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About the Cover
In the painting King George III Statue, 1776, American artist William Walcutt
(1819–1882) depicts the toppling of the monument in New York City that occurred
on July 9, 1776. The Declaration of Independence had been read aloud a few days
earlier and revolutionary feeling ran high. Walcutt, who moved to the city from
Ohio as very young man—when old people still remembered the dramatic events—
imagined the scene as one in which all types of people participated with gusto,
happy to be part of changing the world as they knew it.
VOLUME I
To 1877
Michael McGerr
Camilla Townsend
Karen M. Dunak
Mark Summers
Jan Ellen Lewis
987654321
Printed in Mexico by Quad/Mexico
CHAPTER 1
Worlds in Motion, 1450–1550 2
CHAPTER 2
Colonial Outposts, 1550–1650 34
CHAPTER 3
The English Come to Stay, 1600–1660 64
CHAPTER 4
Continental Empires, 1660–1720 94
CHAPTER 5
The Eighteenth-Century World, 1700–1775 130
CHAPTER 6
Conflict in the Empire, 1713–1774 164
CHAPTER 7
Creating a New Nation, 1775–1788 196
CHAPTER 8
Contested Republic, 1789–1800 234
CHAPTER 10
Jacksonian Democracy, 1820–1840 302
CHAPTER 11
Reform and Conflict, 1820–1848 346
CHAPTER 12
Manifest Destiny, 1836–1848 378
CHAPTER 13
The Politics of Slavery, 1848–1860 408
CHAPTER 14
A War for Union and Emancipation,
1861–1865 442
CHAPTER 15
Reconstructing a Nation, 1865–1877 482
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
Colonial Outposts, 1550–1650 34
Conclusion 60
Chapter 2 Primary Sources
2.1 Letter from Fray Pedro de Feria to Phillip II, King of Spain,
about Paquiquineo (1563) S2-2
2.2 Richard Hakluyt, Excerpt from The Principal Navigations, Voyages,
Traffiques, and Discoveries of the English Nation (1589–1600) S2-3
2.3 A Smallpox Epidemic in Canada (1639 -1640) S2-4
2.4 John Heckewelder, Account of the Arrival of the Dutch at Manhattan S2-5
CHAPTER 3
The English Come to Stay, 1600–1660 64
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER VI.
It is a true saying, that when mothers begin to talk of their children
they never know when to stop; and the children, who might
otherwise have found favour, are thereby made to appear as
uninteresting and vexatious bores.
I will try to avoid falling into this error, and only tell you enough to
enable you to understand the peculiarities of mine.
You may have noticed how great a variety exists in the characters
and dispositions of the members of every large family, and will not be
surprised to hear that the same individuality of character shows itself
in the family of Funds and Stocks.
In introducing you to the steadiest and most reliable of my children, I
feel that I am putting you in the way of deriving real advantage. If,
however, you prefer the less worthy, the more daring and
speculative, I shall feel that no blame attaches to me.
Have you ever remarked, in your round of visits among your friends,
that it is almost possible to tell the character of host and hostess by
the people you meet there, and even by the servants who wait upon
you—all seem to take the tone of the house? I notice this specially
among my children. For example, my “Three per Cent. Consols” and
my “New Three’s,” whom I select as specially suited to be your
friends, have the most courteous, kindly, sober and religious class of
visitors; on the faces of all, old and young, clergy and laity, there is
an expression of repose and security and “well-to-doism” which is
charming; while, on the other hand, the faces and manners of those
who visit some of my other children are so wild, so haggard, so
restless, that you cannot help wishing that some good fairy would
give them a soothing syrup, or else insist on their choosing safer
friends; but if you ever pay me a visit, and use your eyes, you will
see more of this than, as a mother, I can tell you.
Against one thing, however, I am, as your friend, bound to warn you.
Listen to no one who proposes to let you have money at a very
cheap rate, while at the same time he offers to pay you large interest
on it. More I cannot say at present.
Closely connected with me, and in my neighbourhood, stands a most
mysterious building, known as the Stock Exchange. Its chief
entrance is in Capel-court, Bartholomew-lane.
None may pass within its portals but those specially privileged, still I
may tell you something about it without breaking through any of the
barriers which the inhabitants have set up between the public and
themselves.
This Stock Exchange is an association of about two thousand
persons, all men, of course, who meet together in Capel-court, and
who agree to be governed by a committee of thirty, chosen from
among themselves.
To the outside world, all the members are known by the name of
“stockbrokers,” but inside the mysterious building they divide
themselves into two classes—“stockjobbers” and “stockbrokers.”
Whether they be one or the other, their lives, occupations, fortunes
and reputations are bound up with the Stocks and Funds. They live
for them and they live on them. They determine their value, they
study every shade of temper exhibited by the family, they decide
their rise and fall, they are their interpreters and mouthpieces, they
act also as their bodyguard: none can approach but through them.
These two classes, jobbers and brokers, have a distinct work, which
I will try to make clear to you.
To start with, the stockjobber does not deal with the public, but the
stockbroker does.
You see stocks and shares are marketable commodities; you can
buy them, sell them, or transfer them, and the stockjobber is, as it
were, the wholesale merchant, and the stockbroker the retail dealer.
Let me explain. If you required twenty yards of black silk, you would
probably go to Marshall and Snelgrove or to Peter Robinson for it.
You certainly would not think of going to a wholesale house in the
City for it; and if you did, the article would not be supplied to you in
this way—it is contrary to the etiquette of trade.
Just in the same manner, if you wanted to buy some stock, you
would go to a stockbroker for it, and not to a stockjobber—the
stockbroker occupying the same position as Marshall and Snelgrove,
while the stockjobber stands in the place of the wholesale house in
the City.
The stockjobber, or wholesale merchant, is always ready both to buy
and sell with the broker. If you give an order to the latter, he darts
into the Stock Exchange, and without disclosing the nature of his
order to the jobber, inquires of him the price of the particular stock
which you wish to deal in. The jobber names two prices: one at
which he is prepared to buy (the lowest price, of course), the other at
which he is willing to sell (the highest price).
Thus, if the price of Consols was given by him as 100¼ to 100½, it
would mean that if you wanted him to take some stock of you he
would give you £100 5s. for each £100 of stock; and that if you
desired to buy some stock of him, you must pay him £100 10s. for
each £100.
These prices are the limits which the jobber sets himself. He is often
ready to give more or to sell for less than the prices he at first
names, according to what is known as the state of the market.
The profits of the jobber and the broker are not of the same kind; the
jobber makes his money out of the difference between the price at
which he buys the stock of you and sells it to someone else.
The broker charges you a small percentage on the cost of the stock
by way of commission for his services in the matter; this does not
include stamp duty or fee, but otherwise he undertakes any
incidental service which may be necessary to give you the full
proprietorship of the stock.
Stockjobbers, or wholesale stock merchants, are, as you see, very
necessary, for brokers could not at all times accommodate their
customers; it might be that one would want to sell at a moment when
there was no one to buy; as it is, however, all is made easy by the
jobbers, who are at all times ready both to buy and sell, and to
almost any amount.
It does sometimes happen that they promise to sell more than they
possess, and then they have to borrow and pay for the use of it on
their clearing day, which takes place once a month for Consols and
similar securities, and once a fortnight for other stocks within the
Exchange. It would never do for members of the Stock Exchange to
fall short of their obligations.
The mystery that has always hung about this building has greatly
increased since it has been in combination with the Exchange
Telegraph Company of London, with all its scientific developments
and its electric currents. Between this bureau and the Stock
Exchange ghostly, silent messages pass the livelong day concerning
the health, the value, the rise and the fall of the various stocks and
funds, and in a few seconds these mysterious messages are wafted
through the length and breadth of the land.
I am a curious, inquisitive old lady, and as there were many points in
these mysterious proceedings I could not understand, I went to the
bureau a short time back, and begged Mr. Wilfred King, the
courteous and clever secretary of the company, to make them clear
to me.
I was very interested in what he said about the rapidity with which
the messages are transmitted. He assured me that the result of the
last Derby was known all over London before the horses had had
time to stop after they had passed the winning-post; and, again, that
during the last Parliamentary session the debates, by means of this
company, were known at the Crystal Palace before they reached the
smoking-room of the House of Commons.
As I stood watching the clever instrument pouring out silently and
persistently its yards of tape messages, I asked as a favour that Mr.
King would cut off a piece, that I might show it to you. You will see
that the language is conveyed by means of simple lines, over which
he was so kind as to write the letters so represented—
[1]
The following little sketch will give you some idea of the instrument
and its working:—
I should like you to know more of this wonderful place; but it belongs
to my life only inasmuch as it carries my messages so silently and
rapidly that people hundreds of miles away can do business with me
in the same hour, and the result is that many thousands of pounds
pass through my hands in a day, which might otherwise have
remained idle.
You will possibly feel surprised to hear that on an average six
millions of pounds[2] are daily passed in London, without a single
coin being used, and without any inconvenience or fatigue; whereas
such a sum as this, if paid in gold or silver, would necessitate the
carrying backward and forward over many miles some hundred tons
weight.
Like many other gigantic transactions, it is brought about in an
insignificant building in a court leading out of Lombard-street, and
therefore close to my residence.
It is not a mysterious place like the Stock Exchange, but its power of
working is so wonderful as to be quite beyond the power of woman
to take in.
It transfers more money in one week than the whole quantity of gold
coin in the kingdom amounts to; and not the least wonderful thing
about it is that the entire work is performed by about thirty well
trained clerks, in the most exact, regular, and simple manner.
The place I am speaking of is the Bankers’ Clearing House—not to
be confounded with that in the Stock Exchange. It was established in
1775 by bankers who desired a central place where they might
conduct their clearing, or balancing, and their needs led them to the
invention of a simple and ingenious method of economising the use
of money. Almost all their payments are in the form of cheques upon
bankers.
The system of clearing is quite as important in money matters as
division of labour is in manufactures, and deserves a much more
thorough explanation than I can give here; and my only excuse for
mentioning it at all is to show you how wonderfully different my
position is now, strengthened as it is by the development of science,
knowledge, and experience, from what it was in my early days.
While my transactions have increased a thousandfold, money,
labour, and time have in an equal degree been economised.
I thought myself very rich formerly with a fortune of £1,200,000, and I
considered that I and my household had a great deal to do in the
management of it, and the work which fell to my lot. Dear me! I can
call back the picture of even a hundred and twenty years ago. My
own house was so small that passers-by could scarcely recognise it;
the population of London was only half a million, and there was but
one bridge over the Thames connecting my side of the City with
Southwark; and as to that mysterious building, the Stock Exchange,
it did not exist. You know, also, for I have told you, that my directors
only employed fifty-four secretaries and clerks, and that their united
salaries did not exceed £4,350. The contrast between then and now
is marvellous even to me.
Only look at it. The proprietors’ capital is now fourteen millions and a
half instead of £1,200,000; I am the Banker of the Government; I
receive the Public Revenue; I pay the National Debt; I receive and
register transfers of stock from one public creditor to another, and I
make the quarterly payment of the dividends. I have undertaken also
the management of the Indian Debt, as well as the Funded Debt of
the Metropolitan Board of Works. What do you think of that for a
woman old as I am in years? You must own that, notwithstanding my
age, I am young and vigorous in thought, in action, and in
organisation, otherwise how could I get through my work as I do?
“GHOSTLY, SILENT MESSAGES.”
My profits, too, are, when compared with those in my young days,
enormous. You wanted to know, if I remember rightly, how I lived,
and how I obtained the money to pay you your dividends; and
whether, in this respect, I was worthy of your trust.
Well, I will tell you a few of the ways in which I make money. I obtain
large sums by discounting Exchequer Bills; then there is the interest
upon the capital stock in the hands of the Government; I receive,
also, an allowance for managing the Public Debt. Up to 1786 I used
to get £562 10s. for every million; it was then reduced to £450 a
million; and since 1808 I get £300 per million up to 600 millions, and
£150 per million beyond—a nice little sum for you to work out.
A further source of income is interest on loans, on mortgages, profit
on purchase of bullion, and many other small matters. I am careful,
you see, not to have all my eggs in one basket.
For help in all this work I employ between eight and nine hundred
officers and servants, whose salaries exceed £210,000 a year.
I think I am a good mistress. I am sure I do my best to take care of
all my people, and I am acquainted with every one of them, even
with those who perform what is called menial service (I don’t like that
word; every service is honourable, if well performed); but I do
confess that I am extremely strict and particular and I am intolerant
of mistakes, from whatever cause they arise, because they dim the
lustre of my honour.
I think on the whole I have reason to be proud of my servants.
Indeed, I have a firm belief that no lady in the land is served better or
more faithfully.
I think you will like to hear a little about the way I manage my people.
First of all, I make every increase of salary to depend upon
punctuality in the morning, knowing as I do its importance. I am
equally particular that those living within the house shall keep good
hours at night.
Then I do not mind giving occasional leave of absence, if urgently
required; but I don’t allow anyone to take what is called “French
leave” without paying a fine for each day’s absence.
When my people get too old for service, I like to feel that they will not
suffer want; so I give them a pension in proportion to the salary they
are receiving at the time they retire. I spend about £40,000 in this
way—a spending which has nothing but pleasure in it for me.
I started a library some time ago for the younger members of my
household, by giving them a large room and £500 for books. It has
since been kept going by themselves, each subscriber paying eight
shillings a year. Between three and eight on certain days in the week
you may see numbers of them making their way thither for reading
and recreation. Those who prefer it may have books to take home.
One of my representatives is always present during these hours, just
to show our interest in their recreation.
The kind feeling, however, is not at all one-sided, as I have had
frequent opportunities of judging. Times of trouble, panic, and
sickness never fail to show me the love and devotion of my people,
and that they have not hesitated to sacrifice their lives for my safety
is a matter of history.
During the hours of the night, when I take my well-earned sleep, I am
watched over by my faithful servants, who take it in turn, two at the
time, to keep watch, in which loving duty they are assisted by a
company of Foot Guards.
So you see on the whole I am a happy woman, a very busy one, and
I think a safe one for you to trust.
(To be continued.)
OUR TOUR IN NORTH ITALY.
By TWO LONDON BACHELORS.
ST. GIORGIO, MAGGIORE.
Our longing expectations were fulfilled, and we were vouchsafed a
lovely evening for our entrance into Venice. By the time the train
reached Mæstre all traces of the storm had disappeared, the sky
was dark blue, and glittered with innumerable stars and a full moon
—just such an ideal night as one would choose for getting one’s first
impressions of the most poetical city in the world.
From Padua to Mæstre there is nothing remarkable; the same
seemingly eternal plain has to be traversed; but as the train draws
near to the last-named city one begins to realise that one is really
approaching the Queen of the Adriatic.
At Mæstre we began to feel the sea breezes, and as the train rushed
on to St. Giuliana we caught glimpses of the far-off lights of Venice
reflected in the water. And now commences the vast bridge which
takes the train over the lagune. This bridge is between three and four
miles in length, and contains 222 arches.
Our excitement was great when we reached the lagune, and the
train seemed actually rushing through the water.
At first the buildings of the distant city looked like huge black rocks,
though the hundreds of lights reflected in the water told one of the
approach to habitation. But as we drew near, the churches, towers,
campanili, and palaces became almost distinguishable, telling out
black against the starlit sky, and seemingly rising from the middle of
the sea—an exquisitely poetical scene, with which no one could be
disappointed.
Of course, we can understand that approaching Venice by day is
quite another matter. Then the shallowness of the lagune (the water
is sometimes not more than three feet deep) is realised; then all the
ruin, shabby detail, bad restoration, and bizarre Gothic work of the
city are seen at a glance. The beautiful moonlight night, however,
told us of none of these defects, but emphasised the strange poetry
of this singular city, with its wonderful history and associations, built
in the middle of the sea.
The approach to Venice by gondola in former times must have been
even more romantic, as the puffing and the screeching of a steam-
engine brings one’s mind back to the nineteenth century. Though, at
the same time, rushing across the lagune in a railway-train at night
produces a somewhat remarkable sensation.
The train took about nine minutes to cross the bridge, and then
glided quietly into the railway station at Venice. There were only
about half a dozen passengers besides ourselves, and there was