Virginia Argus

FOREIGN.
From the London Statesman of Aug. 28.

'The day we live in furnishes abundant matter to feed the principles both of the misanthropic and philanthropic mind; the former may glut his appetite with contemplating the miseries of mankind; while, from the same source, the soul of the latter is hung upon the tenter-hooks of anguish. And shall we not class, as companions of the former, all those whose active exertions are directed to produce these miseries! The monopolizer of articles of human sustenance, who hoards them up or destroys a part to add to the price of the rest, by creating a fictitious scarcity, is a character that the public ought, and will always despise; but a character of this sort is as a gnat compared to a tiger, when we bring into our view the active Ministers of War. Characters of this sort, unfortunately for the present generation, are numerous; but, for the sake of giving point to our observations, we will address ourselves to one—and that one shall be Lord Castlereagh. We do not select his Lordship in consequence of the blandishments of his talents—the profundity of his judgment—his depth of penetration—his quickness of wit—or his weight of property. No, for these things he is not conspicuous; but because the qualities he does possess make him the fittest agent among the present Administration, to increase and wind up our national calamities. His Lordship was a worthy seconder of the measures of the late Mr. Perceval!! His Lordship is now foreman of the party—he advances with the Court-roll of starvation in one hand, and the halter in the other; as such he becomes an object of public notice.—With the affairs of Ireland, his Lordship is well acquainted—he is perfectly acquainted with the glorious triumph gained over the Irish, who were driven into a state of rebellion by measures congenial with the dictates of his Lordship's heart, and with the lawful manner in which the vanquished were hanged, half-hanged, flogged, &c. He has, no doubt, heard the song of "Mary-la-Moor;" in which, in her maniac strains, she has the audacity to lament the murder of her father, the burning of his cabin, the distress of her mother, the ruin of her Country, and the loss of her own violated virginity. With these his Lordship is, no doubt, very well acquainted; but respecting England we will venture to ask his Lordship a few questions. Then, my Lord, did you know England when her sons were prosperous—when their wives & little prattlers greeted them home with smiles, because plenty decked their tables, and meagre poverty intruded not his distorting hand—when the sweat of the brow met its recompence, and where the toil that produced it was forgotten in vespers, in carol, or in telling or hearing tales of ancient lore—in short, when plenty and happiness constituted the hand-maids of every honest class in society—Now, if your Lordship knew England under these circumstances, you must have discovered a sensible change since the country was blessed with your Lordship's talents in conducting the national affairs! Does your Lordship now see plenty crown the board of the mechanic and artizan, nay, even of the middling tradesman, and happiness playing around it the gambols of content? Do you now hear the song of God save the King, sounded and echoed in every corner, or do you hear that of Millions be Free—the sentiments of both of which should accord; but which, since the commencement of the war against the liberties of France, have carried discord in their conjunctive sounds? Or rather, my Lord, do you not see famine—pale, meagre, ghastly famine—spreading his horrific mantle over all that class of his Majesty's subjects, that, figuratively speaking, may be called the "working bees in the hive?" There is a book in which your Lordship may read the destinies of Britain, and that, my Lord, is the human heart.—Man is naturally docile—domestic felicity is the bed on which he delights to repose—his wants are not numerous; and when, by honest industry, he can obtain means commensurate to these wants, he regards but little the politics of the State—he thinks not of strife, rebellion or revenge. But, my Lord, can the working class in Britain supply their wants by honest industry? The evidence given before a Committee of the House of Commons, on the subject of the evil-promoting Orders in Council, prove that they cannot! But supposing, my Lord, that you do not believe the testimonies there so feelingly and correctly given in, may it please your Lordship to condescend, and take one glance into the house of one of these, once happy, working men. What not one glance! Come, my good and gracious Lord, you will learn a lesson which, perhaps, may be useful to you another day. You will there see a man in tattered garments, his face pale and meagre, his eyes speaking the language of sorrow, and his lips trembling with despair: You will see a woman exhibiting the remains of former worth. In every feature of her face you will see anguish, while famine has bared her once lovely bosom to the bone, & dried up the milky fountains of infantine support.' This is not all, my Lord; no, you will see four or five children!—but in mercy to the wounded feelings of the reader, we will not particularize their situation. But the father sees it! he feels it too! and can you wonder, my Lord, if the seat of prudence is sometimes usurped by revenge? Here my Lord, is the source of those troubles which so deeply chequered over the midland and northern counties during the course of last winter, and which chequer a great part of the kingdom now. Another winter is approaching; the prospects still more awful, and anticipations more alarming, than those which preceded the last. You can exalt the Germans, my Lord: you can place them over the heads of Englishmen who have bravely fought their Country's battles, merely because these same Germans made a tolerable shew of fighting at the battle of Salamanca; but for Englishmen you do nothing, except that of paying a tribute to the brave for their courage in battle, at the time that you are starving their wives, their children, and other relatives, at home. Yes, you do more; you prepare the stroke of death for those that are driven to acts of violence by hunger and despair. But does the words clemency and mercy never enter your Lordship's mind? If these qualities are too humble to form any part of your Lordship's capacious mind; if the comforts and happiness of the people of England, Ireland, and Scotland are subjects far beneath your notice, at least have some regard for the future fortunes of your family and the fortunes of your august Master. Does not the state of France, in 1788, and that of England, in 1812, never strike your Lordship with something like a similarity? There is a difference in the state of the two countries at the dates alluded to: France had a much greater population, and her national debt was trifling, when compared to our's. Her taxes bore no proportion with those laid on the people of the British Empire; and she was at peace with all the world. This, my Lord, is a trifling difference it is true; a difference not very flattering to your Lordship's Contemplation.—The disrobed, the fugitive Bourbons, Could unfold a tale to your Royal Master's ear, which, circumstances compared, might impress his heart with the most fearful apprehensions; but it is their interest to deceive him; and, what is more unfortunate for this country, and may ultimately prove so to himself, he seems inclined to be deceived.—It was not the high sounding names of Grand Monarque, Cardinal, Bishop, Baron, Count, &c. that could stop the fury of the French; when goaded by their sufferings they forgot their obedience to the law. The Gothic mansions of the Nobles, that had braved the conflicting elements, during the roll of succeeding centuries came tumbling to the ground like the rolling of a snowy avalanche, while their haughty occupiers, who had spread terror and misery in their respective neighbourhoods, fell victims to, or fled from the fury of those whose anger they had provoked. When a trial of physical strength takes place between the pampered few and the hunger-impelled many, we behold the most fearful odds. Then, my Lord advise your gracious Master to attend to the Cries and prayers of the people—Winter approaches—the prospect is dreary—the numbers that are starving are very great—system they are acquainted with—we will stop; —to the wise we have said enough to the weak and foolish it is unnecessary to say more.'