of America, not mere pedlars, who worship
nothing but the almighty dollar; no, sir, if we
were to separate to-morrow, we shouldn't crowd
the mourners—no, sir!"

By this strange expression, Mr. Quackenboss
meant that the dissolution of political partnership
would not occasion much lamentation in
the South.

"The causes of the impending war," I said,
"if I may venture to have an opinion, are neither
slavery, nor trade jealousies, but the long
animosity that has been for years growing between
the commercial North and the agricultural South
—the men of different temperaments, different
races, different habits and modes of thinking."

"It is so; but if you old people cross the
Atlantic think we shall be easier killing
because we split into two republics, I reckon you
will be catawampishly mistaken, for every State
from New Hampshire to Texas is a full-grown
rattlesnake, already with head, tail, and rattle of
his own, so look out for alligators. There are
some of us yet who will keep the ball rolling,
sure as there are chickens on the prairies and
snags in the Mississippi. Oh, as for the cold
Northerners, we'll whip them! Yes, sir, we'll
whip them! But there's one great mistake
your Manchester people are making."

"And what is that, Mr. Quackenboss?"

"Why, I hear your Cotton Supply Association
is making a regular muss (fuss) about
getting cotton from India, Australia, Africa, and
Davy Jones himself only knows where. Now,
the poor benighted cotton spiders don't know
that they can't get cotton anywhere like they
can in our Southern States. No, siree, they
can't. Haven't we good roads, good ships,
good harbours, the tallest cotton in creation,
and quick means to bring it from the plantation
to the ship; haven't we, too, cheap
labour and plenty of rivers; and, above all,
haven't we that everlasting and tremendous body
of water—the Mississippi—expressly made to
float our cotton down to New Orleans?"

"I can give you some information on the
subject of the outcry for new cotton-fields in
England," said I. "The argument of the association
is, that if you Americans go to war, our vast
national manufacturing interest will be
endangered, in consequence of having placed its
dependence on one source of supply for all its
raw material."

"Must do it, sir; must do it! Where are
you to go to?—to Africa, where the fevers chaw
men up as an alligator would do a nigger baby?
where the land is still desert and bush, where
the tribes are cannibals and savages, and where
they never do anything but murder people with
clubs, and drink palm oil?—or to Australia,
where the price of labour is dearer than in the
Old Country, where cotton grows poor and
stunted, and where there are hundreds of miles
without water? You can't turn a barren country
into a cotton country in six months. No, siree,
you can't."

"But there's India, our own country, already
producing six million bales annually."

"And pretty rubbish too; brought on bullocks
over mountain roads. Poor stuff to start with,
pretty full of dust, dirt, and filth by the time
it reaches the Manchester mill. The ryot, with
no money of his own; the money-lender passing
the produce he takes through half a dozen hands,
and each hand adulterating it to increase his
profit."

"But Greece," I said. "Fine country."

"Yes, with no roads five miles from Athens,
and the people all-fired jealous of foreign
improvers, being too proud to be taught
anything. You must come back to the natural
soil of the cotton, where you have good
transport and cheap labour. Why, India has
no canal or railways yet, and if you don't
go on faster, it promises to be another half
century before you have them there;
besides, it ain't short Kentucky cotton that'll do
for your Manchester men. They want fine
quality."

"Mr. Quackenboss," I said, solemnly,
"here's what it is. The whole world produces
every year an average of nearly four millions
of bales; and of this Europe and America
alone use up all except four thousand bales.
Now, your last harvest was nearly a million
bales short, and the coming war threatens a
blockade."

"Abe darn't do it! it would be running
against Providence; and bullets are hard things
to run your head agin."

"Well," I said, "that question I will not
discuss; but this is certain, that by the fall of
next year our Manchester mills will be taking
to short time. Strong cotton cloths, shirting
and coarse yarns will increase in price, and be
for the time run off the field by linens and
woollens. This again might employ some of the
discharged operatives, but not all. Then may
come bread riots, insurrectionary meetings,
conspiracies, attacks on mills, want of food, and
other miseries, affecting us all, from the Queen
on her throne to the humblest prisoner in
Newgate. This evil we wish to avert by securing a
supply of cotton from other places. Port Natal
cotton is good, and so is that from the west coast
of Africa. Smyrna cotton was once famous, and
so was that from Egypt. Greece, well governed,
could grow thousands of bales; so could the West
Indies, if once more prosperous. I have heard,
too, that Andalusia will produce cotton of no
despicable quality. In the last twelve months
the association has directly or indirectly opened
fifty-eight new ports."

"Bah! bah! bah!" said Mr. Quackenboss,
fretfully. "You can't make people grow a crop
at a loss. The expense of production is
everywhere to be deducted from the cultivator's
profits. A lot of your gosling-headed white-
throats—by which I mean philanthropists—(a
good trade, too, for it requires no plant but a
suit of black and a little brass) are all agog
about this Indian and man-in-the-moon cotton,
because they think it will do away with our
patriarchal institution of slavery. As well drop
salt on a rattlesnake's tail. It arn't in the