A VOICE FROM THE DIGGINGS.


The voices that have come from the diggings in California and
Australia have hitherto been so loud and so many, that they have
served only to confuse. We have the image before our fancy of a vast
crowd of human beings hastening over seas and deserts towards certain
geographical points, where they meet, struggle, fix. We see them
picking up lumps of gold from the surface, or digging them out of the
earth, or collecting the glittering dust by sifting and washing; and
then we hear of vast torrents of the precious metal finding their way
into Europe, threatening to swamp us all with absolute wealth, and
confound and travesty the whole monetary transactions of the world.
What we don't see, is the gold itself. We should like, if it were only
out of curiosity, to feel a handful of it in our pocket: but we grope
in vain. A sovereign costs twenty shillings, as before; and twenty
shillings are as hard to come at as ever. Nevertheless, we believe in
the unseen presence of that slave-genius, who lends himself, with a
sickly smile, to the service of mankind, and buys when we think he is
sold! We have faith in bills of lading, and accept without question
any amount that is reported to lie dormant in the reservoir of the
Bank of England: only we wonder in private whether the importations of
the precious metal are likely to increase permanently in greater
proportion than the population in this quarter of the globe, and the
spread of taste, comfort, and luxury, calling every day new arts into
existence, perfecting old ones, and distributing wealth throughout the
constantly widening circle of talent and industry.