who live in caves and cellars, or in very dark and narrow streets, are apt to produce deformed children; and that men who work in mines are liable to disease and deformity beyond what the simple closeness of the atmosphere would be likely to produce. It has been stated, on the authority of Sir A. Wylie, that the cases of disease on the dark side of an extensive barrack at St Petersburg, have been uniformly for many years in the proportion of three to one on the side exposed to strong light. Further, Dupuytren relates the case of a lady whose maladies had baffled the skill of several eminent practitioners. This lady resided in a dark room (on which the sun never shone) in one of the narrow streets of Paris. After a careful examination, Dupuytren was led to refer her complaints to the absence of light, and recommended her removal to a more exposed situation. This change was followed by the most beneficial results; all her complaints vanished. The more, therefore, that animals are exposed to the influence of light, the more freedom in ordinary circumstances do they find from irregular action and deformity. Humboldt has remarked that among several nations of South America, who wear very little clothing, he never saw an individual with a natural deformity; and Linnæus, in his account of his tour through Lapland, enumerates constant exposure to solar light as one of the causes which render a summer's journey through high northern latitudes so peculiarly healthful and invigorating. It is not to be supposed, however, that exposure to continued solar light is a normal condition of existence; on the contrary, it seems that plants and animals, as well as inanimate nature, require a period of repose from that activity and motion of their elements which actinism so unerringly excites. A taper will no doubt burn brighter in a medium of oxygen gas than in common air, but it just consumes so much the more quickly. So it may be with bodies exposed to perpetual light. The vegetation of our own latitude springs, grows, and ripens slowly, requiring for its perfect development a period of several months; the plants of the arctic regions, under continual daylight, start suddenly into life, and perform their circle of being in a few weeks. In this particular, organic life seems strictly analogous to physical force: we cannot gain power unless at the expense of time, or gain time unless by the exertion of superior power. If,' says Dr Lindley, changes in their condition be requisite to the wellbeing of plants, so in like manner are the diurnal changes of light and darkness. If plants were kept incessantly growing in light, they would be perpetually decomposing carbonic acid, and would, in consequence, become so stunted, that there would be no such thing as a tree, as is actually the case in the polar regions. If, on the contrary, they grow in constant darkness, their tissue becomes excessively lengthened and weak, no decomposition of carbonic acid takes place, none of the parts acquire solidity and vigour, and consequently they perish. But under natural circumstances, plants which in the day become exhausted by the decomposition of carbonic acid, and by the emptying of their tissue by evaporation, repair their forces at night by inhaling oxygen copiously, and so forming a new supply of carbonic acid, and by absorbing moisture from the earth and air without the loss of any portion of it.' It would appear, then, from what we have stated, that actinism, as distinct from mere visual light, is one of the most important and universal agencies in nature. We see its power everywhere around us, alike on animate and inanimate objects. Like the lyre of Memnon under the rays of the rising sun, organic life is thrown into motion by its influence; vitality is as it were revivified, and even inert matter changes its hues and properties. As yet, its operations constitute an imperfectly-interpreted chapter in the history of creation; but the subject has interest and value sufficient to excite to its perfect explanation. Chemical action, magnetism, electricity, are subtle agents, and science has already subjected them in a thousand ways to the purposes of human life: need we therefore despair of obtaining in time a like control over this ethereal principle of solar radiation? DEGENERATE DAYS. A VERY common phrase in the mouths of those who speak by rote, and who repeat from others, without any very distinct perception of its meaning, any sentence that to a limited understanding appears true or halftrue, is, that the present are degenerate days.' These people-who are generally old, and have lost the capacity of all enjoyments except those of grumbling and argumentation-not only imagine that the world has been growing worse ever since the flood, but that a very great difference, to the world's disadvantage, has taken place since they were young. The weather is not so fine, the men are not so strong, and the women are not so beautiful, as when they were juveniles. They will not even allow a storm of these days to be equal to the storms of the past. The very thunder does not roar so grandly as it used to do, and the lightning is pale and feeble in comparison with the flashes that they have known. The wine of life they imagine is in the lees, and the fire of nature growing cold. It is in vain to tell them that the fault is in themselves; that they have lost the power of enjoyment; that they have no longer the keen appreciation of the beautiful which they had in their young days; that their palates are dulled, and that, therefore, they consider the fine pine-apple to be no better than a pippin, and the golden pippin itself to be no better than the harsh uncultivated crab. No; they maintain that the fault is not in them, but in the age; and they could weep for its degeneracy, had they not too much philosophy to weep for anything. We once knew a very fine specimen of this class of prosers. Our friend was about seventy-eight years of age, still tolerably hale and hearty, and in possession of a snug sum in the three-and-a-half per cents. He was the oracle of the chief inn of the village, in the parlour of which he was nightly to be seen occupying the large arm-chair, and laying down the law, like a Solon, to the juniors who surrounded him. Scrupulously neat and clean was he, well powdered was his scanty hair, carefully brushed were his black coat and gray nether garments, white as snow was his neckcloth, and brilliant were his shoes as the best blacking could make them. Remnant of ancient days, his queue hung over the collar of his coat, and scattered over it the floating powder in a silvery spray. Decently and comfortably had he passed this life; his character was unexceptionable; and a great man was he in his native village, and for five miles round it, and a mighty potentate in the parlour of the Red Lion. So great was the estimation in which he was held, that his portrait had been painted at the expense of the landlord, and hung up in a broad gilt. frame over the mantelpiece, to fire the young with emulation, and keep him in the remembrance of those who might come after him. This worthy soul had a word to say upon every subject; he was a dictionary of dates and universal reference; and if he did not know any matter that might be in dispute, he pretended to know; and to the majority of those with whom he came in contact, this was the same thing. He swore that there was no eloquence in modern parliaments-no public spirit in modern ministers; that the abolition of the rotten boroughs had destroyed the nation; and that the sun of Great Britain had set for ever, unless we should return to the old system, increase sinecures and taxation, and go to war with the whole world, as we did in the days of the French Revolution. In literature, his notions were equally antique. The latest novel he had read was Sir Charles Grandison, and the most modern poet, with whom he deigned to acknowledge acquaintance, was Pope. He had heard of Scott and his wonderful genius, but would not read 6 his works. When advised to do so, he inquired if he were equal to Shakspeare, and when answered in the negative, he tossed his head with a disdainful smile, and pitied the degeneracy of the age, which, with all the boasted march of intellect, and the discoveries of science, could not produce another Shakspeare. And then your modern poets,' he exclaimed, your Byrons, your Moores, your Campbells, your Southeys; glorious John Dryden is worth them all-and Pope worth a thousand of them. Talk of poetry, indeed,' said he; "An honest man's the noblest work of God;" and all your Childe Harolds, and Irish Melodies, and Pleasures of Hope, and Pleasures of Memory, and Ancient Mariners, and Christabels, and Thalabas, can never equal that one line; that line is indeed fine, and good poetry, and cannot be disputed.' But no poetry can be good, in the first degree of goodness, that is not true, and I maintain that that line is not true.' How?' said he, starting from his chair, and grasping his silver-headed staff in a paroxysm of astonishment and indignation as we spoke; not true?' An honest man may be a fool-a dolt, without ideas, enterprise, energy, or talent of any kind, beyond the talent of making a profit upon a yard of tape; and would he be as noble a work as Isaac Newton or Francis Bacon?' Sir, you have no taste or judgment,' said the stickler for degeneracy, or you would not speak thus. The world has degenerated, indeed, if one of this generation fails to appreciate that sublimest passage of our greatest poet. But I will not argue with you; you are no judge of poetry.' Well, perhaps not. But, leaving such matters of taste and opinion, you will allow that in one respect this age is much in advance of any other-the wonderful discoveries of science and art?' Our friend has long since been gathered to his fathers, but there are many more like him to be met with daily. The secret of their dogmatism is easily discovered, and it is vanity. If the world has degenerated, the greater their merit not to have degenerated with it. They fancy that they have remained bright when all has been growing dark, and they are pleased with themselves accordingly. It is fortunate that their fancies are harmless, and that the world can get on without them. HEALTH OF TOWNS COMMISSION. THE first volume of the Report of the Health of Towns Commission, which we noticed in a recent number of the Journal, contains the evidence on the 'causes of disease, and means of prevention;' the second, the more bulky of the two, comprises that bearing on the supply of water to towns, drainage, surveys, &c. We purpose, in the present article, to call attention to the fearful details of the former, which opens with an explanatory report by the commission, stating their object to have been the institution of inquiries into the present state of large towns and populous districts in England and Wales, with reference to the causes of disease amongst the inhabitants; the best means of promoting and securing the public health; the drainage of lands; the erection, drainage, and ventilation of buildings; and the supply of water in such towns and districts, whether for purposes of health, or for the better protection of property from fire; and how far the public health, and the condition of the poorer classes of the people of this realm, and the salubrity and safety of their dwellings, may be promoted by the amendment of the laws, regulations, and usages at present prevailing with regard to those matters.' The whole of the evidence adduced on these points Ay, ay,' said he with a smile of triumph, 'you are goes to establish that, defective drainage, neglect of coming to steam, I see, and railroads! Now, I main-house and street cleansing, ventilation, and imperfect tain that steam is a curse, and not a blessing to society. supplies of water, contribute to produce atmospheric Talk of your steamboats; give me the good ship, with impurities which affect the general health and physical all her sails swelling to the breeze, and skimming merrily condition of the population, generating acute, chronic, over the waters, without a monstrous boiler in her in- and ultimately organic disease, especially scrofulous side, in danger of bursting every moment, and blowing affections and consumption, in addition to fevers, and every soul on board of her to destruction! And as for other forms of disease.' The startling facts brought your railroads, give me the old highway I say. I never forward as to the creation, we may call it, of scrofulous travelled by a railroad, and I never will. I love the old affections by impure air, are new, and present some of ways, the neat inns by the road-side, the civil coach- the gloomiest features of the volume, inasmuch as they man, the swift horses, and the merry bugle of the guard. prove the fatal effects of the pernicious influences comNo; railroads are the bane of all enjoyment in travel- plained of, in the existence of a deteriorating populaling; and, to say nothing of the danger of collisions, tion, diseased in themselves, and bequeathing disease to which may send the heads and limbs of five hundred a still more wretched posterity. Joseph Toynbee, Esq. passengers flying in the air in a moment, you cannot one of the witnesses examined, appears to have devoted even enjoy a sight of the fields, and trees, and hills, and special attention to this part of the subject on being all the beauties of the country, if once you intrust your- asked as to his observation of the effect of defective self in the train. No, no; there can never come any ventilation,' he replies-The defective ventilation apgood out of steam.' pears to me to be the principal cause of the scrofulous affections, which abound to an enormous extent amongst our patients. When I have had a scrofulous patient come before me, I have always been able to trace this as one of the agents.' He cites the work of a French physician, M. Baudeloque, in which it is stated that the repeated respiration of the same atmosphere is the cause of scrofula; that if there be entirely pure air, there may be bad food, bad clothing, and want of personal cleanliness, but that scrofulous disease cannot exist.' The following facts are further quoted:-The development of scrofula is constantly preceded by the sojourn, more or less prolonged, in air which is not sufficiently freshened. It is impossible to deny that hereditary disposition, the lymphatic temperament, uncleanliness, want of clothing, bad food, cold and humid air, are of themselves circumstances non-effective for the production of scrofula. 'But,' said we, wishing to draw him out, and without the slightest hope that he would agree with us, suppose we concede that steam travelling is not so pleasant as it might be, you must at least allow that by means of steam we bring nations together-that we gain a victory over time and space, and aid the great cause of human civilisation by carrying our arts, our productions, our knowledge, and our religion, to remote regions-that, but for steam, and the impetus it has given to the intellect of man, we would not have enjoyed these blessings for ages yet to come. You will allow that?' Sir, I will not allow that any good is done by that. True, we carry what we call our civilisation into savage lands, but we carry our vices and our diseases along with it; and I am not sure that the savages are not better without us than with us. They are free, they are strong, they are healthy, and have few wants; and the utmost we do for them is to instil wants into them, which, when they cannot supply, they become miserable. No; they are better without us; we only make them as degenerate as ourselves.' 'When it is seen, on the other hand, that this disease never attacks persons who pass their lives in the open air, and manifests itself always when they abide in an air which is unrenewed, and this whatever may be the extent of other causes, it appears evident that the non renewal of the air is a necessary condition in the production of scrofula. Invariably, it will be found on examination, that a truly scrofulous disease is caused by a vitiated air, and it is not always necessary that there should have been a prolonged stay in such an atmosphere. Often a few hours each day is sufficient; and it is thus that persons may live in the most healthy country, pass the greater part of the day in the open air, and yet become scrofulous, because of sleeping in a confined place, where the air has not been renewed. This is the case with many shepherds. It is usual to attribute scrofula, in their case, to exposure to storms, and atmospheric changes, and to humidity. But attention has not been paid to the circumstance, that they pass the night in a confined hut, which they transport from place to place, and which protects them from wet; this hut has only a small door, which is closed when they enter, and remains closed also during the day; six or eight hours passed daily in a vitiated air, and which no draught ever renews, is the true cause of their disease. I have spoken of the bad habit of sleeping with the head under the clothes, and the insalubrity of the classes where a number of children are assembled together.' An instance is adduced in corroboration: At three leagues from Amiens lies the village of Oresmeaux; it is situated in a vast plain, open on every side, and elevated more than 100 feet above the neighbouring valleys. About sixty years ago, most of the houses were built of clay, and had no windows; they were lighted by one or two panes of glass fixed in the wall; none of the floors, sometimes many feet below the level of the street, were paved. The ceilings were low; the greater part of the inhabitants were engaged in weaving. A few holes in the wall, and which were closed at will by means of a plank, scarcely permitted the air and light to penetrate into the workshop. Humidity was thought necessary to keep the threads fresh. Nearly all the inhabitants were seized with scrofula, and many families, continually ravaged by that malady, became extinct; their last members, as they write me, died rotten with scrofula. 'A fire destroyed nearly a third of the village; the houses were rebuilt in a more salubrious manner, and by degrees scrofula became less common, and disappeared from that part.' Other facts are brought forward, all tending to prove the fatal effects of vitiated air, and the beneficial results of a constantly pure atmosphere, not only on the health, but on the morals of the people. Other authorities-Dr Blacke, Dr Blakely Brown, Dr Duncan, and Professor Alison-fully confirm these statements, in addition to which, we are informed that 'defective ventilation may be considered one great cause of all the diseases of the joints which we so frequently meet with, as well as of the diseases of the eye and skin -shingles, lepra, and porrigo, or ringworm. Besides the eye, the car is injuriously affected by vitiated air, which thus becomes the cause of many cases of deafness. It is a fact, that at least two times more of the children of the labouring-classes are affected by earache and deafness, than of children of the rich and better-conditioned classes, less exposed to the like influences.' The report in continuation states, that fifty towns were selected by the commission, where the rate of mortality appeared, by the returns of the registers of deaths, with a few exceptions, to be the highest.' These included the largest manufacturing towns and principal ports after London, comprehending a population of more than three millions of persons. Each of these towns was visited by the commissioners, who examined into their condition on the spot, particularly of the most crowded and the most unhealthy districts, making personal inquiries of the inhabitants, and hearing such statements as were made by them, or respecting them, by medical and other officers. In the evidence of Dr Duncan, physician to the Liverpool dispensary, we are made aware of the great extent of mortality arising from defective drainage, cleansing, ventilation, scanty supplies of water, and other causes. This witness brings forward two tables, showing the difference of mortality in town and country districts; in an area of the latter, equal to 17,254 square miles, the number of inhabitants to each square mile being 205, the annual mortality was as 1 in 5491; while in town districts, comprising an area of 747 square miles, the inhabitants to each mile being 5045, the rate of mortality for the same period was 1 in 38 16. More than one cause may be assigned for this marked difference in the two districts; but the one great cause, which in its operation seems to absorb all others, is the vitiation of the atmosphere of towns; to effect which many agencies are constantly at work. By the mere action of the lungs of the inhabitants of Liverpool, for instance, a stratum of air sufficient to cover the entire surface of the town, to the depth of three feet, is daily rendered unfit for the purposes of respiration. Add to this the exhalations from forges, furnaces, and other fires, the enormous combustion of gas, oil, and candles, nightly consumed in large towns, with the escape of gaseous effluvia from manufactories, and we shall have some idea of the vitiation of the air of towns. It has been estimated, from the census of 1841, that the number of the working-classes of Liverpool is 160,000, who are distributed as follows: In 1982 courts, containing 10,692 houses, In 621 do. 55,534 20,168 2,000 thus showing that one-half only of the industrious population live in rooms or houses facing the street, or in a comparatively pure atmosphere. The courts consist usually of two rows of houses placed opposite to each other, with an intervening space of from 9 to 15 feet, which communicates with the street by a passage or archway about 3 feet wide, often built up overhead, and the farther end closed by a wall, or other building. Such an arrangement almost bids defiance to the entrance and circulation of air. Of these courts, 629 are closed at both ends, 875 are closed at one end, and 478 only are open at both ends. If the courts are, as described, the noisome sinks of impurity, the cellars are still more horrible; they are generally 10 or 12 feet square, and flagged; but frequently have only, the bare earth for a floor, and sometimes less than six feet in height. There is often no window, so that light and air can enter only by the door, the top of which, in numerous instances, is not higher than the level of the street. They are of course dark, and, from the defective drainage, are also very generally damp. Some of them have a back-cellar, used as a sleeping apartment, having no direct communication with the external air, which, with its supply of light, must be derived solely from the front room.' Can it be matter of surprise that disease and depravity exist to such an alarming extent in these dens, when we know that in 26 streets inhabited by the workingclasses, two-thirds of the houses were without yard, ash-pit, or other convenience. The consequence is, that the surface of the ground is covered with putrescent and offensive matter, which, when sufficiently fluid, sometimes oozes through into the neighbouring cellars, filling them with pestilential vapours, and rendering it necessary to dig wells to receive it, in order to prevent the inhabitants being inundated. One of these wells, four feet deep, filled with this stinking fluid, was found in one cellar under the bed where the family slept.' These cellars are often used as lodging-houses, chiefly for the migratory Irish; the floors, sometimes the bare earth, are covered at night with straw; and there the lodgers-all who can afford to pay a penny for the accommodation-arrange themselves as best they may, until scarcely a single available inch of space is left unoccupied. In this way as many as thirty human beings or more are sometimes packed together underground, each inhaling the poison which his neighbour generates, and presenting a picture in some degree of the Black Hole of Calcutta. Each individual, in the course of the night, vitiates about 300 cubic feet of atmospheric air; and if we suppose 30 pair of lungs engaged in this process, we shall have 9000 cubic feet of air rendered noxious during the period of sleep. But as the cubical atmospheric contents of the cellars do not exceed 2100 feet, the thirty individuals are consequently furnished with a supply of air sufficient only for the wants of seven.' almost nominal price; and in their effect rendering the working-man's home a scene of pleasure and hope, where the practice of cleanliness shall pave the way for other and equally exalting virtues. The publication of a report such as the one under consideration, is in itself an encouraging and unmistakeable sign of the times; it proves that right feelings are making progress; that they who have begun the good work are earnest in persevering. The commissioners say, in concluding their report, We have especially turned our attention to the means for improving the worst and the most crowded districts in large towns, a may appear to be a comparatively easy task to provide against the occurrence in new districts of the evils which at present prevail in parts of old towns; but in the heart, and even in the immediate suburbs of towns, not only of ancient but also of modern date, where these evils chiefly abound, the value of the property, the intricacy and variety of the interests involved, and the occupations and callings of the inhabitants, increase in a great degree the difficulty of devising measures which we may with confidence be able to recommend as effectual, and at the same time as capable of enforcement. In order to admit of the recommendation of systematic and comprehensive measures, adequate to the magnitude of the subject, many practical details are involved, which must be minutely examined and viewed equally in respect to accuracy of principle, economy of execution, and adequate provision for regulating and defraying the necessary expenses. This subject is still engaging our most anxious attention.' We have dwelt at some length on this part of the evidence, from a conviction that the evils of imperfect ventilation are almost universally disregarded. To what other cause can be attributed the reluctance to open a window for the admission of air, which so many persons exhibit; the absurd custom also of closing bed-subject of great importance, and very great difficulty. It rooms during the night against the entrance of air. Not only are doors locked, and windows fastened against the pure circulation, but it is still further impeded by the close curtains of the bed; the consequence is, that the atmosphere of a bedroom in the morning smells more like that of a charnel-house than an apartment fit for the repose of human beings. With one more extract from the doctor's evidence, bearing on the deadly effects of foul air, we must leave this part of the subject. It will be proper to say a few words as to the nature of the effluvia arising from cess-pools, and other offensive sources. The principal gas given out from these deposits is sulphuretted hydrogen, the most deadly of the gaseous poisons, two or three cubic inches causing instant death when injected into a vein, or into the chest, or beneath the skin of animals. A rabbit died in ten minutes after being enclosed in a bag containing sulphuretted hydrogen, although its head was left free so as to allow it to breathe the pure atmosphere. Nine quarts injected into the intestines of a horse killed it in a minute; a dog was killed by being made to breathe a mixture of one part of this gas with 800 parts of common air; and air containing only 11500th part of sulphuretted hydrogen proves speedily fatal to small birds. Although these effluvia are breathed by the inhabitants of our courts and back-streets in a state, of course, of extreme dilution, we cannot suppose that they are on that account entirely harmless. What, in a concentrated form, is so very deadly, must, in a diluted state, be injurious to health.' We intend to return to this subject in a future number, in which we shall consider the remedial measures to be gathered from the evidence of the second volume. Meanwhile, much remains to be done. The announcement of difficulties should be a spur to exertion; much may be done individually in anticipation of the good that may be expected to result from the institution of inquiries like the present. The many important facts elicited are worthy of the most serious attention: the cause is one which enlists our highest sympathies--one in which all are concerned-and to which all, if they will, may contribute their assistance. PERIODICAL WORK CONDUCTED BY LUNATICS, who, fifty years ago, were dungeoned and It is sickening to contemplate the physical evils here described; these, however, sink into comparative insignificance when compared with the moral degradation that necessarily ensues. Mr Toynbee, in reply to a question as to the over-crowding of rooms, observes that, in respect to morals, as well as health, it is terrible. I am now attending one family, where the father, about fifty, the mother about the same age, a grown-up son, about twenty, in a consumption, and a daughter, about seventeen, who has scrofulous affection of the jaw and throat, for which I am attending her, and a child-all sleep in the same bed, in a room where the father and three or four other men work during the day as tailors, and they frequently work there late at night with candles. I am also treating, at the present time, a woman with paralysis of the lower extremities, whose eldest son, the son by a former wife, and a girl of eleven or twelve years of age, all sleep in the same bed.' Mr Aldis, physician to the London dispensary, states, that he has found grown-up young men sleeping in the same bed with a middle-aged or young mother; brothers and sisters, above the age of puberty, lying in the same bed. But the moral effects only come to our knowledge accidentally. Mr Hawksley, of Nottingham, says, that' rooms Not only is the literary matter sane in its general of eleven feet square often contain families of four, five, tone, and rhetorically correct, but there is positive or six individuals, consisting not unfrequently of nearly-merit in several of the little articles. For example, a related adults of different sexes, who live and sleep pro- gentleman signing himself Sigma, thus addresses Dr miscuously.' Browne, the superior of the establishment (and we We gladly turn from the perusal of these cases of would ask if many men under Thomas Moore could depravity, induced, in a great measure, by local circum-write in the same style more smartly):stances, to the promise of amelioration-to the prospect of convenient and healthful dwellings for the busy multitudes-to the constant and abundant supply of pure and wholesome water-to the erection of baths and wash-houses, furnishing the means of cleanliness at an it.' "I am sorry to learn you have got rheumatism, If you take my advice, my kind friend, you wont follow Who at Graefenberg cures old and young of the dumps, By the magical aid of a couple of pumps. Old Pindar, 'tis true, as you very well know, Your kids, you will learn with much pleasure, I know, I would break Priscian's head, and write statu QUOD ;) And wasn't he savage? ho, no! not at all: He fumed and he fretted-"The cues were a scandal, And really unfit for a gemman to handle ;" Then concluded by saying, he would give me thrice six Out of twenty-four points, and beat me to sticks!' * * 'J. C.,' who from his style seems of clerical education, preaches to the following effect, and however trite the ideas, assuredly their arrangement here is as good as could be expected from any other quarter whatever: Although it is a proper, natural, and laudable wish to be splendidly and extensively useful, yet as every man is most delighted with the esteem, and interested in the good conduct and happiness of his domestics and friends, he ought to be the more careful to "walk before his house with a perfect heart." That such instruct their families and lead them in the ways of righteousness, is what is required of them. This is the province of which the care has been assigned to, and of which the improvement will be required at their hands; and he who exerteth himself in this his station and sphere of action, however low or limited, is as meritorious in the sight of God, and likely to be as happy in himself, as he who, disengaging himself from all domestic ties and duties, gives a wider but more contingent range to his zeal and philanthropy, and encompasses sea and land to promote the improvement, reformation, and happiness of his fellow-men. But, above all, it certainly deeply concerns parents to set a good example before their children. This is equally beneficial to the public and to themselves; and the neglect equally fatal to both. If ever any real and substantial reformation of society is to be effected, this is the source from which it must flow; the sure foundation must be laid in the instruction, education, and moral training of youth.' We conclude with a short lyrical poem, which has, we think, absolute merits sufficient to entitle it to notice, apart from all consideration of the interest arising from the condition and circumstances of the writer: The harp so loved awakes no more, For though it soothed in other days, Like that which haunts the heart of man. And far upon the moorland gray, And thus are nature's charms replaced, But when, amid life's devious track, And if the young must oft deplore The ills that curb their early glee, Oh, what again shall joy restore To my loved mountain harp and me !—J. R.' It might be asked, Supposing the writers of these extracts had been at liberty, and had been guilty of some capital outrage, would not such compositions have proved as strong proofs of their sanity, and consequent liability to punishment, as any that have been adduced in cases where punishment has been suffered, or, at best, narrowly missed (that of Macnaughton, for infor a lunatic asylum, and actually are in such an asylum stance)? and yet these persons are deemed fit inmates at this moment. SHORT NOTES ON THE WEST INDIES. BY A LATE RESIDENT. THIRD ARTICLE. 6 The Economy of Estates.-The negroes in Jamaica have a song, the burden of which is Massa, me no dead yet; car' him along.' The following is given as its origin. About forty years ago, the owner of a certain property was in the habit, when any of his slaves became old and useless, of directing them to be carried to a gully' on his estate, and there left to whatever fate should befall them -such fate being to be devoured by the crows before life became extinct. The object of this proceeding was, that the monster of a master should be saved the cost of keeping the old slave in his last days; and in order that he might lose as little as possible even by this transaction, he always directed that the dying man should be stripped naked, and his clothes brought back, together with the board which had been used to convey him to his miserable destiny. It happened that on one occasion a poor wretch, who was being so disposed of, collected sufficient courage and strength to exclaim, Massa, me no dead yet,' at the same time imploring to be saved from the horrible death which apparently awaited him. His brutal master, however, was deaf to his intreaties; and the bearers of the sick man hesitating, as one naturally supposes, whether they should proceed with their burden, the master sternly cried out, Carry him along.' This was the origin of the song-now for the sequel of the story. The poor man was taken to the gully, and there stripped and left, as directed by his master. In the night, however, came some of his friends, who, finding him still alive, took him to their homes, and, unknown to their master, bestowed such care upon him, that in course of time he recovered, and gained sufficient strength to leave the property. One unlucky day the poor fellow encountered his master in the streets of Kingston. The latter was thunderstruck. He had, however, sufficient presence of mind not to lose sight of his interest. At once claiming the dead-alive' as his slave, he ordered his attendants to take him into custody, and conduct him home. But the old man had no idea of undergoing a second exposure to the crows. justly thought he had a fair claim to the free disposal of the few remaining days of his life. Accordingly he made such resistance, and uttered such cries, as speedily collected a crowd about him. His tale was soon toldthe people were shocked and infuriated at the horrid recital, and, had his master not decamped, they would most probably have immolated him upon the spot. He |