Frenchman to whom I consigned my umbrellas
would probably not have been able to take them
if I had demanded cash from him. It would not
have been easy for him to have sent me eleven
hundred pounds. But, when I chose to ask him
for eleven hundred pounds' worth of watches, it
was a different affair, for, as the watches cost
him only one thousand pounds—he had practically
one hundred pounds less to pay to me.
There is a certain logic in the system which
prohibits exports as well as imports, but none
in the system which prohibits either imports
only or exports alone. Merchants must have
their exchange, and that exchange will not be
paid in gold or at all events it will not be paid
long. When I think of the horror which Frenchmen
have, of receiving imports from us, and the
horror which Englishmen express at the bare
idea of sending coal out of the country to
supply all the world, I am reminded of the
alarm created in Scotland about two centuries
and a half ago, at the exportation of eggs: an
alarm so powerful that the privy council felt
themselves bound to issue an act forbidding
the traffic. The act commences in this way:
"Amang the mony abuses whilk the iniquity
of the time and private respect of filthy lucre
and gain has produced within the commonwealth,
there is of late discoverit a most unlawful
and pernicious tred of transporting of eggs
furth of the kingdom. Certain avaritious and
godless persons, void of modesty and discretion,
preferring their awn private commodity to the
commonweal, has gone and goes athort the
country and buys the haill eggs that they can
get, barrels the same, and transports them at
their pleasure." The consequence of this
iniquity is, that eggs have "risen to such
extraordinar and heich prices as are not to be sufferit
in a weel governit commonwealth;" and,
moreover, it is feared that "if this unlawful tred be
sufferit to be of ony longer continuance, it wil
fall out that in a very short time there will no
eggs nor poultry be funden within the country.'"
Therefore, on pain of heavy fines, the export of
eggs is forbidden. As we take about a hundred
millions of eggs from France every year, the
illustration has a direct bearing on our
mercantile connexions with the French. We can see
the absurdity of France refusing to export eggs
for fear of a deficiency of omelettes. These
millions of French eggs are chiefly sold in
London, Brighton, and the watering-places on the
south coast, where they cost the consumer from
a shilling to eighteenpence a dozen, the price
even mounting up to two shillings a dozen when
the eggs are sold as fresh English eggs. They
cost in France, on the average, about fourpence
a dozen, or about one hundred and forty thousand
pounds in all. Why are the eggs exported
but because the peasant with his flocks of
poultry which French artists are so fond of
painting, gets perhaps a farthing a dozen more
for them from the exporter, than he would get if
the eggs were allowed to rot in the land of their
nativity? If the eggs be one farthing a dozen
less valuable in France, the country loses nearly
nine thousand pounds by refusing to export
them. In the one case, France has the pleasure
of laying her own eggs and then consuming
them to the value of one hundred and thirty-one
thousand pounds; in the other case she has the
pleasure of receiving from us, provisions of
precisely that value to replace her lost eggs, together
with a little present of machinery, or woollen
clothing, or horses, or whatever else she likes
best, to the value of nine thousand pounds.
Suppose, again, that we refuse to import these
millions of French eggs. The Gallic cocks and hens
will no doubt languish for lack of our encouragement,
but shall we not do as much injury to
ourselves as to the French poultry? English
barn-door fowls will set to work and lay more
eggs, and more eggs, and the cry will be Still
they come! but each egg will cost more, and the
country will be a loser to that extent. The
British hen declines to lay for nothing. If the
Gallic hen gives me a dozen of eggs for
fourpence, while the British bird demands sixpence
for the same number, I am a loser of twopence
in going to the British nest for my supply.
Here comes in the Protectionist reply, that
though the consumer loses by such a state of
things, yet the producer profits, and it is right
for a country to encourage its own manufactures,
and to purchase them at a dead loss to
itself. Take the case of iron, which is just now
vexing the soul of the French Protectionist.
He declares that French industry will be
discouraged if the duty on English iron be lowered.
Let us see. The duty on iron is so varying,
according to the description of it—its admission
being in some cases absolutely free, in
others absolutely prohibited—that for the sake
of simplicity and round numbers, I shall
suppose a duty of only thirty per cent, raising
the price of English iron by one-third its
value; so that if a hundred-weight of
unwrought iron cost twelve shillings in Belgium
or England, it would cost eighteen shillings or
a pound in France, and all because the French
iron-masters cannot produce the material under
that figure. The French iron-master says:
"It is extremely important that I should be
protected. There are an immense number of
persons dependent on me; I give them labour,
I give them wages, and in my prosperity they
prosper also." This is all very well, until we
examine the matter more closely, and it behoves
us, therefore, to follow the fortunes of the
Frenchman who has to purchase the iron.
Suppose the French blacksmith, or nailer, or tool-
maker, buying a hundred-weight of iron from
the French iron-master. He has to pay eighteen
shillings for it. He has, at a heavy price to
himself, to put money into the pockets of
the French iron trade in all its dependencies.
If English iron were admitted free, he might
get it for twelve or thirteen shillings, and might
keep in his own pocket the extra six shillings,
to purchase with it a pair of boots or some
worsted clothing. Compelled to purchase
French iron, he simply gets for his money a
hundred-weight of iron. Permitted to purchase
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