THE GATHERING OF THE UNIONS.
THE Gathering of the Clans used to be a fine thing ; now it is the Gathering of the Trades. It was a glorious sight to see the masses of brawny strength come collecting in the valley, while others were winding down the hills to the cheerful sound of the bagpipe. But what were the purposes of these men?—sonic selfish and silly quarrel—some jealousy of the indwellers of a rival strath—some question of poor pride, and a mere trial of strength at the expense of life and limb. Our gatherings are of a nature commensurate with the progress of the times. If Walsall treads on the heels of
Wednesbury, and Bilston shoulders Sedgeley, it is not for any purely selfish motive; it is not a village interest : we have learnt to be parts of a great whole--they come in the name of all.
The assemblage of nearly a quarter million of people at Birming- ham on Monday last, in order solemnly, in the open air and in the face of the whole country, to testify their resolve—their unflinch- ing determination—to stand up for the emancipation of the king- dom from the thraldom of the Boroughmongering Aristocracy, was an event which will be for ever memorable in the pages of history. The Pnyx of Athens, the Forum of Rome, present no proceeding to be compared with it in true majesty—in national grandeur. Numbers prevail, but not merely in the ratio of numbers: a meet- ing like that of Birmingham was not merely a multiplication of units; the ratio of sympathy increases much faster than the arith- metical tally. What would be the representation of the finest tragedy to an audience of one man?—a farce : the same played before thousands, would create a sensation in each, which perhaps each never felt before. Why?—to be an insulated unit, is little ; to be one of a vast mass of sensation, is great : an individual is more than himself—he is a component part of a great and efficient whole.
Sympathy is electric : shoulder to shoulder—heart beating in unison with heart—mind working with mind—ideas, become estranged from individuality, communicate, amalgamate, and con- centrate into one gigantic integer.
When the bugle sounded, on the field of Newhall Hill, a signal for a quarter million of souls, that the voice of their wishes was about to be uttered—no battle-trumpet was ever more pregnant with fide. A quarter of a million of brothers leagued in hope and strength, banded by fellowship and interest, loudly pro- claiming their rights, in no mra of the world, in no land of the known earth, would be regarded as otherwise than a sublime spectacle. But what are these peaceful warriors of a midland county ?—simply the vanguard of a nation : the happy circum- stance of having adopted in good time a civil discipline, has enabled them to show in the face of broad England, that stern countenance cf firm resolve, which other men as yet can only testify in their chambers and their domestic circles, their private spheres. It is not too late—nay, it is early ; we are in no hurry ; the end is certain.
We envy those that had the glorious opportunity of witnessing the plighting of the faith of such .a grand portion of their fellow- countrymen. How solemn was the ordinance, and how tremend-
ous must have been its effect on a spectator ! When Mr. S ALT gave out, slowly, his sublime pledge, couched in the genuine language of an Anglo-Saxon patriot—" WITH UNBROKEN FAITH, THROUGH
EVERY PERIL AND PRIVATION, WE HERE DEVOTE OURSELVES
AND OUR CHILDREN TO OUR COUNTRYS CAUSE,' how impres- sive must-have been the scene—how glorious the spectacle!
Here words have millions of lives—each sentence swarms with consequence. Remember, it was given out word by word, as an oath, and each word followed by an echo from hundreds of thou- sands of voices : conceive the effect of a quarter of a million of
Britons proclaiming their UNBROKEN FAITH, mouth after mouth, with hand and heart uplifted, before the god of day. And they are not recreant knaves, unknowing of PERIL AND PRIVATION—
unhappily it is their daily food that which would seem to a
Peer the lowest depth of wretchedness, would to them be but a poor trial, perhaps not a privation—it might even be thought comfort. And then again, WE DEVOTE OURSF.I.VES who are they who de- vote themselves to their country's cause ?—not useless loungers in St. James's Street, nor imbecile administrators of a family mansion, but the very men whose works make the country what it is — the workers in cold iron— the fabricators of bayonets, of muskets, of gun-locks and house-locks, of bolts and springs, of buttons, of epaulettes and breast-plates, of keys, and of stars and garters—of vases and candelabra, of swords and of daggers, of seals, and even of thrones. These are the men who devote themselves : and so hard is the experience of their lives, so severe has been their lot, so many their pri- vations, and so noble their behaviour under them, that we may not doubt their true devotion. But they not only devote them- selves—THEIR CHILDREN are placed on the altar, as HANNIBAL was sworn by IlAmILCAR. Ilene were hundreds of thousands of men, not speaking merely for themselves, but for their progeny— for the little creatures they had left at home, in their metiers arms, on their mothers' knees, around the domestic hearth, and by the cot- tage-door. There is no fear that the national army shall decline, for the recruits, we see, are at nurse and at school. Finally, these men are not selfish—they arc not calling for the ironmaster's cause, or the gunsmith's, 'or the locksmith's cause, but . the COUNTRY'S CAUSE. Yes, they simply desire that the national will shall take effect—that the PEOPLE may be listened to, and that the great national body may not be worried and tormented by having set over them a feW titled and patentee tyrants, ignorant of their duty, and absurdly indifferent to the interests of those by whom they live and have their existence.
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