peril—if the savage rejoice in the delights of an idleness so dearly purchased-ought it to be concluded that he is more happy than our day-labourers? No: the labour of these is more uniform, but the reward is more certain; the lot of the woman is more gentle, infancy and old age have more resources; the species multiplies in a proportion a thousand times greater, and this alone would suffice to show on which side is the superiority of happiness. Hence the laws, in creating property, have been benefactors to those who remain in their original poverty. They participate more or less in the pleasures, advantages, and resources of civilis 1 society; their industry and labour place them among the candidates for fortune; they enjoy the pleasures of acquisition; hope mingles with their labours. The security which the law gives them, is this of little importance? Those who look from above at the inferior ranks see all objects less than they really are; but, at the base of the pyramid, it is the summit which disappears in its turn. So far from making these comparisons, they dream not of them; they are not tormented with impossibilities; so that, all things considered, the protection of the laws contributes as much to the happiness of the cottage as to the security of the palace. It is surprising that so judicious a writer as Beccaria should have insisted, in a work dictated by the soundest philosophy, a doubt subversive of the social order. The right of property, says he, is a terrible right, and may not, perhaps, be necessary. Upon this right, tyrannical and sanguinary laws have been founded. It has been most frightfully abused; but the right itself presents only ideas of pleasure, of abundance, and of security. It is this right which has overcome the natural aversion to labour-which has bestowed on man the empire of the earth-which has led nations to give up their wandering habits-which has created a love of country and posterity. To enjoy quickly-to enjoy without punishment-this is the universal desire of man; this is the desire which is terrible, since it arms all those who possess nothing against those who possess anything. But the law, which restrains this desire, is the most splendid triumph of humanity over itself.

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If I despair of enjoying the fruits of my labour, I shall only think of living from day to day: I shall not undertake labours which will only benefit my enemies.. But besides this, in order to the existence of labour, the will alone is not sufficient-instruments are wanting. Whilst these are being provided, subsistence is necessary. A single loss may render me unable to act, without -depriving me of the disposition to labour-without having paralysed my will.

For the development of industry, the union of power and will is required. Will depends upon encouragement, power upon means. These means are called, in the language of political economy, productive capital. With regard to a single individual, his capital may be destroyed, without his industrious disposition being destroyed. or even weakened. With regard to a nation, the destruction of its productive capital is impossible; but, long before this fatal term arrives, the mischief would have reached the will; and the spirit of industry would fall under a terrible marasmus, in the midst of the natural resources presented by a rich and fertile soil.

The will, however, is excited by so many stimulants, that it resists a multitude of discouragements and losses: a passing calamity, how great soever it may be, does not destroy the spirit of industry. This has been seen springing up again after destructive wars, which have impoverished nations; like a robust oak, which in a few years repairs the injuries inflicted by the tempest, and covers itself with new branches. Nothing less is requisite for freezing up industry than the operation of a permanent domestic cause; such as a tyrannical government, a bad legislation, an intolerant religion which repels men from each other, or a minute superstition which terrifies them.

The first act of violence will produce a certain degree of apprehension-there are already some timid minds discouraged; a second outrage, quickly succeeding, will spread a more considerable alarm. The most prudent will begin to contract their enterprises, and, by degrees, to abandon an uncertain career. In proportion as these attacks are repeated, and the system of

oppression assumes an habitual character, the dispersion augments: those who have fled are not replaced; those who remain fall into a state of languor. It is thus that, after a time, the field of industry, being beaten down by storms, becomes at last a desert.

Asia Minor, Greece, Egypt, the wastes of Africa, so rich in agriculture, commerce, and population whilst the Roman empire flourished—what have they become under the absurd despotism of the Turk? The palaces are changed into cabins, and the cities into small towns; this government, hateful to all persons of reflection, has never understood that a state can never become rich but by an inviolable respect for property. It has possessed only two secrets for governing-to drain and to brutify its subjects. Hence, the finest countries in the world, wasted, barren, or almost abandoned, can scarcely be recognised in the hands of their barbarous conquerors. For these evils need not be attri buted to remote causes: civil wars, invasions-the scourges of nature: these might have dissipated the wealth, put the arts to flight, and swallowed up the cities; but the ports which have been filled up would have been re-opened, the communications re-established, the manufactures revived, the towns rebuilt, and all these ravages repaired in time, if the men had continued to be men. But they are not so in those unhappy countries; despair, the slow but fatal effect of long-continued insecurity, has destroyed all the active powers of their souls.

If we trace the history of this contagion, we shall see, that its first effects fell upon the richest part of society. Wealth was the first object of depredation. Superfluity vanished by little and little; absolute necessity must still be provided for, notwithstanding obstacles; man must live: but, when he limits his efforts to mere existence, the state languishes, and the torch of industry furnishes but a few dying sparks. Besides, abundance is never so distinct from subsistence that the one can be injured without a dangerous attack upon the other: whilst some lose only what is superfluous, others lose what is necessary. From the infinitely 1omplicated system of economical relations, the wealth of one

part of the citizens is, uniformly, the source from which a more numerous party derives its subsistence.

But another and more smiling picture may be traced, and not 'ess instructive, of the progress of security, and prosperity, its inseparable companion. North America presents the most striking contrast of these two states: savage nature is there placed by the side of civilisation. The interior of this immense region presents only a frightful solitude; impenetrable forests or barren tracts, standing waters, noxious exhalations, venomous reptiles-such is the land left to itself. The barbarous hordes who traverse these deserts, without fixed habitation, always occupied in the pursuit of their prey, and always filled with implacable rivalry, only meet to attack and to destroy each other; so that the wild beasts are not so dangerous to man as man himself. But upon the borders of these solitudes what a different prospect presents itself! One could almost believe that one saw, at one view, the two empires of good and evil. The forests have given place to cultivated fields; the morass is dried up; the land has become solid; is covered with meadows, pastures, domestic animals, smiling and healthy habitations; cities have risen up on regular plans; wide roads are traced between them; everything shows that men are seeking the means of drawing near to one another; they no longer dread, or seek to murder each other. The sea-ports are filled with vessels receiving all the productions of the earth, and serving to exchange its riches. A countless multitude, living in peace and abundance upon the fruits of their labours, has succeeded to the nations of hunters, who were always struggling between war and famine. What has produced these wonders? What has renovated the surface of the earth? What has given to man this dominion over embellished, fruitful, and perfectionated nature? The benevolent genius is security. It is security which has wrought out this great metamorphosis. How rapid have been its operations! It is scarcely two centuries since William Penn reached these savage wilds with a colony of true conquerors: for they were men of peace, who sullied not their establishment by force, and who made themselves respected only by acts of benevolence and justice.

Sancho Panza in his Island.

CERVANTES.

[WE have previously given a criticism on "Don Quixote," by Mr Hallam. We need only, therefore, preface an extract from that immortal Look, by stating that its author, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, was born in 1547; and that he who stands in the same eminent relation to the literature of Spain that Shakspere does to that of England died on the same day as his great contemporary, the 23d of April 1616.]

Sancho, with all his attendants, came to a town that had about a thousand inhabitants, and was one of the best where the duke had any power. They gave him to understand that the name of the place was the Island of Barataria, either because the town was called Barataria, or because the government cost him so cheap. As soon as he came to the gates (for it was walled) the chief officers and inhabitants, in their formalities, came out to receive him, the bells rung, and all the people gave general demonstrations of their joy. The new governor was then carried in mighty pomp to the great church, to give Heaven thanks: and, after some ridiculous ceremonies, they delivered him the keys of the gates, and received him as perpetual governor of the Island of Barataria. In the meantime, the garb, the port, the huge beard, and the short and thick shape of the new governor, made every one who knew nothing of the jest wonder: and even those who were privy to the plot, who were many, were not a little surprised.

In short, from the church they carried him to the court of justice; where, when they had placed him in his seat, "My lord governor," said the duke's steward to him, "it is an ancient custom here, that he who takes possession of this famous island must answer to some difficult and intricate question that is probounded to him; and by the return he makes the people feel the pulse of his understanding, and by an estimate of his abilities, judge whether they ought to rejoice or to be sorry for his coming."

All the while the steward was speaking, Sancho was staring on

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