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debates are more noted for senile garrulity and childish bickerings, the for any other remarkable qualities. From young men just emancipated from the ill-observed rules and thoughtless dissipation of a Universty College, what wisdom can we expect? From older men, cut off by th exclusiveness of their 'order,' from sympathy with the mass of the people and sitting as representatives of nothing but their own selfishness, with out a hope, a passion or a love' beyond the gratification of an egotistica pride, what lofty patriotism can we look for? Amongst the mob of super annuated dotards, and imbecile Do-nothings in that gaudy Asylum at West C minster, where shall we find a spark of intellectual fire? Where shall⋅: | hear an accent of pity for the suffering poor, the destitute and starving: Upon which of those wrinkled and sense-palled cheeks shall we see th glowing love of liberty? And whose lips would cheer an utterance in favour of popular progress? How often, during a six months' sessions is there a debate in the House of Lords worthy of notice? How often do the Peers mutilate or reject Bills sanctioned by majorities in the Commons: How often are we not sickened with bursts of bigotry from the episcopal bench? And how often does the 'somewhat volatile' Brougham convert what should be serious into a farcical pantomime? Let these questions be answered honestly, and then who will not laugh at the Tory exclamatio -thank God we have a House of Lords ?'

The Times, in an article on the debate in the Lords on the Australian Colonies Bill towards the close of last session, made some rather caustic remarks respecting the general character of debates in their Lordships' House, and in particular, upon Lord Monteagle who is evidently taken as a specimen of peerage talent. The passages we allude to were the following:

"It is to be regretted that a House, which contains all the elements for the very perfection of order should allow its debates to fall into that desultory, never-ending, still-beginning form, which is generally though! peculiar to the discussions of another sex, and the least rational part of that sex. Whatever capacity Lord Monteagle wishes to assume in the Legislature, his speech last night was more like the curtain lecture of some elderly gentleman's elderly wife than a regular argument in favour of the particular amendment which, for form's sake, he concluded with moving. k contained a great deal about Lord Grey's history and character, about his course of proceeding with regard to this bill and to other bills; indeed, it would be difficult to mention anything about Lord Grey or the colonies to which some allusion was not made; but there was nothing in it which we have not heard already several times over; there was little which we had not heard the previous night; and we will venture to add, there was nothing which we shall not hear again."

It seems from this that even the Times thinks that a conclave of antique females might be substituted for an assembly of Peers without any loss of practical ability being felt by the country at large. For once we are not disposed to differ from the oracle. We doubt not that their Lordships washerwomen would 'do' the debating business in their Lordships' House quite as artistically as their Lordships' themselves, and we'll engage the speeches of the not-noble and unlearned Laundresses shall be as readable and as full of genius as any delivered by the spiritual and temporal nonentities who occasionally meet in St. Stephen's.

The notion that a House of Lords is necessary to maintain the balance

of power in the constitution is a mistake-a delusive sham. It may mar and impede useful legislation, and by so doing may goad the people on to he verge of revolution, but it never can successfully oppose the determined will of a united nation, The Reform Bill was carried in spite of the peerage and its broad acres, and the People's Charter shall be.

THOUGHTS ON "PROGRESS."

F. G.

"MUCH that it is called progress, is not progress." There is change, but little improvement. We run from one extreme to another. There is much talk, but little work. We bluster about our rights, we sentimentalize about universal brotherhood; but we do little to obtain the one, and less towards arriving at the other. How is this? Is it because we see no remedy for the evils under which we suffer? Is there a want of manliness -of intelligence-of energy-of lofty aspirations? No: We have all these→→ what may be called the raw material of progress, which requires but combining and shaping by some cunning artificer in human passions to render them effective. It would be well for posterity, and for ourselves, if every man were his own artificer in these matters, and were to get sufficient knowledge to direct the cultivation of his ownintellect and moral sentiments. What we have not, but ought to have, must have; such is the purpose that should guide us if there is to be any change for good, any advancement on the right road. Each reformer, democrat, socialist, every aspiring spirit among us, must look within, and condescend to find out whether he be walking on this terrestrial globe of ours firmly on his feet, with a clear purpose and determination to brush aside all vexatious straws and fine spun cobwebs that may be liable to hinder him in his course or blind him in his purpose.

We talk of improving others, yet we neglect ourselves. Instead of a healthful example, we give words. Would you have men drink at the fountain of knowledge, of the rivers of thought, instead of the streams of polluting vice and sensuality, or of the stagnant pools of indifference? Shew men you appreciate the purity, and acknowledge the worth, of knowledge and of thought, by drinking deeply yourselves. Let them see what influence the act exercises upon you. What excellence, what power, what profit, it bestows: then men will drink too, and without hesitation.

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We wait indolently for the future, instead of marching manfully towards it. We train not with so much care our offspring-"Men of the Future,' -as a gardener does his vine or rose-bush. We allow rank weeds to grow up and choke the tender flowers of humanity. We look upon ourselves as insignificant cyphers (excepting when we are told so) which are as nothing, but in the aggregate. Conventionality has dared attempt to erase and hide the individuality that nature has written indelibly on our brows. Each man has a capacity which gives him his proper work to do: let him experiment till he find it; and then do it right earnestly. Every man has a mission to fulfil, if he dare resolutely seek it. Every man's life is a measure of good, or a measure of evil. Let him ponder lest he fill the evil measure. It can be done as easily by not doing, as by doing.

What is the true spirit of "Progress"? It is a faith in humanity; in the spirit of justice, the spirit of love, the spirit of purity, as the essences which man's nature has eternally striven to embody. It is a faith in man's yearnings after good and loathing of present evil. It is a noble chivalry

that dare, as of old, set lance in rest against a host, counting not consquences but deeds. The chivalric knight rushed not to the encounte unaccoutred and unarmed; but clothed in firm panoply, and armed at al points. Herein we fail. We know how numerous and powerful are c opponents, how great the difficulties to be overcome, how gigantic th obstacles for dwarf workers; yet how sluggishly and improvidently w prepare for the inevitable encounter! Badly armed, badly disciplined badly led, we are a straggling mob, instead of a compact army, a heap o splinters instead of a wedge. Was it not that rottenness of things begets rottenness, and that abuses tumble down by their own weight, making earth tremble, and thus shaming us to action,-we might chance to become stagnant in spirit, and our very hearts fester in indolence.

Every individual is answerable in his or her degree. Individual improve ment must be accomplished before the masses can be improved. Let every reformer take advantage of the opportunities that offer to render himse an effective worker; let him make up by industry what is wanting in convenience. Every trained warrior becomes a centre round which wi gather the undisciplined and wavering. It is for him to decide, to conse lidate, to discipline, to render them effective. Every convert may becomes fresh centre. Above all, let us be generous, let us be kind, considerate, temperate and trusting towards each other; and the true spirit o "Progress" will be inaugurated:

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Social Reform: a Plea for Labour. By an ARTIZAN. (Cheltenham: Harper, High-street.)

HERE are half a thousand lines of rhyme, by a working-man, and dis playing very considerable thought-while the bard's burden is of the wrongs of those who are most deeply wronged,—and of their errors,-not omitting a few healthful proposals as remedies. The following stanzas will give the reader some idea of the tendency of this little poem :

66 Labour, be free! let each man for himself,
Make his own bargain, if he'd win the pelf.
Compete, compete and the best man will gain,
Wherewith to buy the life-sustaining grain."
Thus cry th' economists. Oh! biting taunt,
The chain's round Labour's limbs, he may not vaunt,
His very strength's his bane, his numbers tell
Against himself, he's crush'd by Capital,
Lies at its mercy, has no choice to make-
"Work thou, or starve, or in a prison quake;
Take what I give thee. thankful that at all,
From 'midst the starving myriads I thee call,"
Indignant he, like some huge blatant beast,

Roars forth his anger, strives to burst his chain,
Strains its strong links, and in his furious haste
Breaks and destroys, to give his tyrants pain;
Impotent rage! a net is thrown around
The struggling brute, and he's more firmly bound.
"Law, Order," bid the netted cords be spread,
And "Force" compels a salutary dread."
A tam'd beast oft a fatal blow has given,
And caged lions the strongest bars have riven;
A mill-slave Sampson rent the pillar'd hall,
And died with thousands in its sudden fall.

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Combine, combine! And let your strength be seen;
Club up your pence; though poor, oh, be not mean !""
Exclaim the leaders of the toiling host.

Their pence reach pounds, their pounds to thousands swell,
They feel their power, alas, too soon they boast,

They squabble; where's their cash? oh, none can tell!
"Strike, strike !" your levies pay, and soon shall quail

The tyrants whom you hate." Alas, they fail!

Then burning mills, and damaged engines show
A servile war; and troops march to and fro,
To awe the rabble rout. Muzzled again,

They work half-starved, or starved they die in pain.

Ye poor depress'd! on principle depend :
All good shall triumph, evil have an end.
Justice, ox-footed, comes with laggard pace;
Though slow, 'tis sure, and yet will win the race,
"Twixt it and ill-got gainings. Heaven ordains
A retributive law, and metes out pains,
Here or hereafter, to the tyrant few
Proportioned to the evils which they do ;
Union and wealth, that few too surely arm
To crush the violence of the murm'ring swarm:
Their gold divides ye, and their oneness smites
Ye in detail, and robs you of your rights.
Rights gained by blood, by blood must be secur'd,
And they who use, must perish by the sword.
Right principles will live, tho' tyrants frown;
When most oppress'd they ever most have grown.
Conscience, your friend, in foemen's bosoms stirs,
And says, that he who smites you deeply errs.
While Int'rest cries, "I over-reach myself,
I snatch a shadow, and I lose the pelf;

I must retract, for I have gone too far;

Who starve the masses their own fortunes mar;"
Pity, meek-eyed, and kind compassion move,
And conquer hearts by pure anthropic love.

The Social Curse; or, Intemperance. A Rhyme; and other Pieces. By ALEXANDER MACANSH. (London: W. S. Orr, Amen Corner.) THIS volume is also the production of a working man, a native of Dunfermline. A friend informs me that his body is deformed, and that he walks with the greatest difficulty; but this volume proves that his mind possesses no ordinary vigour. The longer poem abounds with striking passages of originality, evinces enlarged reading, and displays much good taste; but I select the following from the shorter pieces, on account of the congeniality of its subject to the purposes of the "Journal."

SHALL MAN BE FREE?

The Bee that hums from bud to bud,
Through bower and broomy solitude,-
The minnow leaping from the flood,"
The whispering wind and rustling wood,
Are fetterless and free.
The cloud swims onward free and high,
The stars gleam from no stanchell'd sky,-
The foam-capt billows surging by,
Still thunder forth the banner-cry,

Of-We are free, are free.

Ob, no! a thread has shackeled
The Giant in deep slumber laid:
The sleep is slept, the torpor fled;
He wakes, he walks in glory dread,
And tyrannies, in his earthquake-tread,

Are crumbling one by one.

And shall our race-Oh! nobler far
Than wind, than wave, or cloud- wove car,-
Whose searching spirit can unbar,

The mysteries of each mighty star,

Alone dree slavery's pains?
Alone! while things of meaner birth
Are dancing in unfettered mirth-
Huge Thraldom's frame-corroding girth-
The Sovereigns of the chainless earth,

Themselves alone in chains?
And glorious years are dawning now,
When nations shall no longer glow,
With mutual hate, nor meanly bow,
Nor lift the prayer to aught below

The Everlasting Throne.

NOTES OF TRAVEL AND TALK.

I Do not choose to put myself in danger of being deemed dull and tedious, -and, therefore, seeing that so many weeks have passed over since I made some of my visits,-I will say no more, now, than that I enjoyed the society of working-men in Newcastle-on-Tyne very greatly, and felt proud of the intelligence of my own order while surrounded by them. In addition to some of the villages, I had the pleasure this time of extending my visit to ancient Alnwick-the seat of the old Percies. The castle and antiquities, of course, interested me; and still more the perception that a few young men (two of whom accompanied me to Hulne Abbey, on the third day,) are making praiseworthy efforts for Progress here. In Carlisle, I had two good audiences, and two happy nights among old friends. At Stockton-on-Tees and Middlesbro' (which I had not seen before) I met signs of undeniable advancement. In old York, I had, again, two days of enjoyment, amid the rich associations of the superb cathedral and other antiquities; and was again surrounded by old friends whose kind and happy voices seem even yet to ring in my ears.

In Leeds, I spent some days under the hospitable roof of a friend who has shewn me attentions so numerous and valuable, that I can only say I know not how to thank him for them. On the Sunday evening (July 7,) my audience filled the room in the Bazaar, Briggate; but the company was small on the next evening. I felt pleasure, however, in talking to them; and also to a little society of Young Men-a 'Mutual Improvement Society' at Holbeck, on the following evening. While in this neighbourhood, I had the gratification of passing two afternoons with my friend Joseph Barker, and strove to dissuade him from going to America -but in vain. I can only say, that I deeply regret his resolution to leave England. I cannot refrain from saying publicly what I have already said to him in private that I think he is about to do wrong: his real work lies here-not across the Atlantic.

I must hasten on by merely observing that I talked at Bradford, Keighley, Wakefield, Huddersfield, Doncaster, and Rotherham, each for the first time and hope to get better acquainted with friends in those localities, in the course of another year. Neither let me forget Heckmondwike-where, I must openly declare, I saw richer signs of Progress than in some twenty large towns that I could name. Oh that the spirit of the Yorkshiremen of that district were shared by not only the whole county, but by all the workingmen of England! At Sheffield, I passed five days at the house of a new triend, but one whom I hope never to lose, and whom I wish I had known before Mr. Isaac Ironside. He introduced me to other friends whom I also value: I went with them to their monthly tea-meeting at the Social Farm, at Attercliffe, and accompanied them to view the Parish Farm, six miles out of Sheffield-but 'thereby hangs a tale' too important to pass by; and as the Printer looks cross and says I have enough!' I must defer the completion of these trifling Notes' (though against my will) till next unmber.

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THOMAS COOPER.

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