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    " ' Ifut to what does this , doctrine , that naea arc equally entitled to the use of the earth , lend ? Must we return to the times of uninclosed wilds , and subsist on roots , berries , and game ? Or are we to be left to the management of Messrs . Fourrier , Owen , Louis Blanc , and Co . ?' " Neither . Such a doctrine is consistent with the highest state of civilization ; may be carried out without involving a community of goods ; and need cause no very Berious revolution in existing arrangements . The change required would simply be a change of lands . Separate

    ownerships would merge into the joint-stock ownership of the public . Instead of being in the possession of individuals , the country would be held by the great corporate body—Society . Instead of leasing his acres from an isolated proprietor , the farmer would lease them from the nation . Instead of paying his rent to the agent of Sir John or his Grace , he would pay it to an auent or deputy-agent of the community . Stewards would be public officials instead of private ones ; and tenancy the only land tenure .

    " A state of things fo ordered would be in perfect harmony with the moral law . Under it all men would be equally landlords ; all men would be alike free to become tenants A , B , C , and the rest , might compete for a Tacant farm as now , and one of them might take that farm , without in any way violating the principles of pure equity . All would be equally free to bid ; all would be equally free to refrain And when the farm had been let to A , B , or C , all parties would have done that which they willed—the one in choosing to pay a given sum to hia fellow-men for the use of certain lands—the others in refusing to pay that sum . Clearly , therefore , on such a system , the earth might be inclosed , occupied , and cultivated , in entire subordination to the law of equal freedom . "

    Did we not say this was a terrible chapter ! It places landlords in an unhappy predicament ; but , as Mr . Spencer wisely remarks , " We shall do well to recollect that there are others besides the landed class to be considered . In our tender regard for the vested interests of the few , let us not forget that the rights of the many are in abeyance , and must remain so , as long as the earth is monopolized by individuals It may by and bye be perceived that Equity utters dictates to which we have not yet listened , and men may then learn that , to deprive others of their rights to the use of the earth , is to commit a crime inferior only in wickedness to the crime of taking away their lives or personal liberties . " We must break off here ; but will return to the hook for one or two more articles .

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    BOSK DOUGLAS . Hose Douglas : or Sketches of a Country Paris 7 i : being the jlutobiugrajihy of a Scotch Minister ' t Daughter . By S . K . \ V . In two volumes . Smith , Elder , and Co . Those who are not too young to remember the days of coach travelling will vividly recal the pecular sensations which stole over them as the four snorting horses suddenly pulled up at some village posting-house . The outsiders hastily get down to stretch their legs . All is still , sequestered , innocent ; the very dogs that lounge about the inndoor seem of a primitive turn of mind ; the ducks

    that waddle under the horses' legs are not more unenlightened than the women and children come out to stare at the coach . Scarcely a sound is heard ; the crowing of a cock or the sudden bark of a dog is an incident . The effect of this stillness upon your mind is quite peculiar . Alter the noise , the eddy and the tumult of great towns through which you have just clattered , after the sharp and incessant rattling of the coach which you have endured for some hours , the pastoral stillness of this little village Miift ' tises its serenity over your

    mind , and you murmur fragmentu of Virgil or Theocritus ( if reasonable sums have been spent on your " liberal education" ) , or Shakspcare , or Thomson ' s Seasons , or any other poet whoso lines may live in your memory—that is , supposing always your literary tendency to he adequate to the occatiiou ; if you arc a cheesemonger ( in soul as in trade ) your thoughts will take a less discursive sweep . He you what you may , the contract of this rural stillness with the noise to which you have so long been accustomed will be very grateful to your mind ; and while we write we are certain that the

    reader is realizing tins picture , drawing from the reeeKHCB of memory some quiet scenes of exquisite delight . VVe need some such image to convey the expression of our enjoyment of Hose Doaylas . It in a perfectly charming book , carrying us frrtin the tumult of town life into the sequestered quiet of a Scotch village , where we are ir . itrodii . ccd into the homes of primitive ; out-of-the-way people , and made to conteiu |) Iute the panorama of lift * as it ipovea before them . It ih not a novel . A slender thread of autobiography connects the sketches together ; but the strength of the writer is less shown in the construction of a plot and the accumulation of incidents , than in dcHcriptionn of character and

    domestic scenes . A feminine delicacy of observation aiding an artistic power of selection makes the pictures full of detail , yet not overcrowded . Everything lives and moves in these pages ; everything stands out as distinct as if in sunlight . We seem to be settled down in Auchtermuir , as residents at the manse , and to be the personal acquaintances of all its inhabitants . Such truthfulness is extremely rare , and it makes this book unusually delightful . It reads very like a real autobiography ; so much so as to make us regret even the present small intimation of its being- a fiction . We think if it had been given frankly as an autobiography some disappointment would have been avoided , and greater interest excited in its pictures . Rose Douglas ,

    who tells her own story , is the daughter of a Scotch minister in a remote village , every corner of which she has made us know . Sketches of her daily life and of her neighbours fill up the early portions . Then her father dies , and she resides with a rich aunt in Glasgow , and has to undergo the tortures of a " poor relation , " from which she escapes into the situation of governess to a weak indolent woman , and finally marries a young minister and returns to her native village . That is the thread . On it are strung a variety of sketches of character , custom , and forms of society not familiar to the public , but most vividly represented . We can afford room but for three samples , which we do not select as the best , but as the most easily detached : —

    A FAMILY OF OLD MAIDS . " Such a family of old maids ! The youngest mistress was forty , and the two servants were somewhat older . They had each their pets too , except I think the eldest , who was the clearest-headed of the family . The servants had the same Christian name , which was rather perplexing , as neither would consent to be called by her surname . How their mistresses managed to distinguish them I do not recollect ; but the country people settled it easily amongst themselves by early naming them accord ing to their different heights , ' lang Jenny , ' and ' little Jenny . ' They were characters in their way as well as their mistresses . They had served them for upwards of

    twenty years , and knew every secret of the family , being as regularly consulted as any of the members of it . They regulated the expenses too much as they liked , which was in a very frugal economical manner . The two Jennies had not much relished their removal to the country , and still often sighed with regret for the gossipings they once enjoyed in the Castlegate of Lanark . But they could not bear to part from the family ; so they now boomed at their wheels or mended the household linen in the damp dull kitchen of Burnside , instead of performing the same work in their old cosy , comfortable one in the burgh town , and tried to indemnify themselves for their privations by establishing a kind of patronizing familiarity with various of the cottagers' wives .

    " Miss Jess and Miss Jean were the names of the younger ladies . There was that species of resemblance among all the sisters , both mental and personal , which is o'ten to be observed in members of the same family . Menie , the eldest sister , was , however , much superior to the others in force of character , but her mind had not been cultivated by reading . Jess , the second , was a large coarse-looking woman , with a masculine voice , and tastes decidedly so . An excellent wright or smith she would have made , if unfortunately she had not been born a gentlewoman . She had a habit of wandering about the grounds with a small hammer and nails in her huge pocket , examining the fences and mending them if

    necessary . She could pick a lock too , when nneded , with gieat neatness and despatch . I rather think she could repair one also . I have still in my possession a small box of her muking , which , for execution and durability , I will match against the performance of any rival amateur of the opposite sex . In spite however , of such freaks , and as if to make amends tor them , Miss Jesa possessed one of the softest and most impressionable hearts which ever fell to the lot of a mature maiden of forty-live . She had fluttered from no less than six different attachments during her life ( she mude me her coniidante ) , and most unfortunately they had never been to the right individual , for they were not returned . But poor Miss Jess cherished no malice ; she freely forgave them their insensibility . Indeed , she had not the heart to kill a fly . Every beggar imposed on her . and her

    sisters were obliged for her own sake to restrain her charities . Her drt-Bs , like her pursuits , bad alwayu a certain masculine , air about it . She wore large rough boots ooaran gloves , and a kind of man ' s cravat constantly twisted about hvr neck when out of d . Mtrs . In short , she was one of those : poison * one cannot help liking yet laughing at . Jean , the youngest sister , had been a beauty in her time , and she still luid claim to the distinction resulting from it . It was a pity , considering the susceptibility of her second sister , that , her charms had not been shared by her . Jeun was coquettish , and affected u Homewbat youthful miinner and style of dress , which contru 8 t « d ill with her time of life . Hut the rent ' of the family , in which of course I include the wervanfH evidently considered her a young thoughtless ihing for whom much allowance must be lnude . "

    At a minister ' ** dinner—wonderfully described we have a glimpse of a verv common niiiwance , and it shall be quoted as a warning to those whose philoj » rogeiiitivenesH i « larger than their benevolence and conscientiousness : — " After the cloth , was removed a large punch-bowl of Indian chirm with gluuiifa wuh placed on the table . I

    forgpt to Temark that during the whole time of dinner there had been an unusual bustle , and a movement of feet in the passage , a scrambling it seemed for the spoils of the dinner , for the servants * voices were often heard in expostulation . All the notice Mrs . Purdie to k of this ( for her husband did not interfere ) , was to desire that tbe door should be kept closed ; but when the glasses were placed upon the table , she whispered audibly to the servant to ' tell the bairns they might come in now . ' " Accordingly , after the delay of a few minutes , whic h were employed , I suppose , in composing their dress by old Janet , the door was thrown open , apd the children made their appearance . They advanced according to their ages , * wee Johnny' bringing up the rear . The

    girls were dressed in white muslin frocks and red gashes , with necklaces of blue beads . Tbe eldest looked half inclined to be bashful , half to be forward , —the others only looked eagerly to the ( able in search of the biscuits . " There was a sudden pause in the conversation as they entered , and then a forced alacrity to welcome and make room for them . Children are considered by almost every one except their parents a dreadful nuisance on such occasions , while civility requires the guests to pay them some attention . They should really never be intruded upon large mixed parties . A damp seemed to fall upon the company , conversation was interrupted , and more than one discussion postponed to a more

    convenient season , the parents and children only appearing satisfied and at their ease . Some formal remarks on the ch i ldren ' s growth and ages were made at the head of the table , and Mrs . Symington and our hostess compared notes on the height , temper , and inclinations of their different offspring , each secretly claiming the superiority for her own . A look of invitation from me brought Fhernie timidly to my side , — -Johnny had stolen to his usual place beside his mother , and the others were disposed of among the company . A glass of currant wine was then given to each of them , and by desire of their 8 miljug parents they were in turn compelled to drink the company ' s good health , naming every individual present , and assisted by Mr . or Mrs . Purdie when their recollection failed them .

    " ' How old is Johnny ? ' inquired Mrs . Symington , with an appearance of great interest . "' Three years auld last November / answered tbe mother . " Mrs . Symington was quite astonished . ' Dear me ! he ' s very big of his age . ' "' He ' s a very forward laddie of his years , ' stroking down the hair of her favourite . * But ye have such fine bairns , Mrs . Symington , yoursel' . You can repeat < l The Lord ' s my shepherd , " and " How doth tbe little busy bee , " already , —canna ye , Johnny ?' " Johnny took no notice of this question , his attention being wholly engrossed by the contents of the sugar canister which stood near . ' Me some sugar , mama , ' he asked , or rather demanded . "' Repeat the " little busy bee " to Mrs . Symington , and you'll get it , ' said the proud mother .

    " ' Come , Johnny , ' said that lady in a coaxing tone . "' How do ! h the little , ' began Johnny , but stopping suddenly , he whispered loud enough to be heard , ' Mama , Tarn ' s getting sweeties from the gentleman . ' ' * ' Whisht—and ye ' il may be getting sweeties too , ' said Mrs . Purdie . " ' But Tarn ' s gettirP them a ' , ' whimpered Johnny , who , with finger in mouth , sat looking / discontentedly at his brother ' s luck . * " ' Tam , ' said his mother coaxingly , anxious to please her favourite , ' there's a good cailant , gie Johnny some o' your peppermint draps . ' " ' I ' ve just got twa three , ' answered Tam , who was crunching them as fa 6 t as he was able , ' and I hae nane to gie to johnny , ' '" lain very sorry , ' said the gentleman , feeling again in his pockets ; but I fear ' —The search was without effect .

    " Here we were all startled by a howl from Jchuny occasioned by his disappointment . " ' Whisht , whisht , laddie , ' said his mother , something ashamed of this exhibition , and endeavouring to quiet him . ' Whisht , like a gude bairn , and ye'll get a penny the morn to buy peppermint draps . ' But Johnny was deaf to her expostulations and promises ( perhaps he had experienced the deceptive nature of the latter ); the noise of course put a stop to all conversation , and drew every one ' s attention to himself . " ' Johnny , Johnny , ' said his father , knitting his brows and looking up the table .

    " For ony sake . Tain , ' said his mother beseechingly , ' gie him the swee'ies . Ye bad laddie , are ye no ashamed roaring that way ? What will the company think of ye . Hold your tongue this minute , or you'll be sent out <>' the room . ' AH was of no avail—the disturbance continued . " ' Wlmt ' s this , Johnny ? ' at length inquired tlie Keverend Doctor I ) ryscre « d , who mit at the hostina ' right , hand , holding up a halfpenny uh he spoke . ' WJuit is it ? ' again linked the Doctor .

    " ' It ' s a binv U'c / mm mured Johnnv , while smiles r « turned to liin eounttwuice . " ' And will ye greet ony muir if ye get it ? ' " Johnny promised ; and immediately clutched the halfpenny , whioh he held up in trium ph to Tom . " ' Doctor DryscretcrH owre kind to you , ' mud thfl pleaned mother , ' you ought to beg tbe company *» pardon . ' To this Johnny turned a deaf ear while contemplating his treamire . ' ' It ' s a line thing to greet , ' said Tam npitefully , who wan in part tobhune for ihe disturbance and who hud now finished his peppermints . But he wtt « eilenced by hi * mother . " We umat uloo give the close of this party : — " On our return to the parlour we were entertained by an exhibition of the children' « AccoHii > luihmcnt « . Mian 1 unlio w »« desired b y the complacent mother ( who

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• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), March 15, 1851, page 250, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1874/page/14/