accompaniment of capital, the means of future prosperity. Accordingly, the prosperity of the British colonies in North America was much less rapid, and much less brilliant, than that of the Grecian colonies in Asia Minor. Another great difference there was, in that the English colonies, though they made a sort of subordinate government for themselves, were still held to be subject to the government of the mother country. The Grecian colonies became states, in all respects independent, owning no government but that which they established for themselves; though they still looked to the mother country for protection and assistance, and held themselves under a very strong obligation to befriend and assist her in all her difficulties.

In regard to those detachments of the population of the Grecian states which made themselves, either from political disgust, or political oppression, there is nothing which stands in need of explanation. The motive which gave rise to them is familiar and obvious; and the sort of relation in which they and the mother country stood to one another, importing mutual benevolence, but no right in the one to command, or obligation on the other to obey, everybody can immediately understand.

There were other occasions, however, on which the Greeks sent out colonies, and these are the colonies which are commonly meant, when the Grecian principle of colonization is spoken of by way of distinction. These colonies were sent out, when the population of the mother country became superabundant, and relief was demanded by a diminution of numbers. This is a ground of colonization, which, since the principle of population has been shown to exert so great an influence upon the condition of human beings, deserves profound regard. We shall not therefore pass it by, without a few observations.

A population is said to be redundant—When? Not when it is numerically of either great or small amount; but solely and exclusively when it is too great for the quantity of food. Any one country produces or procures a certain quantity of food in the year. If it has a population greater than such a quantity of food is sufficient to maintain, all that number which is over and above what it is capable of maintaining is a redundancy of population.

A curious phenomenon here presents itself. A redundancy of population, in the states of ancient Greece, made itself visible even to vulgar eyes. A redundancy of population in modern Europe never makes itself visible to any but the most enlightened eyes. Ask an ordinary man, ask almost any man, if the population of his country is too great,—if the population of any country in Europe is, or ever was too great:—so far, he will tell you, is it from being too great, that good policy would consist in making it, if possible, still greater; and he might quote, in his own support, the authority of almost all governments, which are commonly at pains to prevent the emigration of their people, and to give encouragement to marriage.

The explanation of the phenomena is easy, but it is also of the highest importance. When the supply of food is too small for the population, the deficiency operates, in modern Europe, in a manner different from that in which it operated in ancient Greece. In modern Europe, the greatest portion of the food is bought by the great body of the people. What the great body of the people have to give for it is nothing but labour. When the quantity of food is not sufficient for all, and some are in danger of not getting any, each man is induced, in order to secure a portion to himself, to give better terms for it than any other man, that is more labour. In other words, that part of the population who have nothing to give for food but labour, take less wages. This is the primary effect, clear, immediate, certain. It is only requisite, farther, to trace the secondary, or derivative effects.

When we say, that, in the case in which the supply of food has become too small for the population, the great body of the people take less wages, that is, less food for their labour, we mean that they take less than is necessary for comfortable subsistence; because they would only have what is necessary for comfortable subsistence in the case in which the supply of food is not too small for the whole.

The effect then of a disproportion between the food and the population, is not to feed to the full measure that portion of the population which it is sufficient to feed, and to leave the redundant portion destitute: it is to take, according to a certain rate, a portion of his due quantity from each individual of that great class who have nothing to give for it but ordinary labour.

What this state of things imports, is most easily seen. That great class, who have nothing to give for food but ordinary labour, is the great body of the people. When every individual in the great body of the people has less than the due quantity of food, less than would fall to his share if the quantity of food were not too small for the population, the state of the great body of the people is the state of sordid, painful, and degrading poverty. They are wretchedly fed, wretchedly clothed, have wretched houses, and neither time nor means to keep either their houses or their persons free from disgusting impurity. Those of them, who, either from bodily infirmities, have less than the ordinary quantity of labour to bestow, or from the state of their families need a greater than the ordinary quantity of food, are condemned to starve; either wholly, if they have not enough to keep them alive, or partially, if they have enough to yield them a lingering, diseased, and after all a shortened existence.

What the ignorant and vulgar spectator sees in all this, is not a redundant population, it is only a poor population. He sees nobody without food who has enough to give for it. To his eye, therefore, it is not food which is wanting, but that which is to be given for it. When events succeed in this train, and are viewed with these eyes, there never can appear to be a redundancy of population.

Events succeeded in a different train in the states of ancient Greece, and rendered a redundancy of population somewhat more visible even to vulgar and ignorant eyes.

In ancient Greece the greatest portion of the food was bought by the great body of the people; the state of whom, wretched or comfortable, legislation has never yet been wise enough much to regard. All manual labour, or at least the far greatest portion of it, was performed, not by free labourers serving for wages, but by slaves, who were the property of the great men. The deficiency of food, therefore, was not distributed in the shape of general poverty and wretchedness over the great body of the population, by reduction of wages; a case which affects, with very slight sensations, those who regard themselves as in no degree liable to fall into that miserable situation. It was felt, first of all, by the great men, in the greater cost of maintaining their slaves. And what is felt as disagreeable by the great men is sure never to continue long without an effort, either wise or foolish, for the removal of it. This law of human nature was not less faithfully observed in the states of ancient Greece for their being called republics. Called republics, they were, in reality, aristocracies; and aristocracies of a very bad description. They were aristocracies in which the people were cheated, with an idea of power, merely because they were able, at certain distant intervals, when violently excited, to overpower the aristocracy, in some one particular point; but they were aristocracies in which there was not one efficient security to prevent the interests of the many from being sacrificed to the interests of the few; they were aristocracies, accordingly, in which the interests of the many were habitually sacrificed to the interests of the few; meaning by the many, not the slaves merely, but the great body of the free citizens. This was the case in all the states of Greece; and not least in Athens. This is not seen in reading the French and English histories of Greece. It is not seen in reading Mitford, who has written a History of Greece for no other purpose, but that of showing that the interests of the many always ought to be sacrificed to the interests of the few; and of abasing the people of Greece, because every now and then, the many in those countries showed, that they were by no means patient under the habitual sacrifice of their interests to the interests of the few. But it is very distinctly seen among other places, in reading the Greek ora- tors, in reading Demosthenes for example, in reading the Oration against Midias, the Oration on Lep- tines, and others, in which the licence of the rich and powerful, and their power of oppressing the body of the people, is shown to have been excessive, and to have been exercised with a shameless atrocity, of which the gentleness and modesty of the manners of modern Europe, even in the most aristocratically despotic countries, do not admit.

In Greece, then, anything which so intimately affected the great men, as a growing cost of maintaining their slaves, would not long remain without serious attempts to find a remedy.

It was not, however, in this way alone, that a redundant population showed itself in Greece. As not many of the few citizens maintained themselves by manual labour, there were but two resources more, the land, and profits of stock. Those who lived on the profits of stock, commonly did so by employing slaves in some of the known arts and manufactures; and of course were affected by the growing cost of maintaining their slaves. Those who lived on the produce of a certain portion of the land could not fail to exhibit very distinctly the redundancy of their numbers, when by the multiplication of families, portions came to be so far subdivided, that what belonged to each was insufficient for his maintenance.

In this manner, then, it is very distinctly seen, why to vulgar eyes there never appears in modern Europe to be any redundancy of population, any demand for relieving the country by carrying away a portion of the people; and why, in ancient Greece, that redundancy made itself be very sensibly perceived; and created, at various times, a perfectly efficient demand for removing to distant places a great proportion of the people.

But what if that redundancy of population which shows itself in modern Europe, in the effects of reduced wages, and a poor and starving people, should suggest to rulers the policy of ancient Greece, and some time or other recommend colonization? A few reflections may be well bestowed upon a supposition of this kind.

In the first place, it should be very distinctly understood what it is we mean, when we say, in regard to such a country as Great Britain, for example, that the supply of food is too small for the population. Because it may be said immediately, that the quantity of food may be increased in Great Britain; a proposition which no man will think of denying.

On this proposition, let us suppose that in any given year, this year for example, the food in Great Britain is too small for the people, by 10,000 individuals. It is no doubt true, that additional food sufficient to supply 10,000 individuals, might be raised next year; but where would be the amelioration, if 10,000 individuals were at the same time added to the numbers to be fed? Now, the tendency of population is such as to make, in almost all cases, the real state of the facts correspond with this supposition. Population not only rises to the level of the present supply of food; but, if you go on every year increasing the quantity of food, population goes on increasing at the same time, and so fast, that the food is commonly still too small for the people. This is the grand proposition of Mr Malthus's book; it is not only quite original, but it is that point of the subject from which all the more important consequences flow,—consequences which, till that point was made known, could not be understood.

When we say that the quantity of food in any country is too small for the quantity of the people, and that, though we may increase the quantity of food, the population will at the same time increase so fast, that the food will still be too small for the people; we may be encountered with another proposition. It may be said, that we may increase food still faster than it is possible to increase population. And there are situations in which we must allow that the proposition is true.

In countries newly inhabited, or in which there is a small number of people, there is commonly a quantity of land yielding a large produce for a given portion of labour. So long as the land continues to yield in this liberal manner, how fast soever population increases, food may increase with equal rapidity, and plenty remain. When population, however, has increased to a certain extent, all the best land is occupied; if it increases any farther, land of a worse quality must be taken in hand; when land of the next best quality is all exhausted, land of a still inferior quality must be employed, till at last you come to that which is exceedingly barren. In this progression, it is very evident that it is always gradually becoming more and more difficult to make food increase with any given degree of rapidity, and that you must come at last to a point where it is altogether impossible.

It may, however, be said, and has been said in substance, though not very clearly, by some of Mr Malthus's opponents, that it is improper to speak of food as too small for the population, so long as food can be made to increase at an equal pace with population; and though it is no doubt true, that, in the states of modern Europe, food does not actually increase so fast as the population endeavours to increase, and hence the poverty and wretchedness of that population; yet it would be very possible to make food increase as fast as the tendency in population, and hence to make the people happy without diminishing their numbers by colonization; and that it is owing wholly to unfavourable, to ill-conceived institutions, that such is not the effect universally experienced.

As this observation has in it a remarkable combination of truth and error, it is worthy of a little pains to make the separation.

There can be no doubt that, by employing next year a greater proportion of the people upon the land than this year, we should raise a greater quantity of food; by employing a still greater proportion the year following, we should produce a still greater quantity of food; and, in this way, it would be possible to go on for some time, increasing food as fast as it would be possible for the population to increase. But observe at what cost this would be. As the land, in this course, yields gradually less and less, to every new portion of labour bestowed upon it, it would be necessary to employ gradually not only a greater and greater number, but a greater and greater proportion of the people in raising food. But the greater the proportion of the people which is employed in raising food, the smaller is the proportion which can be employed in producing anything else. You can only, therefore, increase the quantity of food to meet the demand of an increasing population, by diminishing the supply of those other things which minister to human desires.

There can be no doubt, that, by increasing every year the proportion of the population which you employ in raising food, and diminishing every year the proportion employed in every thing else, you may go on increasing food as fast as population increases, till the labour of a man, added upon the land, is just sufficient to add as much to the produce, as will maintain himself and raise a family. Suppose, where the principle of population is free from all restriction, the average number of children reared in a family is five; in that case, so long as the man's labour, added to the labour already employed upon the land, can produce food sufficient for himself and the rearing of five children, food may be made to keep pace with population. But if things were made to go on in such an order, till they arrived at that pass, men would have food, but they would have nothing else. They would have neither clothes, nor houses, nor furniture. There would be nothing for elegance, nothing for ease, nothing for pleasure. There would be no class exempt from the necessity of perpetual labour, by whom knowledge might be cultivated, and discoveries useful to mankind might be made. There would be no physicians, no legislators. The human race would become a mere multitude of animals of a very low description, having just two functions, that of raising, and that of consuming food.

To shorten this analysis, let us, then, assume, what will hardly be disputed, that it is by no means desirable for human nature to be brought into a situation in which it would be necessary for every human being to be employed, and fully employed, in the raising of food; that it never can be desirable that more than a certain portion should be employed in the raising of food; that it must for ever be desirable that a certain proportion should be employed in producing other things which minister to human desires; and that there should be a class possessed of leisure, among whom the desire of knowledge may be fostered, and those individuals reared who are qualified to advance the boundaries of knowledge, and add to the powers and enjoyments of man.

It is no use, then, to tell us that we have the physical power of increasing food as fast as population. As soon as we have arrived at that point at which the due distribution of the population is made between those who raise food, and those who are in other ways employed in contributing to the well-being of the members of the community, any increase of the food, faster than is consistent with that distribution, can only be made at the expense of those other things, by the enjoyment of which the life of man is preferable to that of the brutes. At this point the progress of population ought undoubtedly to be restrained. Population may still increase, because the quantity of food may still be capable of being increased, though not beyond a certain slowness of rate, without requiring, to the production of it, a greater than the due proportion of the population.

Suppose, then, when the due proportion of the population is allotted to the raising of food, and the due proportion to other desirable occupations, that the institutions of society were such as to prevent a greater proportion from being withdrawn from those occupations to the raising of food. This it would, surely, be very desirable that they should effect. What, now, would be the consequence, should population, in that case, go on at its full rate of increase,—in other words, faster than with that distribution of the population, it would be possible for food to be increased? The answer is abundantly plain: All those effects would take place which have already been described as following upon the existence of a redundant population, in modern Europe, and in all countries in which the great body of those who have nothing to give for food but labour, are free labourers—that is to say, wages would fall; poverty would overspread the population; and all those horrid phenomena would exhibit themselves, which are the never failing attendants on a poor population.

It is of no great importance, though the institutions of society may be such, as to make the proportion of the population, kept back from the providing of food, rather greater than it might be. All that happens is, that the redundancy of population begins a little earlier. The unrestrained progress of population would soon have added the deficient number to the proportion employed in the raising of food; and, at whatever point the redundancy begins, the effects are always the same.

What are the best means of checking the progress of population, when it cannot go on unrestrained, without producing one or other of two most undesirable effects,—either drawing an undue proportion of the population to the mere raising of food, or producing poverty and wretchedness, it is not now the place to inquire. It is, indeed, the most important practical problem to which the wisdom of the politician and moralist can be applied. It has, till this time, been miserably evaded by all those who have meddled with the subject, as well as by all those who were called upon by their situation to find a remedy for the evils to which it relates. And yet, if the superstitions of the nursery were discarded, and the principle of utility kept steadily in view, a solution might not be very difficult to be found; and the means of drying up one of the most copious sources of human evil; a source which, if all other sources of evil were taken away, would alone suffice to retain the great mass of human beings in misery, might be seen to be neither doubtful nor difficult to be applied.

The only question for which we are here required to find an answer, is that of colonization. When the population of a country is full, and its increase cannot go on, at its most rapid pace, without producing one of the two evils of redundancy, a portion of the people, sent off to another country, may create a void, which, till population fills up, it may go on as rapidly as before, and so on for any number of times.

In certain circumstances, this is a more desirable resource, than any scheme for diminishing the rate of population. So long as the earth is not peopled to that state of fulness which is most conducive to human happiness, it contributes to that important effect. It is highly desirable, on many accounts, that every portion of the earth, the physical circumstances of which are not inconsistent with human well-being, should be inhabited, as fully as the conditions of human happiness admit. It is only, in certain circumstances, however, that a body of people can be advantageously removed from one country, for the purpose of colonizing another. In the first place, it is necessary, that the land which they are about to occupy should be capable of yielding a greater return to their labour than the land which they leave; otherwise, though relief is given to the population they leave behind, their own circumstances are not better than they would have been had they remained.

Another condition is, that the expense of removal from the mother country to the colonized country, should not be too great; and that expense is usually created by distance.

If the expense is too great, the population which remains behind in the mother country, may suffer more by the loss of capital, than it gains by the diminution of numbers.

It has been often enough, and clearly enough, explained, that it is only capital which gives employment to labour; we may, therefore, take it as a postulate. A certain quantity of capital, then, is necessary, to give employment to the population which any removal for the sake of colonization may leave behind. But if, to afford the expense of that removal, so much is taken from the capital of the country, that the remainder is not sufficient for the employment of the remaining population, there is, in that case, a redundancy of population, and all the evils which it brings. For the well-being of the remaining population, a certain quantity of food is required, and a certain quantity of all those other things which minister to human happiness. But to raise this quantity of food, and this quantity of other things, a certain quantity of capital is indispensably necessary. If that quantity of capital is wanting, the food, and other things, cannot be obtained.

Of that class of colonies, in the conception of which the idea of the people is the predominating idea, we have now explained the principle which is exemplified in the case of the Roman, and that which is exemplified in the case of the Grecian colonies. Belonging to the same class, there are British colonies, in which another, and a very remarkable principle is exemplified. The Greeks planted colonies for the sake of getting rid of a redundant population,—the British, for the sake of getting rid of a delinquent population.

The bright idea of a colony for the sake of getting rid of a delinquent population, if not peculiar to English policy, is, at any rate, a much more remarkable part of the policy of England, than of that of any other country. We have not time here to trace the history of this very singular part of English policy, nor is it of much importance. Every body knows, that this mode of disposing of delinquents was carried to a considerable height, before this country lost her dominion over the North American colonies, to which she annually transported a considerable portion of her convicts. It will suffice for the present occasion, to offer a few observations on the nature of such an establishment as that of New South Wales.

Considered in the light of its utility as a territory, the colony of New South Wales will be included in the investigation of that class of colonies, in the conception of which the idea of territory is the predominating idea. At present it is to be considered in its capacity of a place for receiving the delinquent part of the British population.

In dealing with a delinquent population, the end to be aimed at,—the security of the non-delinquent,—is considered as double; security from the crimes of this or that individual delinquent himself, and security from those of other men who may be tempted to follow his example. The first object is comparatively easy. It is not difficult to prevent an individual from doing any mischief. What is chiefly desirable is, that the individual who is proved to be a delinquent, should be so dealt with, that the mode of dealing with him may be as effectual as possible in deterring others from the commission of similar offences.

In regard to the first object,—securing society from the crimes of the convicted individual,—there is a good mode, and a bad mode. The best of all modes, unquestionably, is, the reformation of the offender. Wherever this can be accomplished, every other mode, it is evident, is a bad mode. Now, in regard to the reformation of the offender, there is but one testimony,—that New South Wales, of all places on the face of the earth, except, perhaps, a British prison, is the place where there is the least chance for the reformation of an offender,—the greatest chance of his being improved and perfected in every species of wickedness.

If it be said, that taking a man to New South Wales, at any rate affords to the British community security against the crimes of that man; we may answer, that putting him to death would do so too. And we farther pronounce, that saving a man from death with the mind of a delinquent, and sending him to New South Wales to all the effects of his vicious propensities, is seldom doing even him any good.

It is, however, not true, that sending a delinquent to New South Wales secures the British community from his future offences. A very great proportion of those who are sent to New South Wales find the means of returning; and those who do so are, in general, and may always be expected to be, the very worst.

We have a high authority for this affirmation. The committee of the House of Commons, who were appointed in the session of 1812 "to inquire into the manner in which sentences of transportation are executed, and the effects which have been produced by that mode of punishment," stated so- lemmily in their Report, that "No difficulty appears to exist among the major part of the men who do not wish to remain in the colony, of finding means to return to this country. All but the aged and infirm easily find employment on board the ships visiting New South Wales, and are allowed to work their passage home. But such facility is not afforded to the women. They have no possible method of leaving the colony but by prostituting themselves on board the ships whose masters may choose to receive them. They who are sent to New South Wales, that their former habits may be relinquished, cannot obtain a return to this country, but by relapsing into that mode of life which, with many, has been the first cause of all their crimes and misfortunes. To those who shrink from these means, or are unable, even thus, to obtain a passage for themselves, transportation for seven years is converted into a banishment for life, and the just and humane provisions of the law, by which different periods of transportation are apportioned to different degrees of crime, are rendered entirely null."

So much then with regard to the reformation of the individual, and security from his crimes, neither of which is attained. But, even on the supposition that both were ever so completely attained, there would still be a question of great importance; viz., whether the same effects could not be attained at a smaller expense. It never ought to be forgotten, that society is injured by every particle of unnecessary expense; that one of the most remarkable of all the points of bad government is, that of rendering the services of government at a greater than the smallest possible expense; and that one of the most remarkable of all the points of good government is, that of rendering every service which it is called upon to render at the smallest possible expense.

In this respect also, the policy of the New South Wales establishment is faulty beyond all endurance. The cost of disposing in this way of a delinquent population is prodigious. We have no room for details, and there is no occasion for proof; the fact is notorious. Whereas, it is now well known, that, in houses of industry and reformation upon the best possible plan, that, for example, of Mr Bentham's Panopticon, which has no parallel, there is little or no expense, there is perfect security against the future crimes of the delinquent, and that to a great degree, by the best of all possible modes,—his reformation.

Thus wretched is the mode of dealing with a delinquent according to such an institution as that of New South Wales, as far as regards the securing of the community from the future crimes of the convicted delinquent. It remains, that we consider it in what regards the deterring of all other men from following similar courses to those of the delinquent.

It is very evident, that this last is by far the most important of the two objects. It is now agreed that this is the end, the only good end, of all punishment, properly so called; for mere safe custody, against the chance of future crimes, and satisfaction to the injured party, are not, in the proper sense of the word, punishments; they are for other ends than punishment, in any point of view in which it is ever contemplated.

The great importance of this above the previous case, consists in this, that when you take security against the crimes of the convicted delinquent, you take security against the crimes of only one man, and that a man in your hands, with whom you can deal as you please. When, by means of the mode of dealing with him, you deter all other men from following similar courses, you provide security, not against one man alone, but many men, any number of men, of men undetected, and not in your power, each of whom may be guilty of many crimes before he can be stopt.

On this point it is only necessary, for form's sake, to write down what is the fact; for every human being of common reflection, must anticipate the observation before it is made. If an assembly of ingenious men, in the character of legislators, had sat down to devise a method of dealing with delinquents, which, while it had some appearance of securing society from the crimes of the detected individual, should be, to the greatest possible degree, devoid, both of the reality and even the appearance of any efficacy, by its example, of deterring other men from the pursuit of similar courses, they could not have devised any thing better calculated for that preposterous end than the colony of New South Wales. Nothing can operate where it does not exist. The men to be operated upon are in England; the example which should operate is in New South Wales. Much more might be said, but it is unnecessary. In the great majority of cases, a voyage to New South Wales, has not even the appearance of a punishment. Men of that description have neither friends nor affections. They leave nobody or thing whom they like, and nobody who likes them. What is it to such men that they are for a while, or for ever, taken away from England, along, very frequently, with the only sort of persons with whom they have any connection, the companions of their debaucheries and of their crimes?

We now come to the second grand division of colonies, those, in the conception of which, the idea of territory is the predominating idea. Of this sort are most of the colonies of the states of modern Europe; of Colonies, the British possessions, for example, in the East and West Indies.

The question is, in what way, or ways, abstracting from the questions of population, an outlying territory, considered merely as territory, is calculated to be advantageous; or, in other words, what reasons can any country have for desiring to possess the government of such territories.

There are two ways, which will easily present themselves to every mind, as ways in which advantage may accrue to the governing country. First, these outlying dominions may yield a tribute to the mother country; secondly, they may yield an advantageous trade.

1. We shall consider the first supposition; that of their yielding a tribute to the mother country. This will not require many words, as it is a supposition which few will be found to entertain. In regard to the West Indies, no such idea as that of a tribute has ever been formed. Even in regard to those taxes, which a vain and unprofitable attempt was made to impose upon the formerly existing colonies in North America, they were never dreamt of as a tribute, and never spoken of but in a sense contrary to the very idea of a tribute, that of reimbursing to the mother country a part, and no more than a part, of that which they cost her in governing and defending them.

With regard to the East Indies, we believe, there exists more or less of prejudice. Under the ignorance in which the country has remained of East India affairs, it floats in the minds of a great many persons, that, somehow or other, a tribute, or what is equivalent to a tribute, does come from the East Indies. Never did an opinion exist more completely, not merely without evidence, but contrary to evidence, evidence notorious, and well known to the persons themselves by whom the belief is entertained. India, instead of yielding a tribute to England, has never yielded enough for the expense of its own government. What is the proof? That its government has always been in debt; and has been under the necessity of continually augmenting its debt, till it has arrived at a magnitude which is frightful to contemplate.

So far is India from yielding a tribute to Great Britain, that, in loans and aids, and the expense of fleets and armies, it has cost this country enormous sums. It is no doubt true, that some acts of Parliament have assumed the existence of a tribute from India, or what has been called a surplus revenue, for the use of the nation. But Parliament, we have pretty good experience, cannot make things just by affirming them. Things are a little more stubborn than the credulity of Englishmen. That is, in general, obedient enough to the affirmation of those who lead the Parliament, and who have sometimes an interest in leading it wrong. Facts take their own course, without regard to the affirmations of Parliament, or the plastic faith of those who follow them.

A general proposition, on this subject, may be safely advanced. We may affirm it, as a deduction from the experienced laws of human society, that there is, if not an absolute, at least, a moral impossibility, that a colony should ever benefit the mother country, by yielding it a permanent tribute.

Let any body but consider what is included in the word government. And, when he has done that, let him then tell himself that the colonies must be governed. If he has the sufficient quantity of knowledge and reflection, no further proof will be necessary.

No proposition in regard to government is more universal, more free from all exception than this, that a government always spends as much as it finds it possible or safe to extract from the people. It would not suit the limits of the present design to run over the different governments of the world for the experimental proof of this proposition. We must invite every reader to do it for himself. Of one thing we are perfectly sure, that the more profoundly he is read in history, the more thoroughly will he be convinced of the universality of the fact.

Now, then, consider whether this universal fact be not inconsistent with the idea of benefit to the mother country by receiving a tribute from the colony. The government of the mother country itself cannot keep its expenses within bounds. It takes from the people all it can possibly take, and is still going beyond its resources. But if such is the course of government at home, things must be worse in the colonies. The farther servants are removed from the eye of the master, the worse, generally speaking, their conduct will be. The government of the colonies, managed by delegates from home, is sure to be worse, in all respects, than the government at home; and, as expense is one of the shapes in which the badness of government is most prone to manifest itself, it is sure, above all things, to be in proportion to its resources more expensive. Whatever springs operate at home to restrain the badness of government, cannot fail to operate with diminished force at the distance of a colony. The conclusion is irresistible. If the government of the mother country is sure to spend up to the resources of the country; and a still stronger necessity operates upon the government of the colony to produce this effect, how can it possibly afford any tribute?

If it be objected to this conclusion, that this propensity of governments to spend may be corrected, we answer, that this is not the present question. Take governments as, with hardly any exception, they have always been (this is a pretty wide experience); and the effect is certain. There is one way, to be sure, of preventing the great evil, and preventing it thoroughly. But there is only one. In the constitution of the government, make the interest of the many to have the ascendancy over the interest of the few, and the expense of government will not be large. The services expected from government may, generally speaking, be all rendered in the best possible manner at very little expense. Whenever the interests of the many are made, in the framing of governments, to have the ascendancy over the interests of the few, the services of government will always be rendered at the smallest possible expense. So long as the interests of the few are made in governments to have the ascendancy over the interests of the many, the services of government are all sure to be rendered, at the greatest possible expense. In almost all governments that ever yet existed, the interest of the few has had an ascendancy over the interest of the many. In all, the expense of government has, accordingly, been always as great, as, in existing circumstances, the people could be made, or could be made with safety, to give the means of making it.

One other supposition may be urged in favour of the tribute. The expense, it may be said, of governing the colony by a deputation from the mother country, may be escaped, by allowing the colony to govern itself. In that case, the colony will not choose to pay a tribute. If the tribute rests upon the ground of friendship, it will not be lasting. If the mother country extorts it by force, the colony is, in fact, governed by the mother country; and all the expense of that mode of government is ensured. If it be urged that the colony may continue to pay a tribute to the mother country, and that voluntarily, because the mother country may be of use to it; that, we may answer, is a bargain, not a tribute. The mother country, for example, may yield a certain portion of defence. But the colony is saved from the expense of providing for itself that defence which it receives from the mother country, and makes a good bargain if it gets it from the mother country cheaper than it would be provided by itself. In this case, too, the expense incurred by the mother country is apt to be a very full equivalent for the tribute received. It is evident, that this sort of bargain may subsist between any two states whose circumstances it may suit, and is not confined to a mother and daughter country. It is therefore no part of the question relating to colonies.

2. We have now investigated the first of the modes in which a colony, considered as territory merely, may be expected to benefit the mother country; and we have seen the chances of good which it affords. We shall now proceed to investigate the second; the trade, by means of which it is supposed that colonies may benefit the mother country.

This is a topic of some importance; for it is on account of the trade that colonies have remained an object of affection to Englishmen. It is on account of trade solely that the colonies in the West Indies are valued. It is indeed true, that some idea of something like a tribute from the East Indies has till this time maintained a place in the minds of the unthinking part of the community. But still it is the trade which has been supposed to be the principal source of the advantage which has been ascribed to what we call "the British Empire in the East."

Dr Adam Smith produces a long train of reasoning to prove, that it never can be advantageous to a country to maintain colonies merely for the sake of their trade.

In the idea of deriving a peculiar advantage from the trade of the colonies, is necessarily included the idea of monopoly. If the trade of the colony were to be free, other nations would derive as much advantage from it as the mother country; and the mother country would derive as much advantage from it, if the colony were not a colony.

Dr Smith affirms that this monopoly can never be of any advantage; must always, on the contrary, be a source of great disadvantage to the mother country.

He argues thus:—To make the monopoly advantageous to the mother country, it must enable the mother country to buy cheaper, or sell dearer, in the colony, than it would otherwise have done. In other words, it must enable the mother country to obtain the goods of the colony for a smaller quantity of her own goods than she could without the monopoly. This, in the opinion of Dr Smith, it does not belong to the monopoly to accomplish. The monopoly, he says, may enable the mother country to make other nations pay dearer for the goods of the colony, but it cannot enable her to buy them cheaper. This he seems to take as a postulate, without attempting much to support it by reasoning. The extension of the market, he says, by which he must mean, the competition of capital, would, in a state of freedom, reduce the profits of stock in the colonies to their lowest terms. Under a monopoly he seems to think that profit of stock in the colonies is apt to remain above that level. And he assumes, that the terms on which the mother country deals with the colony must depend upon the rate of profits in the colony.

Having, on these grounds, assumed the impossibility of deriving any advantage from the monopoly of the colonial trade, Dr Smith proceeds to represent a variety of disadvantages which he thinks it has a necessary tendency to produce.

His argument is, that the monopoly of the colonial trade necessarily raises the profits of stock in the mother country; and that "whatever," to use his own expression, "raises in any country the ordinary rate of profit higher than it otherwise would be, necessarily subjects that country both to an absolute and to a relative disadvantage, in every branch of trade of which she has not the monopoly."

To prove the first of these propositions, he says, that by the monopoly of the trade of any colony, foreign capital is driven from it; the capital of the trade is thus made deficient; the profit of the capital is, for that reason, increased; the increase of profit in the colony draws capital from the mother country; the departure of capital from the mother country makes the portion of capital in the mother country deficient; and hence raises in the mother country the profits of stock.

To prove the second of the propositions, he says, that high profits produce high prices; and that high prices diminish produce. To afford her merchants the high profits in question, the country must pay dearer for the goods she imports; and must sell dearer those which she exports. She must therefore, he infers, "both buy less and sell less; must both enjoy less and produce less, than she otherwise would do." Nor is this all; other nations, who do not subject themselves to this disadvantage, to this diminution of produce, may advance faster, and thus attain a superiority which they would not otherwise have enjoyed. And there is still a worse evil; "by raising the price of her produce above what it would otherwise be, it enables the merchants of other countries to undersell her in foreign markets, and thereby to justify her out of almost all those branches of trade of which she has not the monopoly."

To this reasoning, Dr Smith anticipates an objection. It may be affirmed, that the colony trade is more advantageous than any other trade; and though it may be true, according to the reasonings of Smith, that the monopoly of the colony trade has diminished the amount of trade which the mother country,—which England, for example, has been able to carry on in other channels; England has lost nothing, because she has exchanged a less profitable for a more profitable employment of her capital.

In answer to this objection, Dr Smith endeavours to prove, that the employment into which the capital of England is forced by the monopoly, is less advantageous to the country than that into which it would have gone of its own accord. As the foundation of his reasoning, he assumes, that "the most advantageous employment of any capital to the country to which it belongs, is that which maintains there the greatest quantity of productive labour, and increases the most the annual produce of the land and labour of that country." Upon this principle, he maintains, that the home trade is more advantageous than any trade of export and import, because the same capital puts in motion two portions of industry, that of the buyer and that of the seller. That the trade of export and import, in which the returns of capital take place at short intervals, is more advantageous than a trade in which they take place at distant intervals; as a capital which returns, for example, twice in the year, puts in motion twice as much industry in the mother country, as one which returns only once in the year: And that a carrying trade is the least advantageous of all trades, because it serves to put in motion, not the industry of the country to which it belongs, but the industry of the two countries, the communication between which its employed to maintain. The colony is, therefore, less advantageous than the home trade; it is less advantageous than the trade with the neighbouring countries of Europe; and a great proportion of it is less advantageous than any trade of export and import, because it is a mere carrying trade. The employment into which the capital of Great Britain is forced by the monopoly of the colony trade, is, therefore, a less advantageous employment than that into which it would have gone of its own accord.

We have stated this train of reasoning, which hitherto has passed with political economists as conclusive, the more carefully, because there are several positions in it, which the late profound work of Mr Ricardo (Principles of Political Economy and Taxation), who has thrown so much light upon the science of Political Economy, has taught us to control.

First, as to the position, that the monopoly of the trade of a colony cannot enable the mother country to buy cheaper or sell dearer in the colony; in other words, to obtain a given quantity of the goods of the colony for a less quantity of her own goods, than she would otherwise do, Mr Ricardo would reason as follows: If the trade of the colony is left open to all the merchants of the mother country, it will no doubt happen, that the competition of these merchants, one with another, will make them sell as cheap in the colony as they can afford to sell, that is, buy as dear as they can afford to buy. The produce of the colony will, in that case, go as cheap to the foreign as to the home consumer.

But there is another case; namely, that in which the trade of the colony is placed in the hands of an exclusive company. In that case it is, on the other hand, true, that the mother country may obtain a given quantity of the goods of the colony for a less quantity of her own goods than otherwise she would do. In this case, the goods of the mother country are placed, with regard to the goods of the colony, in the situation in which those commodities which can only be produced in a limited quantity, particular wines, for example, which can only be produced on one particular spot, are placed with regard to all the rest of the goods in the world. It is evident that any quantity of the rest of the goods in the world may be given for those wines, if people are sufficiently desirous to possess them; that there is no limit, in short, to the quantity, but the unwillingness of people to part with more of the things which they possess to obtain the commodities which are thus in request. The same would be the case with a colony, the trade of which was entirely in the hands of an exclusive company. The exclusive company, by limiting the quantity of the goods of the mother country which they chose to send to the colony, might compel the colony to give for that limited quantity any quantity of the produce of their own land and labour, which their desire to obtain the goods of the mother country would admit. If the goods of the mother country were goods which excited a very strong desire, if they were goods of the first necessity, the necessary materials of food or the instruments of their industry, there would be no limit but one to the greatness of the quantity of their own produce which they might be compelled to pay for a given quantity of the produce of the mother country. When nothing was left to the colony of the whole produce of its labour but just enough to keep the labourers alive, it could not go any farther. Up to that point, if dependent for articles of the first necessity, it might, by an exclusive company, undoubtedly be strict.

Even in the other case of the monopoly, that in which the trade with the colony is not placed in the hands of an exclusive company, but open to all the merchants of the mother country, one situation of the mother country may be supposed, in which she might still draw an extraordinary advantage from the forced trade of the colony.

The facts would be these. Whatever foreign goods the colony bought, she would be still obliged to purchase from the mother country. No doubt, the competition of the merchants of the mother country would, in this case, compel them to sell as cheap to the colony as to any other country. Wherein, then, would consist the advantage? In this, that England might thus sell in the colony, with the usual profits of stock, certain kinds of goods, which not being able to manufacture so cheaply as some other countries, she would cease to manufacture, except for the monopoly. But still a very natural question arises,—What advantage does she derive from forcing this manufacture, since she makes by it no more than the ordinary profits of stock, and might make the ordinary profits of stock by the same capital in some other employment? The answer is, that she might by this means obtain a greater quantity of the goods of the colony, by a given quantity of the produce of her own labour, or, what comes to the same thing, an equal quantity of the goods of the colony, by a less quantity of the produce of her own labour, than she could in a case of freedom.

It may be seen to be so in this manner. England desires to purchase, say 10,000 hogsheads of sugar. This is her consumption. For this she will give, of the produce of her own labour, whatever quantity it is necessary to give. She wishes, however, to give as little as possible; and the question is, in what way. she may give the least. The sugar is worth, say L.500,000. England sends goods to the colony which sell for L.500,000. Now, apply the supposition introduced above. Suppose that, if trade were free, these goods from England, which the manufacturers and merchants of England cannot afford to sell for less than L.500,000, could be had for L.400,000 from some other country. In that case, it is evident that the same quantity of these same goods with which England, under the monopoly, purchased 10,000 hogsheads of sugar, would now purchase only 8000; for that is the ratio of the L.400,000 to the L.500,000. What then would happen, supposing England still to resolve upon having 10,000 hogsheads of sugar? One of two things must necessarily happen. Either she will purchase the sugar with the same goods, or she will not. If she purchases it with the same goods, it is evident that she must give a greater quantity of goods; she must give one fifth more of the produce of her labour; one fifth more of her industrious people must be withdrawn from administering to other productions, and employed in enabling her to obtain the same quantity of sugar. This quantity of produce, in that case, the mother country saves by means of the monopolized trade of the colony. This quantity she loses by losing such a colony. But, undoubtedly, the mother country would, in such a case, endeavour to purchase the sugar, not with such goods as she purchased it with before, but other goods. She would endeavour to purchase it with goods which she could manufacture as cheaply as any other country. But supposing the colony had no demand for any goods which the mother country could afford as cheap as any other country, even in that case the mother country would still have a resource. If there was any country in which she could sell such goods for money, she could purchase the same quantity of sugar for the same quantity of the produce of her own labour as before.

It is not then true, according to Dr Smith, that in no case can the mother country derive any peculiar advantage in the way of trade, from the possession of colonies. We see that there are two cases, in which she may derive an advantage in that way. It remains to inquire what that advantage is ultimately worth; not only what it is in itself independently, but what it is, after compensation is made for all the disadvantages with which the attainment of it is naturally attended.

We are first to inquire, What is the value of that advantage, all deductions made, which the mother country may derive, through an exclusive company, from the trade of a colony?

It is very evident, in the first place, that, whatever the mother country gains, the colony loses. Now, if the colony were part of the dominions of a foreign state, there is a certain way of viewing such questions, in which that result would appear to be perfectly desirable. But, suppose that the colony, which is the fact, is not part of the dominions of a foreign state, but of the same state; that it is, in truth, not part of a different country, but of the same country; its subjects, not part of a different community, but of the same community; its poverty or riches, not the poverty or riches of another country, but of the same country; How is the result to be viewed in that case? Is it not exactly, the same sort of policy, as if Yorkshire were to be drained and oppressed for the benefit of Middlesex? What difference does it make, that one of the portions of the same empire is somewhat farther off than another? Would it, for that reason, be more rational to pillage Caithness, than to pillage Yorkshire, for the sake of Middlesex? Does the wealth of a state consist in the wealth of one part, effected by the poverty of another part? Does the happiness of a state consist in the happiness of one part, effected by the misery of another? What sort of a rule for guiding the policy of any state would this be supposed? Assuredly this would be a contrivance, not for increasing her wealth and happiness, upon the whole. It would be a contrivance for diminishing it. In the first place, when of two parties equally provided with the means of enjoyment, you take a portion from the one, to give it to the other, the fact is,—a fact too well established, and too consonant with the experience of every man, to need illustration here,—that you do not add to the happiness of the one, so much as you take from the happiness of the other; and that you diminish the sum of their happiness taken together. This, in truth, is the foundation, upon which the laws for the protection of property rest. As the happiness of one man is, or ought to be, of no more value to the state, than the happiness of another man, if the man who takes from another man a piece of property, added to his own happiness, as much as he took from the happiness of the other, there would be no loss of happiness upon the whole, and the state would have no ground, in utility, on which to interfere.

But this is not all. Not only is the quantity of happiness of the community diminished upon the whole, but by that operation which gives the mother country an advantage by the trade of the colony, the quantity of produce of the community is diminished upon the whole. The subjects of the state, taken as a whole, not only enjoy less than they would otherwise enjoy, but they produce less than they would otherwise produce. The state is not a richer state; it is, on the contrary, a poorer state, by means of such a colonial policy.

By means of such a policy, a portion of the capital of the state is employed in a channel in which it is less productive than it would have been in the channel into which it would have gone of its own accord. It is a point established in the science of Political Economy, that it is not good policy to confine consumption to any sort of home manufacture, when it can be purchased more cheaply abroad. It is upon this ground that we have laughed at the late and present outcries of the Germans, because the English sell their goods cheaper than they can make them. The reason is, because when a country continues to consume an article made at home, which it could get cheaper from another country, it does neither more nor less than insist, that it shall employ a certain number of men's labour in providing it with that article, more than it would be necessary to employ if it imported the article; and, of course, it loses completely the benefit of these men's labour, who would be employed in producing for it something else, if they were not employed in producing that article. The country is, therefore, the poorer, by the whole value of these men's labour. The case is exactly the same, where the colonies are confined to the manufactures of the mother country. When the colony is obliged to employ, for the purpose of obtaining a certain quantity of goods from the mother country, the labour of a greater number of men than she would be obliged to employ to get the same quantity of goods from another country, she loses the labours of all that additional number of men. At the same time, the mother country does not gain it; for, if the mother country did not manufacture for the colony, her capital would be liberated to another employment, and would yield the same profits in that as it did in the former employment.

We have still, however, to examine that extraordinary case which we before supposed, in which the mother country cannot produce any sort of commodity whatsoever as cheap as other countries; and, if trade were free, of course would sell nothing in a foreign market. The case here is somewhat altered. In liberating the colony from the monopoly of the mother country, there would be no change of capital from a less to a more productive employment; because, by the supposition, the mother country has not a more productive employment to which her liberated capital can be sent. Events would succeed in the following order: The colony would obtain the goods which it demanded, with a smaller portion of its own labour,—would hence be more amply supplied with goods. But it is not supposed that this event would give to its industry a more beneficial direction. In the case of a sugar colony, at any rate, its industry would remain in the same channels as before. Such would be the effects in regard to the colony. What would they be in regard to the mother country? If her capital is no longer employed in manufacturing for the colony, she can always, indeed, employ it with the same profit as before. But she still desires the same quantity of sugar; and her goods will not go so far as before in the purchase of it. Whatever fall would be necessary in the price of her goods to bring them upon a level with the goods of other countries, is equivalent, as far as she is concerned, to a rise of the same amount, in the price of sugar. In this case, the mother country would lose exactly as much as the colony would gain. The community, taken as a whole, would be neither the richer nor the poorer, for driving things out of the free into the compulsory channel. The people of the mother country would be so much the richer,—the people of the colony would be so much the poorer.

This, however, still remains to be said. There is only one case in which this sort of monopoly would not diminish the produce of the community, and render it positively poorer upon the whole. There is only that one case, supposed above, in which the mother country has not one commodity which she can sell as cheap as other countries. Now this may fairly be regarded as a case, if not altogether, at any rate very nearly impossible. It is not easy to conceive a country so situated, as not to have advantages in regard to the production of some sorts of commodities, which set her on a level with other countries. As long as this is the case, she can obtain money on as good terms as any other country; and if she can obtain money on as good terms, she can obtain sugar, and every thing else.

The question, then, as to the benefit capable of being derived from a colony through the medium of an exclusive trade, is now brought to a short issue. There is no benefit, except through the medium of a monopoly. There is only one case in which the monopoly does not make the whole community poorer than it would otherwise be. In that case, it does not make the community richer than it would otherwise be; and that case is one, which can either never be realized, or so rarely, as to be one of the rarest of all exceptions to one of the most constant of all general rules. The policy of holding a colony for the benefit of its trade, is, therefore, a bad policy.

To these conclusions, one or two of the doctrines Farther Remarks on Dr Smith will be seen to be opposed, and, therefore, require a few words of elucidation.

If an advantage, in the two cases just explained, would arise from colonies, it would be counterbalanced, he says, by the disadvantage attending the rise in the profits of stock.

Both parts of this doctrine may be disputed. In the first place, it may be disputed, whether the monopoly of the colony trade has any tendency to raise the profits of stock in the mother country. In the next place, it may be disputed, whether a high rate of profits in any country, has any tendency to lay it under any disadvantage in its traffic with other nations.

First, it may be disputed, whether the monopoly of the colony trade would increase profits. The expulsion of foreign capital would create a vacuum, whence, according to Smith, a rise of profit, and an absorption of capital from the mother country. The question is, whether capital would not flow into the colonies from the mother country, till it reduced the profits in the colony, to the level of the profits in the mother country, instead of raising those in the mother country, in any degree toward a level with those of the colony. That it would do so appears to be capable of demonstration. Mr Ricardo's argument would be very short. Nothing, he would say, can raise the profits of stock, but that which lowers the wages of labour. Nothing can lower the wages of labour, but that which lowers the necessaries of the labourer. But nobody will pretend to say that there is any thing in the monopoly of the colony trade, which has any tendency to lower the price of the necessaries of the labourer. It is, therefore, impossible that the monopoly of the colony trade can raise the profits of stock. By those who are acquainted with the profound reasonings of Mr Ricardo, in proof of the two premises, this argument will be seen to be complete. There is not a demonstration in Euclid, in which the links are more indissoluble. To those who are not acquainted with those reasonings, we are aware that the pro- positions will appear mysterious; and yet, we are afraid that, in the few words to which we are confined, it will not be possible to give them much satisfaction.

With regard to the last of the two propositions, that nothing can lower the wages of labour, but that which lowers the necessaries of the labourer, we may confine ourselves to that combination of circumstances which marks the habitual state, without adverting to the modifications exemplified in those states of circumstances which are to be regarded as exceptions. The habitual state of population is such, that wages are at the lowest terms; and cannot be reduced lower without checking population, that is, reducing the number of labourers. In this case, it is self evident, that nothing can lower the wages of labour, but lowering the necessaries of the labourer. In all, then, except the extraordinary cases, which it would require too many words here to explain, in which a country is but partially peopled, and in which part of the best land is still unemployed, the proposition of Mr Ricardo is indisputable, that nothing can lower the wages of labour except a fall in the necessaries of the labourer.

Let us next consider the proposition, That nothing can raise the profits of stock but that which lowers the wages of labour.

One thing is perfectly clear, that if the whole of what is produced by the joint operations of capital and labour, were, whatever it is, divided, without deduction, between the owner of the stock, and the labourers whom it employs, in that case, whatever raised the wages of labour, would lower profits of stock, and profits of stock could never rise except in proportion as wages of labour fell. The whole being divided between the two parties, in whatever proportion the one received more, it is certain that the other would receive less.

But what is here put in the way of supposition, viz. that the whole of what is produced by the joint operations of capital and labour is divided between the capitalists and the labourers, is literally and rigidly the fact. It is, then, undeniable, that nothing can raise the profits of stock, but that which lowers the wages of labour.

The whole produce, without any exception, of every country, is divided into three portions, rent, wages, and profits. If there were no rent, and the whole were divided into profit and wages, the case would be clear; because nothing could be added to the one without being detracted from the other.

Rent, however, does, in reality, make no difference. Rent is no part of the joint produce of labour and capital. It is the produce, exclusively, of a particular degree of fertility in particular lands; and is yielded over and above a return to the whole of the labour and capital employed upon that land, over and above a return equal to the joint produce of an equal portion of labour and capital in any other employment.

So much, then, for Dr Smith's opinion, that the monopoly of the colonial trade raises the profits of stock. Let us next inquire if it be true, that a rise in the profits of stock, if it were produced by the monopoly, would occasion, as he supposes, any discouragement to the foreign trade of the mother country.

It would occasion this discouragement, he says, by raising prices. If, then, it can be shown, that it would certainly not raise prices, every reason for supposing that it would afford any discouragement to foreign trade is taken away. But that a high rate of profits does not and cannot raise prices, is evident from what has been deduced above. The whole produce of the joint operations of labour and capital being divided between profit and wages, in whatever degree profit rises, wages fall; the cost of production remains the same as before.

Not only does a variation in the state of wages and profit give no obstruction to foreign trade, a variation even in the cost of production gives no obstruction. A nation exports to another country, not because it can make cheaper than another country; for it may continue to export, though it can make nothing cheaper. It exports, because it can by that means get something cheaper from another country than it can make it at home. But how can it, in that case, get it cheaper, than it can make it at home? By exchanging for it something which costs it less labour than making it at home would cost it. No matter how much of that commodity it is necessary to give in exchange. So long as what it does give is produced by less labour, than the commodity which it gets for it could be produced by at home, it is the interest of the country to export. Suppose that the same quantity of corn which is produced in England by the labour of 100 men, England can purchase in Poland with a quantity of cotton goods which she has produced with the labour of 90 men; it is evident that England is benefited by importing the corn and exporting the cotton goods, whatever may be the price of the cotton goods in Poland, or the cost of producing them. Suppose that the cotton goods could be produced in Poland with the labour of 85 men, that is, less than they are supposed to be produced with in England. Even that would not hinder the trade between them. Suppose that the same quantity of corn, which is raised in England with the labour of 100 men, is raised in Poland with the labour of 80; in that case, it is plain, that Poland can get with 80 men's labour, through the medium of her corn, the same quantity of cotton goods which would cost her the labour of 85 men, if she was to make them at home. Both nations, therefore, profit by this transaction; England, to the extent of 10 men's labour, Poland to the extent of 5 men's labour; and the transaction, in a state of freedom, will be sure to take place between them, though England is less favourably situated than Poland with regard to both articles of production.

In what manner this class of transactions are affected by the intervention of the precious metals; in what manner the precious metals distribute themselves, so as to leave the motives to this barter exactly the same as they would be, if no precious metal intervened, it would require too many words here to explain. The reader who recurs for that explanation to Mr Ricardo, the first author of it, will not lose his time or his pains.

One other disadvantage of the colony trade is ad- duced by Dr Smith. It turns the capital of the country out of a more into a less profitable employment, by turning it from the home to a foreign trade, from a foreign of quick to a foreign of slow returns, and from a foreign to a carrying trade. This doctrine, too, requires some explanation, and more, to be sufficiently clear, than can here be bestowed upon it. The home trade is not necessarily more advantageous than the foreign, nor the foreign of quick than the foreign of slow returns, nor any of them all than the carrying trade. These trades, it may be allowed, increase the gross produce of a country, in the order in which Dr Smith has arranged them. But a country is happy and powerful, not in proportion to its gross, but in proportion to its net revenue, not in proportion to what it consumes for the sake of production, but to what it has over and above the cost of production. This is an important fact, which, in almost all his reasonings, Dr Smith has overlooked. It will hardly, however, be denied, that in various circumstances, any one of these trades, the carrying trade itself, may be more conducive to a net revenue than any of the rest; and in a state of freedom will be sure to be so, as often as the interest of individuals draws into that channel any portion of the national stock.

We have now, therefore, considered all those cases which, in the study of colonial policy, can be regarded in the light of species or classes. There are one or two singular cases, which are of sufficient importance to require a separate mention.

That English law, which establishes the monopoly of the colonies, at least of the transatlantic ones, professes to have in view, not trade so much as defense. The reason of that round-about policy is, in this manner, deduced. The defense of England stands very much upon her navy; her navy depends altogether upon her sailors; the colony trade and its monopoly breeds sailors; therefore, colonies ought to be cultivated, and their trade monopolized.

Upon the strength of this reasoning, in which, for a long time, it would have appeared to be little less than impiety to have discovered a flaw, the navigation laws, as they are called, were embraced, with a passionate fondness, by Englishmen.

Nothing is worthy of more attention, in tracing the causes of political evil, than the facility with which mankind are governed by their fears; and the degree of constancy with which, under the influence of that passion, they are governed wrong. The fear of Englishmen to see an enemy in their country has made them do an infinite number of things, which had a much greater tendency to bring enemies into their country than to keep them away.

In nothing, perhaps, have the fears of communities done them so much mischief, as in the taking of securities against enemies. When sufficiently frightened, bad governments found little difficulty in persuading them, that they never could have securities enough. Hence come large standing armies; enormous military establishments; and all the evils which follow in their train. Such are the effects of taking too much security against enemies!

A small share of reflection might teach mankind, that in nothing is the rigid exercise of a sound temperance more indispensable to the well-being of the community than in this. It is clear to reason (alas, that reason should so rarely be the guide in these matters!) that the provision for defense should always be kept down to the lowest possible, rather than always raised to the highest possible, terms! At the highest possible terms, the provision for defense really does all the mischief to a community which a foreign enemy could do; often does a great deal more than it would. A moderate provision against evils of frequent and sudden occurrence, a provision strictly proportioned to the occasion, and not allowed to go beyond it, will save more evil than it produces. All beyond this infallibly produces more evil than it prevents. It enfeebles by impoverishing the nation, and degrading by poverty and slavery the minds of those from whom its defense must ultimately proceed; and it makes it, in this manner, a much easier prey to a powerful enemy, than if it had been allowed to gather strength by the accumulation of its wealth, and by that energy in the defense of their country, which the people of a well-governed country alone can evince.

A navy is useful for the defense of Great Britain. But a navy of what extent? One would not, for example, wish the whole people of Great Britain engaged in the navy. The reason, we suppose, would be; because this would not contribute to strength, but weakness. This is an important admission. There is, then, a line to be drawn; a line between that extent of navy which contributes to strength, and that extent which, instead of contributing to strength, is sure to produce weakness. Surely it is a matter of first rate importance to draw that line correctly. What attempt has ever been made to draw it at all? Can any body point out any land-marks which have been set up by the proper authority? Or, has the matter been always managed without measure or rule? And has it not thus always been an easy task to keep the navy in a state of excess; always beyond the line which separates the degree that would contribute to strength from the degree that infallibly contributes to weakness?

As the passion of England has always been to have too great a navy; a navy, which, by its undue expense, contributed to weakness; so it has been its passion to have too many sailors for the supply of that navy. The sailors of a navy are drawn from the sailors of the maritime trade. But a navy of a certain extent requires, for its supply, a maritime trade of only a certain extent. If it goes beyond that extent, all the excess is useless, with regard to the supply of the navy. Now, what reason has ever been assigned to prove, that the maritime traffic of Great Britain would not, without the monopoly of the colonies, afford a sufficient supply of sailors to a sufficient navy? None, whatsoever: none, that will bear to be looked at. But till a reason of that sort, and a reason of indubitable strength, is adduced, the policy of the navigation laws remains totally without a foundation. In that case, it deserves nothing but rejection, as all the world must allow. It is a violent interference with the free and natural course of things; the course into which the interests of the community would otherwise lead them; without any case being made to appear which requires that violent disturbance.

The discussion of this supposed benefit of colonies, we shall not pursue any farther; for, as a signal proof of the diffusion of liberal ideas, the policy of the navigation laws has become an object of ridicule, with hardly any defenders, in the British Parliament, as the debates of the last session happily evince.

There is another singular case, created by mines of the precious metals. A colony may be formed and retained for the sake of the gold and silver it may produce. Of this species of colony we have something of a specimen in the Spanish colonies of Mexico and Peru. The question is, whether any advantage can ever be derived from a colony of this description? The answer to this question is not doubtful; but it is not very easy, within the limits to which we are confined, to make the evidence of it perfectly clear to everybody. In one case, and in one case alone, an advantage may be derived. That is the case, in which the colony contains the richest mines in the world. The richest mines in the world always, in the case of the precious metals, supply the whole world; because, from those mines, the metals can be afforded cheaper, than the expense of working will allow them to be afforded from any other mines; and the principle of competition soon excludes the produce of all other mines from the market.

Now, the country, which contains the richest mines, may so order matters, as to gain from foreign countries, on all the precious metals which she sells to them, nearly the whole of that difference which exists between what the metal in working costs to her, and what, in working, it costs at the mines, which, next to hers, are the most fertile in the world.

She must always sell the metal so cheap, as to exclude the metal of those other mines from the market; that is, a trifle cheaper than they can afford to sell it. But, if her mines are sufficiently fertile, the metal may cost her much less in working than the price at which she may thus dispose of it. All the difference she may put in her exchequer. In three ways this might be done. The government might work the mines wholly itself: It might let them to an exclusive company: It might impose a tax upon the produce at the mine. In any one of these ways it might derive a sort of tribute from the rest of the world, on account of the gold and silver with which it supplied them. This could not be done, if the mines, without being taxed, were allowed to be worked by the people at large; because, in that case, the competition of the different adventurers would make them undersell one another, till they reduced the price as low as the cost of working would allow. Could the tax at the mine be duly regulated, that would be the most profitable mode; because the private adventurers would work the mines far more economically, than either the government or an exclusive company.

It is evident that this is a mode of deriving advantage from the possession of the richest mines of the precious metals, very different from that which was pursued by the Spanish government, and which has been so beautifully exposed by Dr. Smith. That government endeavoured to derive advantage from its mines, by preventing other countries from getting any part of their produce, and by accumulating the whole at home. By accumulating at home the whole of the produce of its mines, it believed (such was the state of its mind) that Spain would become exceedingly rich. By preventing other countries from receiving any part of that produce, it believed that it would compel them to continue poor. And, if all countries continued poor, and Spain became exceedingly rich, Spain would be the master of all countries.

In this specimen of political logic, which it would not be difficult to match nearer home, there are two assumptions, and both of them false: In the first place, that a country can accumulate, to any considerable extent, the precious metals; that is, any other way than by locking them up and guarding them in strong-holds: In the next place, that, if it could accumulate them, it would be richer by that means.

The first of these assumptions, that a country can keep in circulation a greater proportion than other countries of the precious metals, "by hedging in the cuckoo," as it is humorously described by Dr. Smith, has been finely exposed by that illustrious philosopher, and requires no explanation here.

On the second assumption, that a country, if it could hedge in the precious metals, would become richer by that process, a few reflections appear to be required.

It is now sufficiently understood, that money, in any country, supposing other things to remain the same, is valuable just in proportion to its quantity. Take Mr Hume's supposition; that England were walled round by a wall of brass twenty miles high; and that the quantity of her money were, in one night, by a miracle, either raised to double, or reduced to one half. In the first case, every piece would be reduced to one half of its former value; in the second case, it would be raised to double its former value, and the value of the whole would remain exactly the same. The country would, therefore, be neither the richer nor the poorer; she would neither produce more nor enjoy more on that account.

It is never then by keeping the precious metals, that a country can derive any advantage from them; it is by the very opposite, by parting with them. If it has been foolish enough to hoard up a quantity of the produce of its capital and labour in the shape of gold and silver, it may, when it pleases, make a better use of it. It may exchange it with other countries for something that is useful. Gold and silver, so long as they are hoarded up, are of no use whatsoever. They contribute neither to enjoyment nor production. You may, however, purchase with them something that is useful. You may exchange them either for some article of luxury, and then they contribute to enjoyment; or you may exchange them for the materials of some manufacture, or the necessaries of the labourer, and then they contribute to production; then the effect of them is to augment the riches, augment the active capital, augment the annual produce of. the country. So long as any country hoards up gold and silver, so long as it abstains from parting with them to other countries for other things, so long it deprives itself of a great advantage.

If colonies are so little calculated to yield any advantage to the countries that hold them, a very important question suggests itself. What is the reason that nations, the nations of modern Europe at least, discover so great an affection for them? Is this affection to be wholly ascribed to mistaken views of their utility, or partly to other causes?

It never ought to be forgotten, that, in every country, there is "a Few," and there is "a Many;" that in all countries in which the government is not very good, the interest of "the Few" prevails over the interest of "the Many," and is promoted at their expense. "The Few" is the part that governs; "the Many" the part that is governed. It is according to the interest of "the Few" that colonies should be cultivated. This, if it is true, accounts for the attachment which most of the countries, that is, of the governments of modern Europe, have displayed to colonies. In what way it is true, a short explanation will sufficiently disclose.

Sancho Panza had a scheme for deriving advantage from the government of an island. He would sell the people for slaves, and put the money in his pocket. "The Few," in some countries, find in colonies, a thing which is very dear to them; they find, the one part of them, the precious matter with which to influence; the other, the precious matter with which to be influenced;—the one, the precious matter with which to make political dependents; the other, the precious matter with which they are made political dependents;—the one, the precious matter by which they augment their power; the other, the precious matter by which they augment their riches. Both portions of the "ruling Few," therefore, find their account in the possession of colonies. There is not one of the colonies but what augments the number of places. There are governorships and judgeships, and a long train of et ceteras; and above all, there is not one of them but what requires an additional number of troops, and an additional portion of navy,—that is of great importance. In every additional portion of army and navy, beside the glory of the thing, there are generalships, and colonelships, and captainships, and lieutenantships, and in the equipping and supplying of additional portions of army and navy, there are always gains, which may be thrown in the way of a friend. All this is enough to account for a very considerable quantity of affection maintained towards colonies.

But beside all this, there is another thing of still greater importance; a thing, indeed, to which, in whatever point of view we regard it, hardly anything else can be esteemed of equal importance. The colonies are a grand source of wars. Now wars, even in countries completely arbitrary and despotical, have so many things agreeable to the ruling few, that the ruling few hardly ever seem to be happy except when engaged in them. There is nothing to which history bears so invariable a testimony as this. Nothing is more remarkable than the frivolous causes which almost always suffice for going to war, even when there is little or no prospect of gaining; often when there is the greatest prospect of losing by it, and that, even in their own sense of losing. But if the motives for being as much as possible in war are so very strong, even to governments which are already perfectly despotic, they are much stronger in the case of governments, which are not yet perfectly despotic, and of governments of which the power is still, in any considerable degree, limited and restrained.

There is nothing in the world, where a government is, in any degree, limited and restrained, so useful for getting rid of all limit and restraint, as wars. The power of almost all governments is greater during war than during peace. But in the case of limited governments, it is so, in a very remarkable degree.

In the first place, there is the physical force of the army, and the terror and awe which it impresses upon the minds of men. In the next place, there is the splendour and parade, which captivate and subdue the imagination, and make men contented; one would almost say happy, to be slaves. All this surely is not of small importance. Then there is an additional power with which the government is entrusted during war. And, far above all, when the government is only limited by the will of a certain portion of the people, as under the British government; by the will of those who supply with members the two houses of Parliament, war affords the greatest portion of the precious matter with which that will may be guided and secured. Nothing augments so much the quantity of that portion of the national wealth which is placed at the command of the government, as war. Of course, nothing puts it in the power of government to create so great a number of dependents, so great a number of persons, bound by their hopes and fears, to do and say whatever it wishes them to do and say.

Of the proposition, that colonies are a grand source of wars, and of additional expense in wars; that expense, by which the ruling few always profit at the cost of the subject many; it is not probable that much of proof will be required.

With regard to additional expense, it can hardly appear to be less than self-evident. Whenever a war breaks out, additional troops, and an additional portion of navy, are always required for the protection of the colonies. Even during peace, the colonies afford the pretext for a large portion of the peace establishment, as it is called,—that is, a mass of warlike apparatus and expense, which would be burdensome even in a season of war. How much the cost amounts to, of a small additional portion, not to speak of a large additional portion, of army and navy, Englishmen have had experience to instruct them; and how great the mischief which is done by every particle of unnecessary expense, they are daily becoming more and more capable of seeing and understanding.

That the colonies multiply exceedingly the causes and pretexts of war, is matter of history; and might have been foreseen, before reaping the fruits of a bitter experience. Whatever brings you in contact with a greater number of states, increases, in the same proportion, those clashings of interest and pride out of which the pretexts for war are frequently created. It would exhibit a result, which probably would surprise a good many readers, if any body would examine all the wars which have afflicted this country, from the time when she first began to have colonies, and show how very great a proportion of them have grown out of colony disputes.