that reason calls upon us to pay a due deference to able and good men, and to all rationally constituted authorities. While reason makes this call, she is herself called upon to judge what is really superior and entitled to esteem, and by her dictates we are bound in the last resort to abide. On the other hand, it appears to us that a proud, scoffing, defying, insubordinate spirit, whether with reference to the affairs of the private circle or to public affairs, only shows a wrong state of the feelings, and exposes him who is guilty of it to ridicule and blame. EVIL COMMUNICATION CORRUPTS "THAT man has dropt his handkerchief," said little George Lock, advancing at the same moment with the intention of picking it up, and restoring it to the owner; but before he could reach it, James Mercer, one of the boys with whom he was playing, had already possessed himself of the article in question. "What a nice one!" said he; "what shall we do with it?" "Give it back to the man," said John Robertson; "it is not yours." "Nor yours either," said James Mercer; "I shall do what I like with it, without asking your leave." "George has more right to it than you," answered Robertson; "he saw it first." "I don't want it," said George. "You shall go shares with me, George," said Mercer; "I know where I can get a shilling for it, and you shall have sixpence out of it." George Lock had not coveted the handkerchief; he could make no use of it in play, and any other purpose for it did not occur to him; but the idea of the sixpence dazzled his imagination. He had never been master of a larger sum than a penny, and the possessor of a real bona fide silver sixpence had always appeared to him a Croesus-a person rolling in wealth -one who could satisfy all his desires, and still have something to spare. He had a secret consciousness that none of them had any right to the handkerchief, but he was not inclined to investigate the matter too seriously. The deviation from the straight line of rectitude appeared small, whilst the prize to be gained by it was immense; so, with an eager countenance and a swelling heart, he followed Mercer to the shop of a certain pawnbroker called Perkins, who, without hesitation, handed over the sum demanded, and little George found himself in possession of the much-desired sixpence. But no sooner was this point attained, than George discovered that, like other anticipated objects, it did not bring the fullness of satisfaction he had expected there was a heaven beyond; to enter a shop, inquire for something he wanted, throw down his sixpence, and ask for change. The idea was magnificent; and George hastened to the nearest green-grocer's to put it in action. "A penn'orth of apples, if you please," said he, as he entered the shop, conscious of an importance he had never before known; adding, as he threw down his sixpence, "have you any change?" The master of the apples examined his till-found he had just parted with his last fivepence to a boy who came on the same errand; and telling George to wait a minute, he dispatched his little girl to a neighbour's for "a shilling's worth of coppers.' During this short interval, a man entered the shop with a hasty step, and inquired of the green-grocer if he had heard of any person having found a yellow India silk handkerchief. "No, I have not," replied the grocer; "have you lost one?" "Yes," answered the man; "it must have been taken out of my pocket, or dropt out of it, not half an hour ago, some where in this neighbourhood. It was quite a new one, and I wouldn't lose it for twice its value." "It's not very likely you'll see it again," responded the groceri "this is not an over-good neighbourhood; there are always a parcel of idle boys playing about the streets ready to snap up any thing that falls in their way." "It's very provoking very provoking, indeed!" said the man; "the handkerchief was only given to me yesterday, and this is the very first time I ever put it in my pocket." By this time, the girl having returned with the change, the grocer laid fivepence on the counter for George, and pushed it towards him. George, who, when he entered the shop, had felt himself too big for an empire, might now have crept into a nutshell; he stretched out his hand in a hesitating manner, took up the money as if it burned his fingers, and sneaked out of the shop. Where was the pleasure now? He put three of the apples in his pocket, and walked along munching the other, in a very uncomfortable state of mind. It was not exactly fear-for the handkerchief having been sold to Mr Perkins, appeared to him far out of the reach of the owner, and altogether irrecoverable; it was rather conscience-that conscience which had been laid asleep by the magnitude of the temptation, but which was now newly awakened and restored to its influence by the lamentations of the injured party. shop, therefore, he hastened, not doubting to recover it; but, unfortunately, a stranger who had been present when the handkerchief was brought, had immediately offered half-a-crown for it; and Mr Perkins, who, by the boys' omitting to ask for a ticket, guessed something like the cepted the offer. Who the purchaser was, or in what truth, thought it as well to get it off his hands, and acdirection to be found, he could not tell. It is extremely probable that if the man could have got back his handkerchief by paying a shilling, the joy of its recovery would have appeased his wrath, and he might have gone on his way without further pursuit of the culprits; but on finding it irrecoverable, he became furioussummoned a policeman, hunted out the boys, and, deaf to their entreaties or their mothers' prayers, dragged them before a magistrate, who sentenced them to a week's confinement in the house of correction. James Mercer had never been in such a situation before; but he was a hardened boy, and did not care very much about it. George Lock, on the contrary, was a very sensitive child, and the whole thing to him was terrific. At first, he was shut up alone; but as he cried for two days without ceasing, and would eat nothing, he was removed into an apartment with some other prisoners; and here his tears were soon dried. He heard his error, which he had begun to look upon as enormous, not only pronounced venial, but highly commendable; he heard the authorities before whom he had stood to be judged, and who had struck such terror into his soul, turned into the utmost ridicule; and he found that the company into which he had fallen, who appeared very merry entertaining fellows, and who made him laugh till his sides were ready to split, were all in the habit of gaining a livelihood by practices much worse than he had been guilty of, and were so far from feeling remorse, or purposing reformation themselves, that they strongly advised him to join their fraternity, and revenge himself on society by turning against the law that had treated him so harshly. A new world was thus opened to George; and, with his susceptibility to impressions, four days of this sort of tuition did wonders; more especially as, when he was released, there was nothing done to counteract its effects-effects which were neither understood nor suspected. His mother was a poor industrious honest woman, but naturally unenlightened. She had scolded the child for his fault, without reflecting that he was too uninstructed to be aware of its nature or consequences; and when he was condemned to expiate it by a week's confinement, she thought him more than sufficiently punished, which he certainly was; but she thought, also, that a punishment so severe must be likewise remedial, which it was not. She therefore took it for granted, that, to make him do right for the future, she had only to hold up in terrorem before him another visit to the house of correction, and that if this weapon failed, the child must be naturally depraved, and all others being weaker, would of course be inefficient. But this was a fatal error. The visit to the house of correction, after the first two days, had been no punishment, and the lessons he had imbibed there had been any thing but beneficial; whilst the impressions then received might have been effaced by judicious applications early administered. But these were neglected, and George's mind was left as unenlightened with respect to the moral laws, their foundations, or their benefits, as he was before. If his mother told him certain practices were wrong, his prison acquaintances took the other side of the question, and George inclined immediate indulgences. to the opinion which allowed him most pleasure and Mrs Lock was a laundress; and one of the first crimes to which George's evil associates prompted him, was to purloin some of the linen with which she was intrusted. This was pawned, and the money spent in gambling and vicious amusements, whilst the produce of the poor mother's week's labour was sacrificed to redeem her employer's property. This was too tempting a mode of raising supplies not to be repeated; and when Mrs Lock saw her own danger, as well as the boy's, she made various attempts to get him employment from home, but to no purpose. George Lock was known to have been in the house of correction, which properly enough was looked upon as the house of corruption. Nobody would have any thing to do with him; and as his mother could not turn him out of doors, she continued to be the victim of his depredations; losing her customers, and becoming daily poorer. George Lock had one sister, a girl some few years older than himself, called Mary; an amiable, pretty young woman, of whom he was very fond. She earned her livelihood as under-laundress in the family of a gentleman of fortune, and bore an unimpeached character. George sometimes visited his sister; but, lewd as he was, he was too fond and proud of her to do any thing that might have brought her into danger or trouble; and although it was impossible to have access into the house of her master without often seeing articles lying in his way which he felt a considerable inclination to appropriate, yet for her sake he always withstood the temptation. trouble. Amongst the acquaintances George had formed, was one called William Wylie, a young man who was engaged as a subordinate clerk in a mercantile house, and who had as yet done nothing to forfeit the confidence of his employers; but he had a nascent taste for gambling, which promised, if not early repressed, to lead him into into contact with George, whom, their spheres of life It was this propensity which had brought him being somewhat apart, he would otherwise probably noon, as George was on his way to visit his sister, he fell never have known. It happened that one Sunday afterin with Wylie, and they walked on together till they reached the door, at which, as ill fortune would have In the mean time the owner of the handkerchief, who, it, was standing Mary Lock. "What a pretty girl!" for special reasons of his own, set a particular value on exclaimed Wylie, as they approached. "I fancy she the article, was not disposed to resign his search in a is," replied George, proud of exhibiting Mary's handhurry. He went about inquiring of this person and that some person and neat attire to his genteel friend. "You person, till at last he met with John Robertson, from know her?" added Wylie, perceiving the smiles that whom he learnt the name of the boys who had picked it were beginning to illumine Mary's countenance at the up, and of the person they had sold it to. To Mr Perkins's sight of her brother. "I fancy I do," answered George; "The deuce she is! intro "she's only my sister." duce me," said Wylie. The introduction was followed by an invitation to walk in; from this grew an intimacy, and from the intimacy sprung an attachment that sunk deep into Mary's young heart; an attachment not to and with manners and education much superior to the be wondered at, for Wylie was handsome, well-dressed, rest of the poor girl's acquaintances. Wylie was sincerely in love too; and as Mary was a good girl, and her influence over him, consequently, of a beneficial nature, his progress towards evil was arrested, and his intimacy with George's companions declined. "I have good news for you, Mary," said he, one evening; "the senior clerk in our house is about to retire, which will give us all a rise. My salary is to be fifty pounds a-year; and as you know something of dress-making, I think we might begin upon that, and venture to marry at once." Mary thought so too, for fifty pounds a-year appeared to her a very handsome income; and, aided by her own industry, she did not doubt but they would get on capitally. No difficulties, therefore, were made on her side; and as for poor Mrs Lock, she was delighted at the prospect of seeing her daughter so well disposed of; whilst George took infinite credit to himself for having brought about the intimacy. "You see, mother," said he, "you and Mary need not turn up your noses at my acquaintances as you do; had not been for me, you'd never have had such a son-inif it law as Wylie, nor she such a husband." "That's true, George," replied Mrs Lock;" and I wish all your acquaintances were as respectable and steady as he is; all I wonder is, that he ever had any thing to say to you; and I shall never be happy till the wedding's over, for fear you should do something that might break it off." George promised he would not; but bad habits are not easily interrupted or laid aside, even for a short period, where evil associates are always at one's elbow; and although George would not for the world have done any thing deliberately to injure his sister, he ran the risk of doing it every hour, by continuing to lead much the same life as he had done before. At length the day was fixed, and every thing arranged for the wedding. Mary had quitted her situation, and had taken up her residence with her mother at the expiration of the previous half year, and had employed the interval in preparing a suitable marriage outfit for herself, and endeavouring to form a little connexion in the dressmaking line against the time when she should be regularly established as Mrs Wylie. Amongst the persons who gave her employment, was the wife of a neighbouring tradesman, called Strahan, who had intrusted her with several yards of very handsome silk to make a dress, which was to be worn on a particular occasion, and with it a pattern dress by which the new one was to be cut. As this lady's custom was likely to be valuable to her, and her being intrusted with such costly materials might tend to bring her further business, Mary accepted the job, although the time given her for completing it was short, and it only wanted ten days to her own wedding; but she resolved to work early and late, rather than decline to undertake it. It unfortunately happened that, at this particular period, a famous battle was to come off betwixt two celebrated pugilists, with one of whom George was particularly acquainted. This man, whose name was Scroggins, had made up his own mind most thoroughly that he was to be the victor, and had found little difficulty in bringing George to the same conviction. He had backed himself to a considerable amount, and advised George to risk all he could upon the same venture, assuring him that he knew to a certainty that his adversary had no pluck, and would have never accepted the match if he had not been urged to it by those who bore him no good will, and so forth. But George had no money to sport with--provoking, doubtless, when there was such a fine opportunity of making a handsome sum; and his credit not being over good, nobody cared to bet with him unless he could put down the stake. It was towards midnight, on the evening preceding the day the match was to come off, that George let himself into his mother's house in a very bad humour, at the prospect of going to the ring on the following morning with empty pockets. He pronounced himself the most unlucky fellow in the world, and abused fortune without mercy for not using him better. "To lose such an opportunity, when I was so sure of making a good thing of it," said he, as he walked up and down the room with his hands in his pockets. At that moment his eye fell upon a white cloth which was spread over something on the table. He lifted it, and beheld a large roll of silk uncut, a dress of the same material made up, and a card on which were wound several yards of lace. "By goles!" cried he, as he beheld the treasure, "these are some of Mary's fine things that Wylie has been giving her. Well, think I've made a lady of her, haven't I? But deuce a penny I get by it myself, though I think if they've so much money to spare, they might help me a bit that brought them together; but they never think of that. It's the way of the world. When people have got what they want, they never remember who helped them to it ;" and thus, with his eye fixed on the silk, did George soliloquise, till he had persuaded himself that he was a very ill-used gentleman. This was the first stage; the next brought him to the conviction, that such being the case, he was justified in doing what he could for himself, people who had shown themselves so forgetful of him; and that he was not bound to be so very scrupulous with and having satisfied himself on this point, he forthwith carried them off to his old friend Perkins, who lent him rolled up the lace and the two dresses in the cloth, and six pounds on the pledge. "I'll take them out and give them back to my sister when I come back to-morrow," thought he, "and she'll be none the worse, and I shall get my pockets well lined in the mean time." Unfortunately, however, Scroggins had been too sanguine in his calculations, or rather he had made a slight mistake of persons-it was himself, and not the adversary, who had no pluck. He had trusted to his weight, but the science and activity of the other were too much "No," replied Wylie; "but you can have no doubt who the property belongs to." for him, and he sustained a signal defeat; whilst George, On the morning after George's midnight visit to his mother's lodging, Mary rose betimes, with the intention of setting about her work; and her dismay may be imagined at finding that silk, pattern, lace, and all had disappeared. Too well both mother and daughter knew who had taken them, and too well they both guessed where they were gone. But how to redeem them? "No doubt he has got four or five pounds on them," said Mrs Lock; and I might as well hope to get four or five hundred." "Yes, it's all here, sure enough," said Mr Perkins, on being interrogated; "and you may have it again for the six pounds as soon as you please." Mary and her mother turned away in despair. "He said he'd be back to-day and take them out," cried Mr Perkins as they left the shop "so you had better say nothing about it till you see whether he comes or not." "What is to become of me if he doesn't ?" said Mary, with the tears in her eyes. "To-morrow I am to go to Mrs Strahan to try on the dress, and what excuse can I make for its not being ready?" 66 "If we can't get it before that," said Mrs Lock, must call on her, and say you are ill, and beg a day longer." This was done; Mrs Strahan submitted to the delay with a tolerable grace, but enforced the necessity of vigorous exertions to make up for it. "I must have my gown by the twenty-fifth," said she. Mrs Lock promised that she should; but the next morning arrived without bringing George, or presenting any rational hope of the promise being fulfilled. Suppose we tell Wylie," said she. "Perhaps he could lend us the six pounds?" "Not for worlds," replied Mary. "How could we ever repay it? I would rather suffer any thing than ex→ pose ourselves in that manner." "But we shall be exposed whether or not," answered the mother. "Mrs Strahan will be in a fury when she finds out the truth, and the whole neighbourhood will know it as well as Wylie." "We must try and persuade her to wait one day more," said Mary; " and then, if George does not return, we must confess what has happened." "You had better write a note to her," said Mrs Lock, "for I dare not face her with another excuse." So Mary wrote the note, again pleading indisposition, and her mother left it at Mrs Strahan's door. Anxiety, and the loss of two nights' rest, had by this time made the poor girl really ill; and Mrs Lock advised her, as there was nothing at present to be done, to lie down and try to sleep a little, in order that, if she did recover her work, she might be the better able to make up for lost time. Mary took the advice; and she had not long left the room, before Wylie appeared. He was in great spirts, and said he was come to talk over the arrangements for the wedding, and he wanted to see George; he had heard of a situation "that would suit him exactly, if he would but take up and be a little more steady. I'm sure he's a good fellow in the main," said he, "only his wild fits get the better of him sometimes, but that will all go off by and by, particularly if he met with a nice good girl that he took a fancy to. I wasn't half so steady myself till I fell in love with Mary, and if she and I hadn't come together, I don't know but by this time I might have been as wild as George." Mrs Lock shook her head, and said that she was sure he would never have been so bad as George; and she had it on her lips to tell him what had happened, but was deterred by the fear of distressing Mary. Presently, however, in the midst of this conversation, there was a ring at the bell, and a messenger entered with a note from Mrs Strahan, peremptorily demanding back her property, and announcing her fixed determination to transfer the job to some other dressmaker, and never again to employ so dilatory a person as Miss Lock. "My daughter's out, and has the key of the drawer where the things are in her pocket," said Mrs Lock, not knowing how else to escape the exigence of the moment; "I'll bring them to Mrs Strahan myself, the moment she comes in ;" and with this answer the messenger was dismissed. But the woman was no sooner out of hearing, than Mrs Lock, unable to keep the secret any longer, disclosed the whole affair to Wylie. "It will be the ruin of us all if it gets abroad," said she; nobody will trust me with their linen, nor Mary with their dresses, after such a disgraceful transaction; and the excuses I've been making these two days to Mrs Strahan, when it is found out that they are not true, will make people think we're as bad as George." Wylie saw the extent of the mischief at once; and he saw also that if the affair became public, his connexion with the family might possibly even injure himself with his employers, who, though kind to him, were very rigid people; and if he lost his situation, and Mary her business, how were they to be married? "I'll go to Perkins," said he, "and see what can be done." "There's nothing to be done," said Mr Perkins, "but to bring me the six pounds, and Mrs Lock may have the things when she likes." "No, I've no doubt about that," answered Perkins; but then, you see, if I don't get the ticket, George Lock may come down upon me for the things, and ask what business I had to give them up." "He won't do that, you may rely on it," said Wylie; "he'll be too glad to get so easy out of the scrape, and be very much obliged to you for letting his sister have them again." Perkins did not doubt but he would; but, at the same time, he demanded the whole ten pounds, in consideration of his risk, promising to return the extra four whenever he got back his ticket. Wylie called a boy to carry the recovered goods, and accompanied him back to Mrs Lock's. Mary was summoned to return him thanks-and warm thanks they were; but there was a chill on Wylie's spirits, that even her gratitude could not revive, and he did not dare to say how he had obtained the money. . "It was George that ruined us," said Mary. "I'm sure Wylie meant to do well, and would; but after that exposure, he had no heart to try. Wylie might have been turned either way, right or wrong, by circumstances. He had chosen the right, but that unlucky business turned him back, and he never had resolution to begin again." "That may be," said Mrs Lock; “and I think George has something of the same disposition. You've heard me tell about his picking up that handkerchief when he was a child, and being sent to the house of correction. Well, he never was the same boy afterwards; before that he never gave me an hour's trouble, but from the day he came out, I never got any good of him. I believe it was just the toss up of a halfpenny both with him and Wylie, whether they should be good or bad." "Yes," said Mary; "if they had been kept up as young gentlemen are, and out of the way of temptation, I dare say they might have done well enough. But they hadn't strength to fight the battle, and they have both fallen. But I wish we knew where they are. This long silence makes one fancy all sorts of things, perhaps worse than the truth." Wylie had been present when his master folded the letter addressed to Mrs Wilson, and had seen the money enclosed in it; he was also aware that she was a poor The room that Mary and her mother inhabited was on relation of the family, and his first intention had been to the ground floor; and about an hour after midnight, on send her the four pounds, with a letter promising the rest the very night after this conversation had taken place, shortly; and, as his salary would soon be due, he looked Mary (who was lying awake thinking of her husband, to be able to fulfil his promise. Mr Perkins's demand for whom the circumstance of this being the anniversary of the whole sum rendered the first part of this plan im- her unfortunate marriage had brought more vividly than practicable for the present, so he was obliged to write a usual to her mind) fancied she heard a tap at the window; few lines to Mrs Wilson, as if dictated by his master, she lifted up her head and listened--it was repeated, and saying that she would shortly receive ten pounds, adding, with a distinctness that convinced her there was somethat as he was going from home, it would be useless for body there. "Who could it be?" The ever-present her to write in the interim; and as he knew her to be a thought recurred. It might be Wylie, or it might be very old woman, who was not much given to exercise her some one come to bring her news of him. Eagerly she pen, he thought it very improbable that she would. leapt from her bed, and approaching the window, inquired Fortune, however, was against him. When the letter who was there. Another tap was the answer. Forgetful arrived at Collumpton, the old woman was just dead; of danger, she threw up the sash---the faint light showed and the clergyman of the parish, who, as she had no her the figure of a man. Though it was what she exfriends on the spot, looked to her affairs, wrote immedi-pected to see, fear overcame her, and she hurriedly ately to Mr Watson to say so; adding, that as she had stretched out her hand to close the window again; but no debts, and had left money enough to bury her decently, ere she could do so, he was in the room, and had done it there would be no occasion for his donation. The letter himself. "Mary!" he said, and it was Wylie's voice that not being very explicit, Mr Watson's first impression was, spoke---the voice was kind, too, and melancholy---she that the money had been abstracted at the post-office; threw herself upon his bosom, and wept. so he wrote for further information, and his application being answered by the enclosure of Wylie's own letter, the painful truth was at once disclosed. "I shall not prosecute you," said Mr Watson, when he had listened to Wylie's story, "though of course I could do so, and perhaps ought; but you must quit my service, and I shall stop the ten pounds out of your wages. There is two pounds ten shillings, which is all that remains due to you." So Wylie was turned out of his situation with a lost character, and with two pounds ten shillings in his pocket. Under these circumstances, Mrs Lock took him into her house, and Mary married him; for, as they said, "was it not for their sake he was suffering?" Mary's conduct was natural, and it was generous, but it was not wise, for her labour could not support them both, and her mother could barely earn her own subsistence, whilst Wylie, dispirited and hopeless, made no exertion to help himself, but left them to maintain him. When this state of things had subsisted a few weeks, George returned to see the ruin he had made. He said he was very sorry, and so he was; but what was the use of that? It was barren sorrow, that neither did good to himself nor to any body else; and he said he had fully intended to redeem the things himself, and that he would never have taken them had he not relied on being able to do so, and had he not believed they were Mary's own. Perhaps this was true likewise; but who, except it be those who have reached the last stage of depravity, ever committed a crime without being deluded by some fallacy or another, or without throwing over it some disguise that concealed its deformity from their own view? After George's return, Wylie, who had nothing to do, naturally became his companion, fell into his old courses, and joined his old associates-those courses and those associates that a virtuous love and the prospect of a happy future had weaned him from. From saying he was going out with George for a little while, and would be back presently, to being out all day, and from that to being out all night, and then many days and nights in succession, was but a too easy transition; and, to add to her troubles, poor Mary soon found herself a neglected, and almost deserted wife. Wylie's innate love of gambling returned with all its force, and it was not long before both she and her mother found themselves obliged to conceal, or watch with unceasing care, the linen or materials intrusted to them by their employers, which were in as much danger from the depredations of Wylie as of George. They thus became poorer and poorer; people became aware of the character of the two young men with whom these unfortunate women were connected, and feared to trust their property to such precarious keeping; their business forsook them, and they were frequently reduced to the utmost want. Wylie and George were at first sorry for the pain they gave to Mary and Mrs Lock, though their sorrow had not power to make them refrain from doing it; but as the sight of their victims was disagreeable, they seldom subjected themselves to the annoyance. Their visits became shorter, and the intervals of their absence longer, till at last they stayed away altogether; and several months passed, during which no tidings of them reached either the mother or the wife. "I often think, mother," said Mary one day," that the first we hear of them will be something dreadful. If they were not going on very badly, I think they would have come home, or written to us before this. They'll have been away seven months to-morrow." "Will they?" said Mrs Lock; "what day is to-morrow?" Wylie saw the case was urgent, and he was very much in love. He turned his back to Mr Perkins; drew some letters out of his pocket, which he had been intrusted to put in the post, selected one from the number, read the address-To Mrs Wilson, strawbonnet maker, Collumpton, Devon"-examined it, turned it about in his hand, hesitated, half replaced it amongst the others, and then, as if seized with a sudden resolution, opened it, and took out two five-pound notes, which he handed to Mr Perkins. "Have you got the ticket ?" inquired the pawnbroker. | morrow, Mary." "It will be Tuesday," answered Mary; adding, with a sigh, "Tuesday, the 8th of December---my wedding-day." The most unlucky day in the calendar for us," replied Mrs Lock; "you'll have been married two years to Can you get me a fire," he said, "and something to eat? I am dying with cold and hunger." "Mother! mother!" said Mary; "awake! Here is Wylie come back, cold and hungry. What can we do?" "Wylie!" cried Mrs Lock, starting up; "where is George ?" "I'll tell you all by and by," said Wylie; "but for Heaven's sake get me some food and some fire first, or I shall perish. It is a month since I have slept under a roof, or ate any thing but what I could pick up from the fields or farm-yards.' "Food and fire !" echoed Mrs Lock; "Lord love you, we have neither! It's long since Mary and I have had a meal of any thing but potatoes; and as for fire, unless some neighbour gives us a shovelful of coals, we never see such a thing in the grate." Wylie sunk down on the side of the bed, overcome with despair and exhaustion, and burst into tears. "This is what I have brought you to," said he. "Get into the bed," said Mary, eagerly, as the thought struck her; "that will warm you, and I will go out and see if I can't get something to eat." "Don't do that, Mary," said he; "put me into the bed, but nobody must know I am here." They assisted him into the bed, and by degrees gathered from him that, about four weeks ago, he had escaped from the York jail, and had been ever since making his way to London, travelling by night, hiding by day, and every moment in danger of being taken. George, who had been confined with him, had also attempted to escape, but had fallen from a considerable height, and was so much injured, that he had been obliged to leave him where he was, and come away by himself--dreadful news for poor Mrs Lock. As for Mary, she was too much occupied with her husband to have any thoughts left for George; and indeed, when the daylight dawned, and she looked at the wretched wreck before her, she could not help giving vent to the resentment that harboured in her heart against him. "But for him," she said, "how happy we might have been!" "But for him," answered Wylie, "we should never have met. Happy had it been for you if we never had.” "We won't talk of that now," said Mary. "I'll go out and see if I can scrape up any thing amongst the neighbours to make a breakfast for you.' Scanty was the help she got; for the neighbours were but poorly off, and had nothing to spare: a little meal, a few sticks, and a shovelful of coals to boil some water, were all she could collect. But Wylie did not long want food. He was dying when he came, the cold and want had reached his vitals; and he was in the last stage of a consumption, which had for some time been slowly undermining his constitution. "When I am gone, Mary," said he, as his end approached, "go to Mr Watson, my late master; tell him that I am dead, and all that you have suffered through me. He was always a good man, and I think he will perhaps help you, for I was a great favourite with him as long as I behaved well." As soon as Wylie's eyes were closed, poor Mrs Lock, whose anxiety about her son was almost irrepressible, ventured to make the inquiries which, at Mary's entreaty, she had forborne whilst Wylie lived, for fear of betraying his retreat, and disturbing his last moments. George too, she learned, was dead. He had been so severely hurt by his fall, that he was unable to crawl from the spot-had been found the next morning lying outside the walls in great agony, and had died shortly after his removal. Mrs Lock and Mary had now only themselves to look to; and, in compliance with her husband's dying counsel, Mrs Wylie presented herself before Mr Watson, and told her melancholy story. He was moved by her sorrow, her youth, and the faded beauty that trouble had left her; took her into his service, and obtained an allowance from the parish for Mrs Lock, who was now past hard work, which, with Mary's aid, and the little she could herself earn, enabled the old woman to end her days in peace and tolerable comfort. ELECTRO-MAGNETIC POWER. THE other day we paid a visit to an exhibition of a remarkable and highly gratifying kind, in St Andrew Square, Edinburgh. It was the movement of mechanism by electro-magnetic power, on a scale of magnitude which had never previously come under our observation. The exhibitor, who acts entirely on his own account, and is the discoverer of this modified galvanic action, is Mr Davidson, a young man from Aberdeen, where he perfected his experiments and apparatus, after several years of labour, both mental and bodily. The apparatus he exhibited consisted of several distinct objects, each calculated to show the action and extent of the applied power; as, for example, a small carriage running in a circle on the floor, a turning lathe, a machine for printing handbills, and so forth. The original seat of the power is a galvanic trough, containing four plates of zinc, each eight inches square, immersed in dilute sulphuric acid, and surrounded by copper, and with wires which connected the zinc and copper with coils or helices on bent masses of iron; the galvanic action, as usual, magnetising the iron, and sending off sparks to an axle, from which the cross limbs of a wheel were attracted and caused to revolve. The peculiar merit claimed by Mr Davidson is that of effecting the movement by repeated acts of attraction, instead of by alternate attraction and repulsion. To produce the repeated acts of attraction, the magnetic stream is cut off and renewed many times in the course of a second, simply by making the axle on which the sparks play partly of wood and partly of metal. When the metal part turns two persons were carried along a very coarse wooden The first two of these arrangements were seen in The first two machines, seen in operation by Dr Fleming and myself, are exceedingly simple, without, indeed, the least complexity, and therefore easily also take up very little room. As yet, the extent of manageable, and not liable to derangement. They power of which they are capable has not been at all ascertained, as the size of battery employed is so trifling and the magnets so few ; but from what can be judged by what is already done, it seems to be probable that a very great power, in no degree even inferior to that of steam, but much more manageable, much less expensive, and occupying greatly less space, if the coals be taken into account, may be obtained. the proportions in the above table, an almost indefinite amount of power may be obtained by increasing the diameter of the rods, and the quantity of wire or helix; this, too, constitutes an index of that power so simple and practicable, that it may be regulated to a fraction. We would earnestly press the consideration of Mr Davidson's invention on the patronage of those who have both the means and the inclination to encourage genius. Were a company formed to carry in a very few years, there would not be a locomotive out the principle, we have not the slightest doubt, but, used without a magnetic propeller; and, considering the number of accidents that are daily occurring on railways, it is especially to be desired that it should supersede the steam-engine there." A SCENE IN NAPOLEON'S LIFE.* THE 103d regiment of the line of the French army was passing in front of the Castle of Erfurth, and the music of its band resounded afar. The neighbouring town was at the time crowded with strangers, who were drawn to Erfurth for the purpose of beholding the Emperors Napoleon and Alexander, the kings of Saxony and Wurtemburg, various minor sovereign princes of Germany, with princes of Prussia and other countries, all of whom had met there in the end of the month of September, of the year 1808. An extraordinary agitation took place in the multitude as the regiment alluded to passed the chateau. The Emperor Napoleon then re-entered the castle after a morning review, and a thousand splendid uniforms glittered around him. Among the brilliant well advanced in years, and clothed in a court-dress of military crowd might have been seen one individual, the most simple kind. He was attended by Marshal Launes, and, with that gallant soldier for his guide, mounted the great staircase. Reaching the chamberlain of the household, the marshal directed the notice of that functionary to his companion, merely saying, "M. Goethe-by orders of the emperor." "I shall announce M. Goethe immediately," said the chamberlain, bowing in honour of so famous a name; "and, in the mean time, permit me to present to M. Goethe M. de Talleyrand and the Duke of Rovigo." round, the attraction is effected, and when the wood that it would be much for their interest to take up be announced to their master, Goethe exchanged some appears, the attraction is at once destroyed. We, of course, speak here in general terms, because a minute scientific account of the process would be inconsistent with the popular nature of our sheet. From what fell under our observation, we incline to believe that here has at last been manifested that great desideratum-something to supersede steam power. The public is generally aware that experiments have been made in various parts of the world, with a view to render electro-magnetism useful as a motive power. Professor Jacobi of St Petersburg has carried these experiments to a very interesting point, for he has by this force propelled a boat with fourteen passengers on the Neva, at the rate of three miles an hour. As yet, however, there has been no appearance of an exertion of this power on such an economical principle as is necessary to make it generally applicable as a substitute for steam. This, it appears to us, has been reserved for Mr Davidson. The degree of energy ex erted in his experiments seemed to us to be about a man's power, and this, we were told, was effected at a most insignificant expense. What would be the cost of working, say a horse power, we have no means of calculating, but should think it to be a great deal less than that of steam, besides being free from danger, and capable of being stowed in a small compass. As yet, the discovery is in its infancy, but, by skilful improvement and enterprise, it cannot fail soon to rise into importance. Feeling so assured of the efficacy of the plan, we offered to allow Mr Davidson to fit up an apparatus for turning our printing machinery, which, however, from other arrangements, he was obliged to decline. With the view of aiding in making this valuable discovery known, we append the following notices on the subject. The first is a copy of a letter from Dr. Forbes, King's College, Aberdeen, to Professor Faraday, published in the London and Edinburgh Philosophical Journal. "King's College, Aberdeen, Oct. 7, 1839. My dear sir-Having seen a notice from Mr Jacobi sent by you to the London and Edinburgh Philosophical Magazine, regarding the success of his experiments on the production of a moving power by electro-magnetism, I am sure it will give you pleasure to know that a countryman of our own, Mr Robert Davidson, of this place, has been eminently successful in his labours in the same field of discovery. For, in the first place, he has an arrangement by which, with only two electro-magnets, and less than one square foot of zinc surface (the negative metal being copper), a lathe is driven with such velocity as to be capable of turning small articles. Secondly, he has another arrangement by which, with the same small extent of galvanic power, a small carriage is driven, on which * See Chambers's Journal, No. 463. In short, the inventions of Mr Davidson seem to be so interesting to railroad proprietors in particular, the subject, and be at the expense of making the experiments necessary to bring this power into operation on the great scale, which, indeed, would be very trifling to a company, while it is very serious for an individual by no means rich, and who has already expended so much of his time and money for the mere desire of perfecting machines which he expected would be so beneficial to his country and to mankind. For it deserves to be mentioned, that he has made no secret of his operations, but lias shown and explained all that he has done to every one who wished it. Ilis motives have been quite disinterested, and I shall deem it a reproach to our country and countrymen if he be allowed to languish in obscurity, and not have an opportunity afforded him of perfecting his inventions and bringing them into operation, when they promise to be productive of such incalculable advantages." Our next notice is the following paragraph, which appeared in the Aberdeen Constitutional newspaper, November 6, 1840: "Mr Davidson's invaluable invention is now set down, by common consent, as the desideratum that has been wanting to perfect the power of locomotive agency. Several thousands have visited the exhibition, among whom was Professor Hamel, whose opinion was decidedly favourable to the principle. At the meeting of the British Association of Science, held at Glasgow the other week, Professor Jacobi read a paper on the power of electro-magnetism, which science; but the principle on which Mr Davidson's seemed to point to some great improvement in the machine proceeds is altogether different from that on which Jacobi's experiments were made. Professor Jacobi produces motion by changing the poles of the magnets, Mr Davidson by cutting off the galvanic rotation proceeds, from a neutralised magnet to a current at given points-the power alternating, as the newly charged one. In both experiments, it has been clearly demonstrated that the power of the magnet is increased by increasing the diameter, and adding to the length of the helix. The power may be also increased by increasing the sizes of the bars. On this point, Professor Jacobi demonstrated the following conclusion: Now, on the principle of changing the poles of the With these personages, who waited their turns to talk for a few minutes, until the chamberlain reappeared at the door of the saloon. At a sign, the poet of Faust then advanced. Napoleon had just dispatched a hasty breakfast at a large round table, on which lay many papers, which the ministers and officers of the moving court had already accumulated round their master. Goethe bowed on advancing, and the emperor began the conversation with characteristic brevity. "You are Goethe?" asked he. The answer was another inclination. "What age have you attained?"" "Sire, I am now sixty years old," said the poet. "You have written tragedies-what?" asked the emperor, whose attention the drama was then nightly occupying. Iphigenia, Egmont, and Torquato Tasso, were mentioned by Goethe as among his productions in the department of tragedy. "You saw my theatre yesterday," said Napoleon (who had brought Talma and a Parisian company with him to Germany); "were you pleased with their performances ?" Goethe expressed himself highly gratified as well as surprised by the perfection of the players, and by the representation altogether. This pleased Napoleon, but he condemned the piece, Mahomet, which had been played on the preceding evening. "The Mahomet of the play," said he, "is thoroughly theatrical a Frenchman, in short, of the time of the Regency; and I always fancy that I see the powdered queue peeping out from under the Asiatic turban of had rendered Mahomet into German. He mentioned the seventh century." It was unfortunate that Goethe this. Ah, then, you wont agree with me about its merits," said Napoleon, smiling. The emperor then observed, "I have read your Werter. Daru has often mentioned you to me. You direct the theatre of "I should like to Weimar ?" Goethe bowed assent. witness a play at Weimar. After to-morrow I shall visit the field of Jena with the Emperor of Russia; I shall then visit Weimar. Pray express my wish to the grand-duke." 66 A short pause here took place in the conversation. "Duroc," cried the emperor, "these letters from Soult are unsatisfactory. What is passing in Poland! I would know that; and you must get drawn up for me a report upon the population and present resources of the country, and their means of provision for an army of forty thousand men." Again a brief pause. "M. Goethe," said the emperor," what is your opinion of Talma?" "Sire," answered the German poet, "he appears to me a sublime artist-the very incarnation of tragedy !" "Are you desirous of forming his acquaintance?" said Napoleon. Goethe nodded assent. "If so, remain here," continued Napoleon; "Talma usually visits me after breakfast. Talleyrand." "Sire?" said the famous minister now addressed. "Be so good as come to this side to me," continued the emperor; "I have a report from Fouché upon a matter relating to your department." The emperor retired to a window, and entered into an animated conversation with Talleyrand. After a short time, the chamberlain entered, and announced the wish of the King of Wurtemburg to * We translate and abridge this from a French feuilleton. have the honour of seeing the emperor. Napoleon conveyed in answer a civil regret that important business would prevent his having the pleasure of seeing the king till the evening at the theatre. Instantly afterwards, the chamberlain announced the actor Talma to be in waiting. "Admit him!" was the reply of Napoleon, "Lannes," continued the emperor, turning to his marshal, "the 44th, 103d, and 17th regiments of the line will pass in review to-morrow morning. Place the officer Girand, of the sixth company of the 103d, in the front. I have a report which concerns him. He shall be decorated. The hour of rendezvous is five." Talma had advanced while Lannes received these orders. The tragedian had a noble figure, which made him a distinguished person even in the face of the emperor's brilliant cortege. Ah, well, Talma, what shall we behold this evening?" said the emperor. "Your majesty has but to decide," was the reply; "Cinna, Andromache, Brittanicus, and Zaïre (French tragedies) are prepared." "No, none of these for tonight," returned Napoleon; "I wish, for this evening, to have the Death of Cæsar." "Sire, the thing will be very difficult to accomplish"- "But it is not impossible, and therefore let it be done,” were the words of Napoleon. "Monsieur de Goethe," continued he, turning to the German poet with an assumed gravity of manner, "I regret that the playing of Talma does not please you, but I cannot refuse myself the gratification of presenting him to you." The embarrassment with which the poet and actor bowed to each other, raised a smile on the emperor's countenance. He persisted in amusing himself a little further. "M. Goethe's opinion must have great weight with his countrymen, when they find him of the belief that Talma falls short of his reputation." "Sire, permit me to say," answered the jealous actor, "that I play for the French, and that the difference between our national styles" great, no doubt," interrupted Napoleon; "we all see that. In this country, all is calm and reflective. The Germans seem to me always as if they played in a chamber, not a theatre. I think the Germans would be the best of actors, if they were allowed to play sitting." "Is the great actor's bonds were at length burst by a single vation of their several representatives. Speaking in stroke. In the third act, the line occurs, "The friendship of a great man is a blessing from the gods." At this point, Alexander half rose and bowed to Napoleon, and the latter returned the salutation in a similar way, saying at the same time, "These words give utterance to my thoughts." Talma forgot the present from this moment, and made his auditors denizens of the past. His triumph, up to the last scene, was complete, and Goethe and his countrymen loaded him with acclamations as loud and sincere as were ever bestowed on him on his native boards. MR BUCKINGHAM'S AMERICA. SECOND NOTICE. IN a former number, we embraced an opportunity of INORDINATE LOVE OF GAIN. Mr Buckingham confirms the account given by Mr Combe, of the deplorable injury caused by the inordinate and over-hasty pursuit of gain among the Americans. After alluding to numerous cases of death from destitution, he observes-"This indigence, in a country where food can be raised so cheap, where labour is in such demand, and always paid so well, would seem unaccountable, but for the fact, that in the late mania for speculation, the cultivators of the soil, instead of following up their agricultural purstocks, buyers of shares in railroads never begun, and suits, had left off farming, to become speculators in canals never opened, as well as purchasers of lots of land on which towns were intended to be built; in which extravagant schemes they spent all their time and money; so that agriculture, the great basis of the general terms, my own impression was, that in the company at Congress Hall especially, there were quite as many elegant men, and a great many more beautiful women, than are usually seen among a similar number of persons assembled in any public room at Brighton, Cheltenham, or Bath. Those from the south bore away the palm of superiority in beauty and manners, there being an ease, a grace, and an elegance of polish about the southerns, whether ladies or gentlemen, which those of the north, so far as my observation has yet extended, do not attain. The women are incomparably more beautiful; and we saw here some from Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland, especially from Charleston, Norfolk, and Baltimore, that would grace any court in Europe; while from Philadelphia and New York there were also some lovely countenances, especially among the young. My opinion, indeed, was here strongly confirmed, that there is no country in Europe in which there are so many beautiful faces among the women as in this; the symmetry of their features, the contrast between the marble whiteness of their complexion, and their dark eyes and hair, small mouths, and beautifully white and regular teeth, are the chief traits of their beauty. But, on the other hand, they want the full development of coral lips, of the healthy English beauty; and are still figure and bust, as well as the rosy complexion and more deficient in that gaiety and animation, which a brilliant female countenance so often expresses, in the look of intelligence, and glow of feeling and sentiment, which accompany the utterance of a well-educated and well-bred woman at home. The American ladies did not appear to me to evince the same passionate admiration, which is constantly witnessed among English females, for the pursuit or object in which they were engaged. Neither painting, sculpture, poetry, nor music, neither the higher topics of intellectual conversation, nor the lighter beauties of the belles lettres, seem to move them from the general apathy and inmost remarkable defect. In England, Scotland, and difference, or coldness of temperament, which is their Ireland, in Germany, France, and Italy, and even in Spain and Portugal, well-educated women evince an enthusiasm, and express, because they feel, a passionhave read, or of poetry or music which they may ate delight in speaking of works of art which they may have seen, of literary productions which they may have heard; and the sympathy which they thus kindle in the minds of others, only seems to increase the fervour and intensity of their own. Among the American ladies, of the best education, I have never yet witnessed any thing approaching to this; and as possess a wider circle of knowledge, in whatever is neglected, that the country was obliged to import taught at school, than ladies do with as-it must be a grain for its own consumption, instead of supplying, deficiency of taste and feeling. Whether this is the as it ought to do, from its own surplus, the older result of climate and physical temperament, as some countries of Europe. From the vast amount of grain suppose, or the mere influence of cold manners, as others imagine, I cannot determine; though I am ingrown in America subjected to distillation-thus conclined to adopt the former supposition, because the verting what nature has bountifully supplied for same phlegmatic temperament is evinced in the prowholesome food, into the poisonous and crime-engen-gress of that which, if women have any passion at all, dering drink of ardent spirits-and from the defi- however deep-seated it may be, will assuredly bring it reasons before assigned-this finest grain-producing country on the globe was obliged to import its own food; and it is stated in the public journals of this city, that in the year 1837, the single port of Baltimore alone received 800,000 bushels of wheat, and 140,000 bushels of rye, from Europe. The inordinate love of gain, which has led to all these perversions of things from their right and proper channels, is working more mischief in this country, and undermining the moral principle of its inhabitants more powerfully, than all other causes combined, except, perhaps, intemperance, the giant-destroyer, that sweeps away thousands every year to a premature grave, and hurries its victims from a life of comparative virtue and honesty to a career of vice and infamy. The newspapers from all quarters of the Union, teem with proofs of the recklessness with which this love of gain is indulged; and every barrier that stands in the way of its acquisition seems to be broken down without scruple." Goethe here took the opportunity of interposing "Your majesty has been pleased to embarrass me a little," sard hc; "I have fully appreciated and admitted the great and unequalled powers of M. Talma." The brow of Talma cleared up, and Napoleon smiled. "I am sorry," said the latter, "that M. Goethe has interrupted my project. Did you observe, gentlemen all, how pale Talma grew? I should have been de-national wealth, and the surest and steadiest security it is not deficiency of information-for most of them lighted to witness an improvised tragic scene. But of individual prosperity in these fertile states, was so now adieu, M. Von Goethe Au revoir at Weimar." The emperor was now left alone with Talma. [We here pass over a good but too lengthened scene, described in the original as having passed betwixt Napoleon, Talma, and the Emperor Alexander, and take up the closing passage, recording the Parterre or Pit scene of the Kings at Erfurth on the same evening. Considering the fact that Napoleon's career more resembled Cæsar's than that of any other man who ever lived, and that the object of the play called the "Death of Cæsar" was chiefly to justify the destruc- ciency of the supply of grain from its own soil, for the loves; for I have neither heard nor seen any evidence tion of Cæsar, for attempting what Bonaparte had recently effected, his choice of such a drama for representation on an occasion so public and memorable, was a very curious proceeding, to say the least of it. Perhaps it was done in the wanton consciousness of power, for he then sate with his feet on the necks of kings.] SOCIETY AT A WATERING PLACE. On the evening mentioned, a splendid scene was visible in the theatre at Erfurth. Epaulettes, uniforms, and decorations of honour, were mingled with all that was brilliant in female attire, and in the civil costume of princes and courtiers. After a half hour spent in waiting, the two emperors, with their attendant kings, made their appearance. No one had till then sat down. Napoleon and Alexander had been provided with two adjoining seats, marking, by their elevation and prominence, the superior and equal rank of the two parties. After applause and acknowledg ments, the orchestra got through the overture, and the piece began. But the audience seemed at first scarcely aware that a performance was going on before them. All eyes were bent on the great monarchs. These two themselves were the sole individuals who We have the following account of the manners of scemed attentive at the outset to the play. But by the people as seen at the fashionable watering place, degrees the language of the piece was noticed, and Saratoga :-" On the whole, perhaps, Saratoga affords then a strange feeling of embarrassment crept over the best opportunity that a stranger can enjoy for the dignitaries assembled. There were many French-seeing American society on the largest scale, and emmen even there, who, a short time since, would have bracing the greatest variety of classes at the same preferred to have seen him fall like Cæsar, ere he had time; for, except the small shopkeeper and mere laattained the crown of empire. The language of the bourer, every other class has its representatives here. conspirators against Caesar was secretly applied by The rich merchant from New Orleans, and the every one, and the result was a confused feeling of wealthy planter from Arkansas, Alabama, and Tendismay at the conduct of the actors in choosing such nessee, with the more haughty and more polished a piece at such a time. Few knew that the selection landowner from Georgia, the Carolinas, and Virginia; had been Napoleon's own. While such sentiments the successful speculator in real estate from Kentucky, pervaded the audience, Napoleon seemed to be ab- Ohio, Missouri, and Michigan; the rich capitalist sorbed in the tragedy alone. Frequently he applauded from Boston and New York, the grave Quaker from with hands and voice. This freedom from all embar- Providence and Philadelphia, the official functionary rassment produced at length its effect, and particularly from Washington, and the learned professor from on Talma. The great actor was ill at ease at the com- New Haven, Cambridge, and Hartford-all mingle tomencement of his performance. Every line almost gether in strange variety, and present such strikingly might be applied in a painful way by Napoleon, and different yet truly characteristic features, that the yet the latter knew the piece so well that no line could whole Union is thus brought before the eye of the be omitted. Warming, however, with his exertions, stranger at one view, and he has ample field for obser out-I mean the progress of their attachments or of that all-absorbing and romantic feeling by which this passion is accompanied in its development in all the countries I have named; and although, probably, the American women make the most faithful wives and most correct members of society, that any nation or community can furnish, I do not think they love with the same intensity as the women of Europe, or would be ready to make such sacrifices of personal consideration, in rank, fortune, or conveniences of life, for the sake of obtaining the object of their affections, as women readily and perpetually do with us. Whether this is an advantage or a disadvantage, I will not undertake to say, but of the fact I have no doubt; and to the same causes-the coldness of temperament-I attribute the absence of all enthusiasm among them in regard to literature and the arts, which they cultivate as a matter of duty, and not from ardent admiration or love of the pursuit; and in which, for this very reason, they rarely or ever rise above mediocrity in their knowledge or practice of them." LIVING IN BOARDING-HOUSES. "The peculiarity of living in boarding-houses, instead of keeping house, or occupying private lodgings, is one of the most distinguishing features of society in New York. There are many causes that have had their share in contributing to this. One, no doubt, is the too large scale on which houses are usually built, and the difficulty of finding a small one adapted to the purse of a family with moderate means. The house in which we resided, next to Bunker's Hotel, 37, Broadway, was one which would be considered dear in any part of London at L.300 a-year, and might be had in a country town for L.100 at the utmost. The present rent paid by its tenant was 3500 dollars, or L.700 a-year; and the owner asked the exorbitant price of 5000 dollars, or L.1000, after the expiration of the year just about to close. In addition to the exorbitant rents, the difficulty of procuring and keeping good domestic servants is another cause which leads to the living in boarding-houses; and a third, no doubt, is the frequent change of occupation and habitation, which is common to all classes in America. The advantages derived from this mode of life to unmarried men are unquestionable, relieving them from the necessity of great expenditure and care: but the disadvantages are also great; for the habit of finding all that they need, without much cost or trouble, and the enjoyment of female society besides, lessens the necessity of marriage; and, like the clubs in London, boarding-houses in America indispose men to form attachments, or to contemplate a more permanent settlement. To the young married couple it is also a convenience, for the reasons already alleged, but its disadvantage is much greater to them in the end; for, when they become parents, and separate establishments are more necessary, the wife has acquired no experience in housekeeping, and both her husband and herself are averse to the trouble, care, and anxiety of a separate house and separate servants; besides finding it less exciting and agreeable to sit down to breakfast and dine alone, and pass the evening without companions, to which they were accustomed while living at the boarding-house. Many, accordingly, seek refuge from this married solitude by going out to parties, paying morning visits, laying themselves out for invitations, and giving expensive routs and balls themselves at great cost and great inconvenience, while the progressive vitiation of the taste which this brings, fed with stimulants and excitement, never allows them, perhaps, to return with pleasure to the sober and wholesome tranquillity of a well-ordered domestic home. The boarding-house life was to us, however, extremely disagreeable from the beginning, and we did not get at all more reconciled to it at the end. The early hour at which all are rung out of bed by the sound of a great bell, as if at school-the rapidity with which persons rush to the table exactly at eight o'clock-the certainty that if you are five minutes after this, the breakfast will be half consumed, and what remains will be cold and unpalatable-the haste with which every thing is dispatched, and the air of indifference with which parties rise up and go away to business when they have done the earliness of the dinner-hour, three o'clock, with a repetition of the same hurry and bustle over again the unskilfulness and indifference of the servants, mostly coloured people-the utter want of sympathy or consideration on the part of the boardinghouse keepers, as to whether their inmates are provided with all they need or not-the absence of the many little nameless conveniences with which English houses are furnished the imperfect hanging of the bells, and difficulty of getting them answered-and the preference of showy appearances to cleanliness-are but a part of the many evils of a boarding-house life, as they appeared to us at least. The contrast of all this is seen in the private dwellings of the opulent, which we had the opportunity of visiting, where every comfort and luxury that the most fastidious could desire were united, and where the only objection to the style of living was its great expense." VULGARITY PROPERLY PUNISHED. and, however much they were mortified by this unex- THE POOR OF A PARISH. PURSUING our sketch of the condition of the parish of The first of this class is an old widow, upwards of The second is a female about thirty, with a number of The fifteenth is a labouring man of sixty. His principal claim upon the parish are two blind children. We shall subjoin a deliverance of the heritors and kirk session, in the case of this man, at their last meeting, as it may serve to illustrate a little the statistics of pauperism in this parish:-"The meeting having ascertained that the said A B is proprietor of two houses and gardens, do resolve that he has no right to receive any allowance from the poor's funds, either on account of himself or any of his children, as long as he is in possession of property; and they direct his name accordingly to be struck off the poor-roll.” The sixteenth is a soldier's widow of seventy, very infirm, who lives with a son and daughter. The son is unmarried, and might support the mother were he not addicted to intemperance. The daughter is in business, but has two children to support from her savings or proAs the case of this poor woman is rather uncomfits. mon in this neighbourhood, we shall mention it here. A stranger, having the appearance of a gentleman, came to reside in the village, who, after some short acquaintance, paid his addresses to her, which were favourably received. They were regularly married, lived together for some time, and had these two children; when at length, to her utter astonishment and dismay, she discovered that her supposed husband had been previously married, and that his wife was still living, and had a large family to him, in another part of the country. He shortly after disappeared. The next class consists of six females, who receive ls. The third is an old female about seventy, of a very different character from the last. She has never been married, and has always maintained the most irreproach-a-week each, and one only half that sum. able and exemplary character, and speaks of her being Two of these are widows; the one is about seventy, with compelled to ask parish relief as one of the greatest trials children grown up, but who give her no help. She makes she ever met with in her life; that the terrible thought a little, however, by keeping a lodging-house, and by of becoming a parish pauper was like to have thrown her working in the fields in the harvest season. The other, into a fever, but she had no friends and no alternative. about forty, has three young children; this woman is She can still, however, work a little at farm labour and employed in farm labour in summer, and in winter in weavers' work, or in any other way in which she can find otherwise, for her assistance. The fourth is a widow about sixty, with two unfortu-employment. She is frequently, however, in bad health, mate children. This woman has no sons, and her only nate daughters residing with her, who have both illegiti- and has to be further assisted from the kirk-session. means of support, besides her allowance, is derived from the earnings of these daughters, who work at farm labour. The one is sometimes hired, while the other, on her part, attends to the children. The fifth is a female of thirty-five, with illegitimate children. This person is lame, but, notwithstanding, has a great deal of management, and makes an astonishing shift for her support. In summer, she travels the country with a donkey, vending a variety of small wares; in winter, keeps a lodging-house. If her moral character were at all tolerable, she would be considered quite a heroine. She has fought the heritors and kirk-session for her aliment, and beat them; she has held strange parley with the fiscal, and been in many a queer ploy; and, setting public opinion at defiance, she continues to hold on her way, and is, as occasion serves, a beggar, or a trader, or the mistress of a hotel on a small scale, and at the same time supplies the neighbourhood with baskets and brooms. The sixth is a widow of eighty, with a son in bad band. She has a daughter with an illegitimate child The tenth is a widow of eighty, with a daughter and grand-daughter, both of weak intellect. This woman receives assistance from a daughter in good circumstances. She has also sons in America, doing well, but they give her no help. The following anecdote which he tells respecting Mrs Wood is capital, and may not be without its use on this side of the Atlantic. "A remarkable instance of 'impressment' practised on Mrs Wood, the popular singer, who had preceded Madame Caradori Allan in her visit to America, was mentioned to me here by one who was present at the party. A general, living in the neighbourhood of Philadelphia, who had become suddenly rich, furnished a house in a costly manner, and gave The eighth is a tradesman of seventy, without chilgay parties. He had little else but his wealth, however, dren. He can still work a little at his business. to render them attractive; his wife being especially The ninth is a widow of seventy, with sons and daughuntutored and unpolished, as he had married before heters, who render her some assistance. became rich, and both were elevated to their present importance without the requisite personal qualifications to sustain it. To render one of their parties more than usually popular, they invited Mr and Mrs Wood among their guests; they at first respectfully declined, on the ground of fatigue, but they were pressed with so much The eleventh is an old man of eighty, with a wife and earnestness, that they at length were subdued into con- daughter. This man lived a bachelor till late in life, and sent. When the entertainments of the evening were had saved a good deal of money; and hoping, no doubt, to add to the comforts of declining age, he married, perfairly commenced, and several ladies among the visiters haps imprudently, a young woman, for whose pleasure had sung, the hostess invited Mrs Wood to seat herself he indulged in a too extravagant style of living, which, at the piano, as the company would be delighted to hear with other mismanagement, has brought him in his hoary her beautiful voice; but Mrs Wood begged, with a very years to the condition of a parish pauper. This man's serious countenance, to be excused. At first, the asto-wife has an allowance of 18s. 6d. a-week for keeping nine nishment created by this refusal was evinced by a dead deserted and orphan children. silence, and a fixed stare; but at length the disap- The twelfth is a man of seventy, with an unfortunate pointed hostess broke forth-What! not sing, Mrs Wood? why, it was for this that I invited you to my party. I should not have thought of asking you but for this; and I told all my guests that you were coming, and that they would hear you sing!' 'Oh!' replied Mrs Wood, with great readiness, that quite alters the case; I was not at all aware of this, or I should not have refused; but since you have invited me professionally, I shall of course sing immediately.' That's a good creature,' rejoined the hostess; I thought you could not persist in refusing me.' So Mrs Wood seated herself at the piano, sang delightfully, and to the entire gratification of hostess and guests; gave, without hesitation, every song she was asked for, and some were encored. On the following day, however, when the host and hostess were counting up the cost of their entertainment (for, rich as they were, they had not lost their former regard for economy), to their utter consternation there came in a bill from Mr Wood of 200 dollars for Mrs Wood's 'professional services' at the party of the preceding evening, accompanied by a note couched in terms which made it quite certain that the demand would be legally enforced if attempted to be resisted; daughter, who resides with him. He has no sons of his own, but his daughter has a number of natural children. He can still make a little, however, by breaking stones on the roads. The thirteenth is a widow of seventy, with a family of sons and daughters, who are mostly married and have large families, and can give her no assistance. She has, however, a grandson living with her, who is her principal support. The fourteenth is a widow of seventy, with a large family of sons and daughters, mostly married, and generally in comfortable circumstances. This woman's family might do every thing for her; and their apparent neglect is quite disgraceful to themselves, and affords a very painful instance of the imperfect sense of filial obligation which is too commonly met with. The law of the land, as well as the law of nature, is no less binding upon a child to support a parent, than upon a parent to support a child; and yet there are numbers who discharge faithfully and well the duties they owe to their families, and vide for the support and comfort of those from whom yet seem to consider themselves nowise entitled to prothey received their earthly existence, and who have toiled and cared for them in the helpless years of infancy and childhood, Most of the remaining five females have had illegitimate children in their youth, and have found it necessary to have houses of their own; they are all considerably ad vanced in life. The first is above eighty, and lives with a son who is unmarried, and does not appear to be in any want. The second keeps a lodging-house, is an active person, and makes a fair living. The third is about sixty, has a daughter married, who can give her no help. She can still, however, work a little at weeding gardens, washing, &c., and manages to make a scanty subsistence. Her allowance generally lies for the payment of her houserent. The fourth is about sixty, and has a number of wealthy relatives, who are supposed to assist her. Indeed, it was considered quite extraordinary that they allowed her to be put on the poor-roll. They gave as their reasons, that they were paying poor cess to a large amount themselves, and as good right their own poor relative received a part of it as another. The last, who receives sixpence a-week, was so poor that she had to resign housekeeping, and go to reside with a relative at a distance. There are also at least ten individuals who have petipoor-roll, and have been rejected. Of these, there are tioned, during the last six months, to be admitted on the two deserted wives, a poor mechanic for an idiot child, an old woman with an infirm husband, a widow with a large family, and other necessitous persons. About twenty, young and old, of the paupers standing Society. This was given them in clothes, coals, a little on the roll, have, during the course of last year, received occasional relief from the funds of the Ladies' Benevolent comfortable food, and cordials when unwell. This society has likewise afforded relief to seventeen other families not receiving parochial aid. These consist of widows with large families, reduced artisans, old and infirm individuals, mostly women; some with relatives dependent on them, and others living by themselves. In this number are two farm-servants with large young families. As already mentioned, the funds of the kirk-session are kept separate from the money raised by legal assessment. The former is generally given in cases of sickness, and other incidental exigencies, while the latter is distributed in regular weekly allowances. Besides the money collected at the church door, the session have received several legacies and donations, which enable them, in seasons of scarcity and dearth, to extend a little relief to a number of the most necessitous of the labouring classes. In the winter of 1838-9, potatoes were distributed, and oatmeal sold by them at a reduced price, to about fifty families not paupers. These consisted of day labourers, farm-servants, artisans, and others, who are in general able to earn a livelihood by their industry; but the limited resources of the kirk-session did not afford them an opportunity of knowing the exact number that would have been willing to receive such assistance. However, as their bounty was generally bestowed upon such as were of the best moral character, there can be no doubt but that a number more would have been willing to avail themselves of the same advantage, had it been offered them. There can scarcely be calculated to be fewer than a hundred families, or about one-third of the whole, including the regular paupers, that would be willing to receive such assistance. There is one circumstance in the history of the pauperism of the parish worthy of notice. So late as the year 1832, before the parish was legally assessed, the number receiving permanent relief from the session's funds was only twenty-one. In 1835, when the parish was first legally assessed, the number had increased to thirty-four, Since 1835, the number of permanent paupers has increased considerably above a third. If the ten rejected the number to nearly double in the last five years. It petitioners had been admitted, they would have swelled would be a matter of great importance to ascertain correctly the cause of this continued increase of pauperism and growing destitution among all classes of operatives |