The Agricultural Interest

The present Government, having shown itself to be particularly
clever in its management of Indictments for Conspiracy, cannot do
better, we think (keeping in its administrative eye the pacification
of some of its most influential and most unruly supporters), than
indict the whole manufacturing interest of the country for a
conspiracy against the agricultural interest. As the jury ought to
be beyond impeachment, the panel might be chosen among the Duke of
Buckingham's tenants, with the Duke of Buckingham himself as
foreman; and, to the end that the country might be quite satisfied
with the judge, and have ample security beforehand for his
moderation and impartiality, it would be desirable, perhaps, to make
such a slight change in the working of the law (a mere nothing to a
Conservative Government, bent upon its end), as would enable the
question to be tried before an Ecclesiastical Court, with the Bishop
of Exeter presiding. The Attorney-General for Ireland, turning his
sword into a ploughshare, might conduct the prosecution; and Mr.
Cobden and the other traversers might adopt any ground of defence
they chose, or prove or disprove anything they pleased, without
being embarrassed by the least anxiety or doubt in reference to the
verdict.

That the country in general is in a conspiracy against this sacred
but unhappy agricultural interest, there can be no doubt. It is not
alone within the walls of Covent Garden Theatre, or the Free Trade
Hall at Manchester, or the Town Hall at Birmingham, that the cry
"Repeal the Corn-laws!" is raised. It may be heard, moaning at
night, through the straw-littered wards of Refuges for the
Destitute; it may be read in the gaunt and famished faces which make
our streets terrible; it is muttered in the thankful grace
pronounced by haggard wretches over their felon fare in gaols; it is
inscribed in dreadful characters upon the walls of Fever Hospitals;
and may be plainly traced in every record of mortality. All of
which proves, that there is a vast conspiracy afoot, against the
unfortunate agricultural interest.

They who run, even upon railroads, may read of this conspiracy. The
old stage-coachman was a farmer's friend. He wore top-boots,
understood cattle, fed his horses upon corn, and had a lively
personal interest in malt. The engine-driver's garb, and
sympathies, and tastes belong to the factory. His fustian dress,
besmeared with coal-dust and begrimed with soot; his oily hands, his
dirty face, his knowledge of machinery; all point him out as one
devoted to the manufacturing interest. Fire and smoke, and red-hot
cinders follow in his wake. He has no attachment to the soil, but
travels on a road of iron, furnace wrought. His warning is not