"Oh, if one's to begin by supposing all sorts of misfortunes," exclaimed Helen, "nobody would ever be married at all. For my part, I think there's nothing so foolish as always looking at the dark side of things." "I quite agree with you," said Jane; "I am far from wishing you to look always at the dark side of things. I only wish you to look on both sides; for life will show us its dark side, Helen, whether we look for it or not." "Well, it's time enough to think of trouble when trouble comes," replied Helen; "sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." Here Jane gave up the argument, for although her mind was not convinced, the authority of the quotation was too much for her; and a few weeks saw her the wife of David Cairns, and Helen of Richard Mills. Excepting the simple circumstance that one had something to begin the world with, and the other nothing, the present situation and future prospects of the two young couples were much on an equality. David Cairns was a carpenter, Richard Mills was a mason; they were both good workmen, and both decent well-disposed young men ; and amongst the neighbours, old Thomson was considered to have married his daughters very well. The weddings took place on the same day, the girls were dressed alike, neatly and respectably, as were their husbands; Giles Thomson strained a point to give them a good dinner after the ceremony; some of their neighbours were invited to tea; in the evening they took a walk in the fields, and at night each bridegroom conducted his bride to a tidy cottage, duly provided with such utensils and articles of necessary furniture as are indispensable to the comfort of a poor man's dwelling. Helen had not taken such serious views of life as Jane had, but she was a cheerful, active, industrious "See what a nice new cloak I've got," said Helen to Jane one Sunday, as they met on their way to church; "it's a present from Richard; he gave a pound for it." "It's a very nice one, indeed," replied Jane. "Why don't you get one?" asked Helen. "Wright has plenty more, and they're quite a bargain at the money." "I don't think it is dear, indeed," answered Jane; "but my old one will do very well for this winter. Perhaps next year I may afford myself a new one." "Pooh!" said Helen;" next year! That's always the way. I really think the more money people have, the more stingy they grow. I'm sure if Richard can afford to give me a cloak, David can afford to give you one." "Oh, David would give me one if I wished it, I know," answered Jane; "but I don't. I had rather make this last a little longer, and save the money." "Why, haven't you got ever so much money already in the savings'-bank?" said Helen. "Surely you might spare twenty shillings for a cloak?" "But I had rather have the twenty shillings than the cloak, I tell you, Helen. Every one to his taste, you know. But I suppose Richard has been doing very well lately with such a rise of wages, and having constant work?" "Yes," said Helen, "that's the way I got the cloak, and several other things I wanted. It's as well to get what one wants when times are good. By and by wages may fall, and then we could not have afforded them." "It is right to get anything you absolutely want, certainly," answered Jane; "but I wouldn't buy things I could do without, merely because I had the means. I would rather try to lay by a little." "Oh, lay by !" cried Helen. "What's the use of laying by the little we could spare?" "But everything must have a beginning, Helen. When David began to lay by, it was with half-a-crown. Suppose he had spent it instead, because the sum was so small, he might have found the same excuse for spending the next, and never have begun at all. People in our situation must not wait for large sums, if they mean to save. You know the old proverb, Every little makes a mickle !" “But, gracious, Jane," said Helen, " if, when wages are high, one is to lay by every farthing one can spare, there would be no difference between good times and bad times. They would be all bad times, and one would never have any enjoyment at all !" "Oh, you are mistaken, Helen," returned Jane; "it would be much nearer the truth to say that they would be all good times. And, besides, if you have nothing to spare when wages are high, how will you do when they are low?" "Why, we must do as other people do-as well as we can," answered Helen. "Besides, Jane, Richard likes to see me respectable; one doesn't like to look worse than one's neighbours.' "But what is respectable, Helen?" asked Jane. "If you mean clean and tidy, I agree with you; but I think an old cloak well kept, and worn from motives of economy, is more respectable than a new one bought with money that ought not to have been spent. And since everybody's circumstances differ in some respect or other, why should we be guided by our neighbours? "Jane thinks it very extravagant of us to have "We don't find fault with her old cloak, and she Whether Richard was right or wrong in this view winter was coming on, and work not likely to be so There was every reason to hope that, with due care Helen acted upon this very self-applauding expectation. "I was thinking of my sister and her husband," replied "Oh, but he'll do very well. I saw the doctor this evening as I came from work, and he says everything's going on quite right; there's no occasion to be uneasy." "It is not about his leg, exactly, that I am uneasy," responded Jane; "I daresay it will get well in time, as the doctor says; but it's because I can't make out how they are living." Living!" replied David; "why, didn't Helen say that Mr Halford had given them money enough to keep them till Richard could work again ?" She said he had behaved very generously to them," answered Jane;" and when I asked her what they were to do if Richard was long out of work, she told me I need not be uneasy, they should do very well; but I am uneasy though, for I can read Helen's countenance, and however she tries to carry it off, I can see she is very unhappy." she say they are well off if they are not ?" "From pride," answered Jane. "Helen's very proud, and I know she would rather suffer anything than own she was in want, especially to me." David did not comprehend this so clearly as his wife did; but one thing he did comprehend, which was, that if Helen and her husband got into difficulties, there was no one to help them out of them but himself; and as he had no desire to be called upon to make such a sacrifice, he was by no means inclined to yield belief to Jane's suspicions, or to encourage them in her. Not that David was an unusually selfish or unfeeling man, but he had earned his money hardly; he had the prospect of a little family to provide for; he looked to the possible accidents of illness or want of work that might happen to himself, and he set a proportionate value on the little store that was his anchor of hope in the event of storms or reverses, So, whenever Jane made an attempt to introduce the subject, David threw cold water on it, recommending her not to pry into her sister's affairs, or persist in believing people in distress who declared they were not so; and as Helen's lips remained closed on the subject of their finances, Jane was obliged to keep her uneasiness and quently to carry some little delicacy or mess of nourher suspicions to herself. ishing food to Richard, which, she said, she was sure would do him good, and which, she might have added, strength but slowly; which was the more unfortunate, he seemed very much in want of; for Richard gained as spring was coming on, and there was good prospect of plenty of work. All she could do was fre A man needs all his strength and activity to work as a mason; he has heavy weights to carry and long ladders to climb; and as long as stout hale workmen were to be worked his best; which was, indeed, very necessary, for had, Richard did not find it so easy a matter to get a job as he used to do. However, he got what he could, and Helen expected to be confined in June. Jane took care that she should want for nothing during her illness, and Helen silently, and, perhaps, rather sullenly, accepted her attentions-for Helen was an altered woman. She had been a thoughtless girl and a thoughtless young wife, but there was now an air of recklessness and sullen de fiance about her, that occasioned Jane the deepest distress. Richard, on the contrary, seemed depressed, ill, and discouraged, but he made no complaints, and was as impenetrable to Jane as Helen was. This time, Helen gave birth to a little boy, and in the following autumn, Jane made her husband a similar present. Helen made little effort to return the attention she had received. She called once to see the child, and inquire how her sister was; but, she said, "she had enough to do at home to look after her own two brats, to have time for gadding." Jane said nothing, but she turned and looked in her face when she used the word gadding, and Helen blushed. "Besides," said she, with an affectation of gaiety, "I can be of no use to you, such rich people as you are," and she cast her eyes round on all Jane's little comforts-" you want for nothing that poor people like us can send you." "No, I am thankful, I want for nothing," replied Jane; but, Helen, there's many a true word spoken in jest, and "but that is no reason I should not wish to see my sister; now the ice is broken, I can't help saying that I am afraid you and Richard are really poor; at least that you are not so well off as you pretend to be." has not got money in the savings'-bank; but if people "Pooh!" said Helen; "you think nobody well off that have enough to eat every day in the year, what does it signify ?" "Not much, perhaps, if they always have enough," answered Jane; "though there was a time, Helen, when you looked to something more than having enough to eat," and she glanced at Helen's worn and faded cotton gown and scanty shawl. "But have you enough to eat, sister, every day in the year? Carry it off as you will, I can't help fearing that you have not, nor Richard either." looks complain, and so do yours. say he's squalling long before this, and little Jane wont she affected ignorance; and, in her heart, she was glad, was scarcely any frost, and the poor rejoiced, for they needed less fuel; but when the spring came, a fever broke out, and being very rife in the quarter where the Cairns family lived, David caught it, and was laid up for several weeks. Had they had nothing to fall back upon, this would have embarrassed them sadly; but they had a comfortable sum in the savings'-bank, and ten pounds of this, discreetly used, carried them through David's illness, and by enabling Jane to purchase him nourishing wholesome food afterwards, soon sent him back to his work a hale and cheerful man, leaving them both more determined to be careful for the future than ever, after thus experiencing the benefits of frugality and forethought. It may be supposed that during David's illness Jane had no time for visiting her sister, and as her sister seldom visited her, their intercourse became less and less. But as soon as David was recovered, and they were out of their troubles, she seized her first moment of leisure to go and see how Helen and her children were getting on. When she arrived at the door, and lifted the latch, she found it was locked, but she heard the voices of both the children crying within. "Where's your mammy, Janey ?" said she to the little girl through the door. "Mammy's out," replied the child. "Has she been long gone?" inquired Jane. "I don't know," said the child, sobbing; whilst Dicky roared loud enough to crack his windpipe. Not liking to leave them in that state, Jane tried to pacify them by talking to them through the door, and resolved to wait, if she could, till Helen returned; but Helen stayed so long that she found it impossible; so, leaving the bread and jam she had brought for the children with the next neighbour, she bent her way homewards. "Where can Helen be away so long at this time of day ?" thought Jane, as she turned from the door. "Ah! there was a time when she would not have left her children there to cry alone, poor little things." But she had not gone far before, in turning the corner of a street, she almost ran against her sister and her husband, whose loud voices, before they saw her, proclaimed that they were at angry words. Helen's cheek was flushed, her dress was slatternly, and not over clean, whilst Richard looked thin, wan, and dejected. They both started on perceiving it was Jane, and were evidently both confused; but Helen looked defiance to the conclusions her sister might draw from what she saw and heard, whilst Richard looked really humbled and abashed. "I have been to your house," said Jane, "but I could not get in, and I left the poor children crying for you." "We have been to receive some money," answered Helen-and as she spoke she chinked a few shillings in her hand with an assumed air of negligence-" and we were detained longer than we expected." "I'll go back with you," said Jane, "for I am anxious to see the children. I haven't seen them these six weeks. I suppose Dicky's grown a fine boy." "Middling," said Helen; "I don't think he thrives much; he's not half as forward as Janey was at his age. "No wonder," murmured Richard in an under tone; but Helen gave him a look that stopped his mouth. He said nothing more, and Helen said nothing either, except in answer to Jane's inquiries; and she walked on with an air that did not seem to betoken a very hearty welcome to her sister. However, Jane was determined to see the children; and when Helen unlocked the door, uninvited she followed her in; but as she crossed the threshold, and caught a view of the rooms on either side, for both were open, she started with dismay at the picture of desolation that met her view. The parlour, which had once been prized, was perfectly bare; not an article of furniture remained in it; and the other room did not present a much more promising aspect. The bed was gone; but that Jane hoped had been replaced up stairs; and nearly everything else was gone too; in short, it was too evident that every article that could by any possibility be dispensed with had been removed. Whither? Alas! Jane guessed too well; they had been sold or pledged to furnish the means of subsistence. Richard silently drew forward a little three-legged stool-for chair there was none -and offered it to Jane, who, knowing Helen's proud spirit, did not dare to give utterance to the grief she felt, but taking little Dick in her arms, she hid her tearful eyes in the poor baby's bosom, whilst Helen tried to carry off her confusion by affecting to scold little Jane, whose naturally pretty face was scarcely recognisable for dirt and tears, because, during her mother's absence, she had dragged her silk cloak-the silk cloak, now little better than a faded rag-from the peg it hung upon, and putting it over her own shoulders, had been trailing it over the wet and dirty floor. What an air of discomfort there was over everything inanimate the room contained, and what traces of dissatisfaction and anxiety pervaded the features of those assembled there! What a home! How unlike the picture that the two sisters had imaged to themselves as the home of their husbands! Helen saw this, and felt it no less than Jane, as many reminiscences of air-built castles and cheerful anticipations crowded on her mind; but they presented themselves accompanied by remorse and self-reproach; and instead of allowing them to soften the growing spirit of hardness and recklessness that was stealing over her once frank and ingenuous temper, she dashed them ferociously from her mind, and laying to her heart that ill comfort-ill comfort, we mean, where our misfortunes are of our own seeking there are plenty others as badly off as we, and it is no use grieving over what can't be helped," she sunk her pride and her self-respect to the level of her fortunes, and made no further struggle to retrieve either. In her prosperous days, Helen had found plenty of time to keep her house and furniture in order, to mend and make her husband's clothes, and to look well after her children too; but now, although the furniture was gone, and the house was bare, there seemed to have been no time to attend to the wants of husband or children either. Her pride in them and in herself was gone; Richard's decent wardrobe diminished by degrees, seldom arrested on its road to ruin by needle or thread; the children | would scarcely have had clothes to cover them but for the kind care of their aunt; and, as it was, their unwashed faces and ragged heads, as they lay wallowing in the dirt before the door, instead of being sent to school, betokened no maternal tending, and showed too plainly the commencement of the first chapter in the records of their progress to destruction. But had Richard no work? Yes, he had some, though not such good jobs or high wages as when he was a stout, hale, decent-looking man, and a steady workman. Still, there was enough earned to keep things together better than they were kept; but, alas! the vice, the cruel vice, the offspring and the cause of destitution, was twining its insidious snares around them, and precipitating their downward course. The craving, unsatisfied stomachs, the gnawing self-reproach, the despoiled cottage, the illclothed bodies, the comfortless present and the hopeless future, were working their usual effects, and conducting these victims of improvidence to their last stage of degradation and ruin-the gin shop and the public-house. This road to perdition, once entered upon, we need not say how fast it was travelled; down, down they went. A stone may rest secure for ever on the summit of a hill, but let some mischievous hand once urge it over the edge of the declivity, and how rapid is its descent! At length, one morning the whole family disappeared, and Helen left word for her sister that Richard was going to look elsewhere for work. They left some small debts, which, as they were owing to very poor people, Jane and her husband paid, the cottage being found divested of every article that could be converted into money. Jane shed many tears over her sister's departure, and the lamentable causes that had led to it. The poor children, too. What was to become of them? The fate of the unhappy family was as deplorable as these fears anticipated. Surrounded by a thousand temptations in London, to which they proceeded, and untrained to resist them, Dick went through various grades of vice, and was finally charged with an offence, and committed to jail. The father sunk and died, partly from distress of mind, and partly from the intemperate habits in which he had indulged. Helen was now desolate, with her daughter Jane, who, though guiltless of any error, shared the disgrace of the family, and could procure no means of earning a livelihood. Helpless, indeed, is poverty without character! What was to be done? At last, Helen resolved that she would travel back to Fernfield with Jane, begging their way along the road, and if her sister would take charge of the girl, which she did not doubt, she would then return to London by herself, in order to earn a subsistence as she best could. So they started. Fortunately, the season was favourable, and the weather fine; and although they had often empty stomachs, and sometimes not wherewith to pay their lodging, yet the wholesome air, and the bright sky, and the green fields, contrasted so pleasantly with the dark alleys and wretched streets which they had long frequented, that their heavy hearts were cheered by the change; and many a time Helen had to hasten Jane, who was lingering behind, entranced with delight at recognising again the wild flowers she had gathered in her childhood. Helen had determined not to see her sister, nor even to enter the town; she proposed getting somebody to guide Jane to the house, and then, without announcing her intention, to set off immediately on her return to London.. With this intention she lingered about the outskirts of the town till dusk, and then they drew nearer, and she looked about for somebody to whom she could intrust the girl. Jane, however, said that she wanted no guide. "I remember the house and the street as well as if I'd left it but yesterday," said she. See, mother, there are the Fairley Meadows, and that's the way to the old mill, and that's the lane that leads to church; but there's a pretty house-I don't remember that house." "No," answered Helen; "that house is new; it wasn't here in our time. But if you are sure you know your way, you shall go to your aunt's alone; that will be better than asking one to guide you." "But, mother," said Jane, "suppose aunt and uncle shouldn't live here now; it's a long while ago; perhaps they've moved." Helen thought this unlikely; but as she intended to depart as soon as her daughter left her, it was important to ascertain this point, lest the poor girl should find her self a friendless stranger in the place; so she inquired of a lad who was passing, with a spade on his shoulder, if David Cairns, the carpenter, and his wife, still lived there. The boy said he did not know them. "They lived in Well Street," said Helen, "at number five." of poverty, neglect, bad air, bad habits, and starvation dead, a pauper, and buried by the parish! It was too grievous to be borne; she started to her feet. "Go, Jane,' said she; "go to that house and ask for your aunt; tell her who you are, and tell her that your mother-your thoughtless, proud, wicked mother; for I was proud once, Jane, very proud, and I wouldn't listen to the friend that would have saved me-tell her that I have brought your brother to a jail, and that I have led you to the brink of destruction, and ask her to save you; go on your knees and ask it; I know she will; and tell her""But, mother," said Jane, almost alarmed at her vehemence," don't you come to aunt too?" "By and by-to-morrow," sobbed Helen. "Not tonight; bid her not seek to see me to-night; good-by, Jane-good-by-be a good girl, and mind your aunt; and remember-no, no, don't remember-forget your wretched mother!" "But to-morrow you'll be sure to come, mother?" "To-morrow yes, to-morrow-good-by till then," and throwing her arms wildly about her child, she gave her a long, last kiss, and then, directing Jane towards the house, she turned away herself, and hastened along the road to London. The next day she was expected at her sister's house, and when she came not, was eagerly inquired for; but after she parted with her daughter, no one had seen her; and what became of her it is needless to inquire. Jane was saved, and passed a life of innocence and peace with her good aunt. She often said, in after life, that she thought the memory of her infant home, and of the wild flowers she used to gather in the Fairley Meadows, had preserved her from absolute corruption. She lived in the midst of vice and dirt; nothing met her eyes but what was sordid and wretched; but she knew there were beautiful objects in the world; she never saw a flower-pot in a window, that she did not remember the home of her childhood, and feel a vague desire that she might some day behold it again. We have many blessings to be thankful for," said David Cairns one evening to his wife, as they sat cogitating on past events, "and not the least is being able to afford an asylum to our unfortunate niece, who has had a warning to be careful which she will not easily forget. Oh! but if young people could reflect for a moment on the misery they are likely to incur, not only for themselves, but their children, by rushing headlong into marriage without almost a shilling they could call their own. As for Richard and your sister, what else could they expect than what actually took place? They married with next to nothing. Richard might have saved money whilst he was single, or waited to marry till he had; but when he took his wife home, I know that their furniture was not all paid for; and then, when they had good wages and good health, they lived up to whatever he earned. Did they suppose the course of the world was to be altered for them, and that they were to be exempt from the ups and downs that every workman meets with? The minister teaches us that we must not live as if there were no future beyond this world; but it would be a good thing if he would sometimes remind us that there is a future in this world too; and that if we don't make a provision for it, we have little chance of being happy, and almost as little of being virtuous; for destitution is a sad corrupter, and I believe both Richard and Helen meant well, and might have done well too, if they could only have remembered that the sun does not shine every day in the year, and that as rain follows fair weather, so does evil fortune succeed to good." ENGLISH AND FOREIGN INNS.. A CORRESPONDENT of the Spectator newspaper makes a serious complaint respecting the charges usually made at inns in England. "On Monday last (he says) my niece and myself travelled to Portsmouth to embark the next day in a west of England steamer. We arrived about six in the evening, and put up at the inn where the coach stopped. We intimated our wish to take something in the shape of dinner, which we could have directly we were told a joint was then ready; and it was shortly put before us, with a pair of soles. Both of us being invalids, we made our dinner principally off the fish, and scarcely touched the joint; tea followed; and breakfast on the ensuing morning; the latter, with the addition of a not faultless egg (and of course put aside), and a modicum of some rusty bacon. We left the inn soon after nine, having been under the roof some fifteen hours, two-thirds of which were spent in our bed-rooms, and consequently we could not have given much trouble. Our inn bill amounted to L.1, 11s. "They don't live there now, then," said he, "for that's where mother lives, and I never heard her speak of them."the items are as follow:In short, he knew nobody of the name of Cairns, except farmer Cairns, that he worked for; he lived in the new house hard by. Hereupon a labourer came past, and was applied to for information. "If it's Mr Cairns you want," said he, looking hard at the two women," you haven't far to go. That's his house, and he's one of the overseers of the poor, if that's what you're looking for." "But the person I mean was a carpenter," said Helen. "Well, it's the same," answered the man. "David Cairns, that married Jane Thomson. He was a carpenter once, but he's a farmer now, and an overseer; and that's his house;" and therewith the man passed on. "Is Mrs Cairns alive ?" asked Helen, with a trembling voice. "Ay, to be sure she is," answered the lad she had first addressed. "Alive and life-like, and so's young master and missus." Helen said no more, but seating herself on a stone, she gave way to her reflections-to her reflections? ay, and to her tears. Here was a bitter contrast-" Young master and missus!" She looked at her poor girl that stood beside her, and she thought of her boy in a jail, and of Richard, her husband, the love of her youth, dead; dead Dinners, Teas, Candles, beds, &c., L.0 10 0 036 076 050 0 1 6 016 010 010 L.1 11 0 Now for the contrast. I select one of my bills last autumn, when my niece and myself visited Dieppe and Boulogne ; the bills of the Belgian innkeepers are rather less : s. d. But I think I hear some of your readers exclaim, look at the quality of the articles supplied? Truly this ought to be done. I will put aside the questionable egg, and admit that the soles and beef were faultless. So much for my English landlord. Now for the French or Belgian innkeeper's bill of fare for dinner : Course 1st, Excellent soup. Course 2d, Two or three different kinds of fish. Finale, an excellent dessert, worth all the money. It is, of course, not possible for a continental innkeeper to furnish such a dinner as I have described for such a trifling sum to one or two customers. Truth, therefore, compels me to avow that my niece and myself, to enjoy the good cheer, were compelled to sit down at the same table with some twelve or fifteen ladies and gentlemen, all our equals, if not superiors in life-many of them foreigners, but the majority were English. You will pity our sad fate at not being enabled to dine in solitary dignity; yet, strange to say, we tolerated the society of each other so exceedingly well, that even the ladies lingered with us until it was time to dress for the soirée, or "danse" -the admission to which is one franc less to a family, and less still if you subscribe for a week." till; and it flows all day without any check from his con- The process now extends. A piece of waste land hes The transaction is now spread to every corner of the globe where men can give a commission for cotton. Ca a sudden a letter arrives to say, that a merchant in Australia has failed, or a storekeeper in Massachusetts has run away, or a shop of finery in Calcutta has been burned to the ground. The manufacturer is sensitive all round the terrestrial sphere; he has tentacula like the lobster in perpetual motion and perpetual sensibility. With the failure of his returns he is ruined. His mortgagees seize his manufactory; his workmen are flung loose on the world; and mischief and misery close the scene. But the discovery is soon made that the banker, too, is worth nothing. The creditors seize house, equipage, and land; the peasantry "run for gold;" and all is beggary and despair. Yet what is all this but the exemplification of the common maxim, that "out of nothing nothing can come." ADVENTURE AT CHAUD FONTAINE. George Thomson, Esq., Kensington (formerly Sir Charles Forbes, of Edinglassie, Bart., Marquis of Tavistock, Sir Robert Adair, Bart., G. C. B., John Wilson, Esq., 41, Regent Square,. Collected by Mr Wilson, B W. Procter, Esq., Thomas Tegg, Esq., 500 5 0 0 1 00 100 14 0 6 100 100 200 100 100 100 17 0 0 330 10 0 0 500 100 050 110 110 110 110 1 1 0 1 1 + 110 23 12 0 All will agree with the writer of the foregoing observations, that the charges usually made at hotels in this country are monstrous, and quite unsuitable to How annoying to be travelling in a country and ignothe improved and cheap modes of locomotion by rail- rant of its language; how amusing to witness two beings, ways and steam-boats. From our own recollections, in other respects well-informed, well-educated, making we should say that the expense incurred at a good forced grimaces to understand each other, without being continental inn is little more than what would require able to guess at their mutual wants and wishes! During to be disbursed for servants at a hotel in England. stopped a couple of days at Chaud Fontaine, near Liege, a flying visit to Belgium, Mr T—— and his lovely wife On one occasion, not long ago, for the simple accomso pleasantly situated in the valley of the Vesdre, and remodation of tea, a night's lodging, and breakfast, in a sembling in several of its most agreeable features our hotel near Charing Cross, we were charged, for two Matlock, though upon a smaller scale. They took up their persons, L.1, 103. 6d.-the actual value of the articles quarters at the Hotel des Bains. On retiring for the night, consumed being perhaps half-a-crown; out of the the gentleman either fancying he was not at sleeping guinea and a half, the servants had 78. 6d. We find pitch, or else not feeling himself all right, resolved to line it everywhere customary to charge from 3s. to 4s. for his night-cap with a stiff glass of grog, and rang the bell dinner, no matter although the meal consists of only for that purpose; up came the attic nymph. Que veut, "Oh, ah; why, bring me a glass of brandy a morsel of steak, or any similarly unexpensive trifle. Monsieur?" There is, in short, no kind of moderation in the ordi- and water." "Qu'est ce, que c'est, Monsieur? Je ne parle nary routine of inn charges in England; the whole pas Anglais." "Why, Frank," said his wife, laughing, "where is the use of talking English to the girl? she seems to be little better than a system of plunder; and doesn't understand a word of it; she's staring at you in like all other invasions on property, it doubtless reacts amazement." "Well," quoth the husband, "I believe upon itself, and prevents thousands from travelling you; but what the deuce am I to do? What a bore, not who would otherwise do so. That innkeepers, with to be able to make one's self understood; I'm determined the heavy burdens of rents and taxes which they must to learn French as soon as I return home. Come, Bessy, sustain, could lower their charges to what are custom- my dear, you speak it better than I do; pray tell her ary on the continent, is not to be expected. But, what I want, and bid her look sharp." "So I will, but short of this, they might greatly reduce their exactions, cannot for the life of me call to mind what is the word and much to their own advantage. If they do not, for brandy; let me see. Oh, Mamsell, portez one glass they may rest assured that new kinds of accommoda- d'eau" (pointing to a glass, and the water on the dressingtion will spring up to meet the exigencies of the times. table)."Oui, oui, Madame, une verre d'eau." "Yes, Claud Alexander, Esq., Ballochmyle, We should recommend, for example, that in all large oui; et un petty poor de chose dans it." "Une verre d'eau, seats of population, where there are railway termini, et quelque chose dedans!" exclaimed the puzzled abigail, inns should be attempted on the continental plan-aseemed to break in upon her—“Ah, que je suis bete! je apparently at her wit's end, when all at once a light house with from 150 to 200 bedrooms, each neatly but comprends a cette heure, c'est une vielleuse qu'on veut: je anexpensively furnished; a large saloon, in which all vais la chercher a l'instant," and out of the chamber she the meals are spread, at one or separate tables, and the darted. "Now, Frank, what do you think of that?" said charges to be arranged on the modern and now well Mrs. T-, quite delighted with her profound knowledge understood principle of small profits on an extensive and of the French; don't you think I speak the language nimble trade. Capital, seeking for an outlet, might exceedingly well!" "Indeed you do, my love; I am fall on less advantageous investments than an esta- astonished when and where you picked it all up." "Oh, blishment of this nature. don't be surprised at that; I have a natural talent for languages; and if I were to stay here a month, I should parley as well as the natives. But here comes the girl with your grog; don't let her come in; take it from her bid, took the glass, dismissed the maid with an approving at the door." Accordingly the husband did as he was nod, turned to his better half, who was just considering Remitted by a committee, composed of the following "Here is my love to you Bessy." "Thank you, Frank; how two people were to sleep in such a narrow bedbut pray leave a drop at the bottom." But oh, horrible! instead of a stiff glass of grog, it was a night light, for so the girl had understood the order. Poor Frank had nearly Being, in all, rather more than three hundred and thirty pounds. swallowed the whole, when he was stopped by the floating wick, and a most violent feeling of disgust. How screams of laughter, which she could not repress, in spite shall I describe his loathing and his rage, or his wife's of every effort, at her husband's ridiculous blunder? The poor fellow is now reconciled to the nasty joke, which, he says, was the fruit of his wife having a natural talent for learning languages.-Times. "There is one circumstance which has always preceded a season of distress, namely, a great issue of the paper circulation. Immediately before the panic of 1825, the Bank of England had lowered the rate of its discounts, and every other bank in the country probably followed its example. The country was thus flooded with imaginary wealth, and in six months after it was overwhelmed with almost universal bankruptcy. The facility of borrowing always creates rashness of speculation, and speculation founded on paper always ends in bankruptcy. Men borrow at will, and depend on chance for the power to pay. They use lightly what has lightly come; and the most trivial touch breaks the bubble. This accounts for all the panics; but our more gradual distresses come from the same source. By an anomaly of the most singular kind, the law of England, while it transports a man for coining a sixpence in metal, allows him to coin millions in paper; nay, a man without a sixpence may forge millions of pounds, and possess himself of all that millions can give, provided that he can get his paper into circulation. But who will take it? Thousands and tens of thousands. The process is the simplest thing in the world, and has been practised hundreds of times. A bank is opened in a country town; an equipage, a handsome house, a carriage, all easily supplied on London credit, give the new firm an air of opulence. The surrounding dealers, in their difficulties, are supplied with paper, and they thus become its circulators. The neighbouring manufacturers are assisted in their casual pressures; and they, too, thus become its circulators. An estate in the vicinity is to be sold, it is purchased by the firm, and paid for in its paper. All this adds to its credit with the people. The farmer, the butcher, and the baker, all find themselves paid better as the banker distributes his paper more widely. Thus Adam Smith's definition of prosperity, "high prices, and those advancing," is realised in the country. Every one is growing rich. The gold mine has been discovered in the banker's We propose to add not one word of comment to the above list: letter to Mrs Begg, which accompanied the contribution of our positively and negatively, it will speak for itself. We cannot refrain, however, from transferring to this place a passage of the noble little band of warm-hearted countrymen settled at Halifax, N.S." It cannot be otherwise than gratifying to you and your friends to learn, that the veneration felt for the memory of your departed brother has excited so general and warm a sympathy among Scotsmen, for the misfortunes with which you have been visited. These, under the decrees of a wise and benevolent Providence, fall often upon the good and the virtuous, and are sent for purposes which, as they cannot be comprehended, ought to be submitted to with patience and resignation. We have reason to believe that these have fallen upon you quite undeservedly. and it therefore gives us pleasure to lend our aid in alleviating them so far as the goods of fortune are concerned. Had your lamented brother lived longer to reap the fruits of his well-earned fame, his countrymen in this place would have been proud to repay the honours he has conferred upon them by some substantial mark of their favour. Such a return to him is now impossible; but they are glad to have the present opportunity of testifying their gratitude to his memory, and trusting that you may long live to enjoy contributions so frankly and voluntarily given, and the consciousness of being an object of public respect and sy uipathy. We are," &c. LONDON: Published, with permission of the proprietors, by W. S. ORR, Paternoster Row. Printed by Bradbury and Evans, Whitefriars. Complete sets of the Journal are always to be had from the publishers or their agents; also, any odd numbers to complete Persons requiring their volumes bound along with titlepages and contents, have only to give them into the hands of any 13 11 0 bookseller, with orders to that effect. sets. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE." &c. NUMBER 562. MERITS. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1842. IN Erasmus's Apothegms of the Ancients is the following anecdote :-"A Lacedemonian, seeing Diogenes the Cynic naked, in a vehement cold morning, grasping a brazen statue round, asked him, If he was not cold? Upon denying he was, 'Then,' said the Spartan, where is the great matter in it?" The Lacedemonian was right. If Diogenes did not feel the cold, he suffered nothing from his exposure, and he therefore could not fairly be considered as exercising that fortitude and disregard of earthly ills which it was a peculiarity of his sect to pretend to. The probability is, that Diogenes, although there might not be perfect sincerity in his answer to the Lacedemonian, had either inherited from nature, or acquired from long residence in his well-known doorless mansion, a certain robustness or physical hardiness which made him less sensible to cold than the generality of men. Modern physiologists find this explanation for several other notable cases of endurance. The North American Indian, for example, who shows such contempt for the tortures inflicted on him by his enemies at the stake, is now understood to be mainly indebted for his apparent power of endurance to a nervous system originally grosser than that of the Pale Faces, and since made still more dull by his barbarous course of life. When we wonder at the calmness of one of these sufferers, as Mrs Hunter does in her beautiful poem, "The Death Song of an Indian Chief," we at tribute to him an European constitution; we think how we ourselves should feel under such trying circumstances; and knowing that we should squall most piteously, we imagine Alknomook to be a hero because he bears all without allowing a groan or a whimper to escape him. But all this is a mistake. Alknomook probably does not feel one-tenth of what we should do, and-"Where, then, is the great matter in it?" It is precisely an analogous explanation which is given of the power of the Australian savages to bear heavy blows with a club upon the back of the head-to which, it seems, they submit by way of a trial of strength, and thus sustain, without injury, what would dash any Englishman's head to pieces. The Australian has simply a thicker and harder skull than the Englishman. When we consider these things, we are apt to challenge the philosophy of such moralisings as this of Byron "mute The camel bears the heaviest load, And the wolf dies in silence-not bestow'd Granted that the patient sufferings of animals are affecting to look upon, and may well suggest ideas of resignation and fortitude; but if, in point of fact, the creatures here specified lack the mechanism or media of suffering, or possess a nervous system greatly less sensible to suffering than ours, their endurance must, on a rigid investigation, appear only a natural fact, and not a moral example. A poet would, of course, not inquire too curiously, but there is something to be done in the world besides poetising. It is no very new remark, that merit is often claimed and often attributed where it is as little due as in the above instances. Men are every day seen, Diogenes-like, enduring, with an appearance of heroic fortitude, hardships and self-mortifications to which they are insensible. Possibly not a few saintly reputations have been built upon no better foundation than to voluntary exposures of this kind. There are skins less alive to the lash than others, and we can easily conceive of some pachydermatous St Francis, who could lay it well on with very little inconvenience to himself, while whole monasteries were looking on with admiration. Some stomachs, moreover, require much less food than others; and it is not impossible that some canonisations have been mainly owing to what Liebig might call an inferior oxygenability of constitution. There are instances of human beings, under some derangement of the system, living for weeks without food. How easy it would be for any such person to make himself out a paragon of the fasting virtue! Honest people, who have thick skins, or small powers of inhaling oxygen, make no fuss about the matter; but marvellers and cunning dogs look as big about it as possible, and leave odorous memories of many centuries' duration. We thoroughly believe that a great proportion of the cases of extraordinary negative virtue on record are explainable on this principle. The school of Diogenes, who affected a superiority to all the elegancies and amenities of life, were probably for the most part men who had no natural relish of or feeling for such things. Barbarians of the same kind are found in all civilised communities: there must have been such men in Greece also: there it was the fashion to make any peculiar notions the foundation of "a school." Hence, the haters of neat clothes and carpeted rooms, who, amongst us, are only regarded as detestable oddities, were exalted at Athens into the character of philosophers. There are also, in all countries, men of dogged imperturbable natures, who never cry out for any hurt or misfortune of their own, and are generally as remarkable for a want of feeling respecting the distresses and mishaps of their neighbours. Here, these men are generally shunned as disagreeable, or laughed at as odd: in Greece, they became the STOICAL SCHOOL, teaching that the perfection of virtue is to disregard all the evils of life! It is easy to trace a feature of natural character through various successive social appearances, modified only by the external pressure of the time. The Stoics reappear in the Anchorites of the fifth and sixth centuries. The tub of Diogenes becomes converted, in the middle ages, into an hermitage. Amongst us, many a worthy successor of that philosopher is known as the growling old gentleman, who lives by himself in the three pair of stairs back, and never allows a female to enter his door. In these negative merits, there is often a double deception. Not only is there an indifference to the particular indulgence, for exemption from which the praise is given, but it is amply compensated by indulgences of a different kind, probably less liable to notice or to condemnation. It is well, of course, to be superior to any indulgence of a nocuous character, whether it be so absolutely, or in the way of excess, or too frequent repetition; let it be fully understood that all honour is due to every successful contest with such inclinations. But the merit of freedom from any particular error is rendered, to say the least of it, equivocal, if a great latitude be taken elsewhere, so as to leave, upon the whole, not less indulgence of one kind and another. I received my first impressions on this subject a good many years ago, in the course of acquaintance with a young person of my own age, who at first seemed superior to every foible whatever, and passed with me, of course, as a paragon of self-denial; until one evening, meeting him at supper, I found him eating and drinking so enormously, and that without becoming in the least affected by it, even to the limited extent of an increased cheerfulness, that it was easy to see that aliment was a moral infirmity which in him had swallowed up or precluded all others. Thus, also, some who are remarkably abstemious in respect of PRICE 14d meat, are remarkably indulgent in respect of liquor; while others, who take little liquor, make up for it amply by additional dishes and extra helpings. Of the adherents of the tee-total cause itself, it is no scandal-it is only supposing the weakness of human nature-to say that some compensate for the banished crystal by the more frequent crockery. On this point we are tempted to introduce a very brief anecdote, which can do no harm to that good cause :-A distinguished advocate of the abstinence principle, who snuffed very largely, called one day upon a member of his own profession, with whom he was well acquainted, and who lived in a different town from himself, to press upon him the duty of his joining the society. He met a rather obdurate listener, but nevertheless persevered in his arguments for fully a quarter of an hour. At length, his friend said, "Why, now, it is very odd that, while you are preaching to me about the propriety of altogether abandoning liquor, you are every half minute taking a large pinch of snuff. Is there not as much of a bad indulgence in the one thing as the other?" The preacher was struck silent by the remark, the subject of which had never before occurred to his mind. But it is to be related, to his credit so far, that when he next called, about six months after, he had given up the use of snuff, thus proving his sincere anxiety to banish reprehensible indulgences in his own case. On this point, it may be not impertinently asked, if the gentleman "who never takes supper," and looks on while others do, with an air of affected superiority, really is entitled to take any credit to himself on this score, if he alone of all the company has dined late, or dined well. And to pass from a small thing to a great, it may be questioned if the well-off and comfortable are always quite right in their blame of the poor for certain indulgences notoriously attributed to them. Let us hear once again what Maggie Mucklebacket said on this subject to the Laird of Monkbarns, on his expressing a hope that the distilleries would never work again :-"Ay, ayit's easy for your honour and the like o' you gentle folks to say sae, that hae stouth and routh, and fire and fending, and meat and claith, and sit dry and canny by the fireside; but an ye wanted fire, and meat, and dry claise, and were deeing o' cauld, and had a sair heart into the bargain, which is warst ava, wi' just tippence in your pouch, wadna ye be glad to buy a dram wi't, to be eilding and claise, and a supper, and heart's ease into the bargain, till the morn's morning?" "Twere to be wished that the specified comforts were to be obtained otherwise than in this representative way, and Maggie's compeers should not be too ready to make use of this flattering apology, which certainly does not apply in that large proportion of instances where the dram has been the cause of that want of the fire, clothing, meat, and heart's ease, which it is also employed to supply. But there is not a little force in the views of the poly-petticoated philosopher, as far as the right of the comfortable to arrogate to themselves superior virtue is concerned, and considering simply the comfortable against the uncomfortable. A human being, in average conditions, requires a certain amount of comfort of some kind to make life pass tolerably. He may take it in various ways, but he must have it, or life becomes insupportable. Now, certainly, he who has all the comforts usually experienced in the houses of the middle and upper classes in this country, must be considered as independent of drams. Were he to take these besides, he would be a remarkable monster indeed. There is not the most distant shade of merit, circumstanced as he is, in abstaining from the vicious indulgences to which the comfortless are tempted. Here, however, lies the merit American Indians were a remnant of the children of In addition to the former blunder respecting the The Book of Mormon, which is nearly of the same extent as the Old Testament, contains, properly speaking, two distinct stories or histories. The history of the Nephites, a portion of the tribe of Joseph, supposed to have emigrated from Jerusalem under a prophet named Nephi, and to have been miraculously led to America, occupies the first part of the work. The Nephites founded, says the story, the Indian race. Many years after their settlement, they are also stated to have discovered the records of the Jaredites, an extinct nation which came to America about the time of the building of Babel. The revelations of various prophets to these Jaredites and Nephites, and direct divine communications respecting "my servant Joseph Smith," the apostle of the present day, compose the staple matter of the Book of Mormon. of the more comfortable classes, and would that it Need I say how true merit is to be distinguished from all these false kinds? by actual good designs and good doings, by genuine self-denying and self-devotion for good ends, and all under the prompting of a principle which does not limit its views to this nether sphere. MORMONISM. THE sect of the Mormonites, or Latter-Day Saints, has of late years become familiar by these names in Great Britain. They derive their first and standing appellation from a work called the Book of Mormon, assumed by them to be the fruit of inspiration and revelation, and taken as the text-book and Bible of the sect. The Book of Mormon, published two or three times in North America, and once in Britain in 1841, had the following origin : true one. A second Nephi takes up the history at a period contemporary with the events recorded in the New Testament. It avers that our Lord exhibited himself to the Nephites after his resurrection, and the words attributed to him bear still more conclusive evidence of the ignorance of the impostors : Behold I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I created the heavens and the earth, and all things that in them are.' And again, I am the light and the life of the world. I am Álpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.' It might be deemed superfluous to say so much on this subject, were it not that the Mormon delusion has spread widely in North America, and even in Great Britain. Joseph Smith and his colleagues settled in 1831 on the Missouri, whence they were soon after expelled on account of their lawless conduct. They then went to Illinois, and founded a town or city, called Nauvoo, near the Mississippi, said now to contain 1700 able-bodied men, exclusive of women and children. To this place too many emigrants are directing their course even from Great Britain. What sort of people they will find in the persons of the prophet and his associates, appears very clearly from a little work by Mr Caswall, who visited the city of the Mormons in the present year (1842). The following is his picture of Joseph Smith: "I met Joseph Smith at a short distance from his dwelling, and was introduced to him. I had the honour of an interview with him who is a prophet, a seer, a merchant, a 'revelator,' a president, an elder, an editor, and the general of the 'Nauvoo legion.' He is a coarse plebeian person in aspect, and his countenance exhibits a curious mixture of the knave and the clown. His hands are large and fat, and on one of his fingers he wears a massive gold ring, upon which I saw an inscription. His dress was of coarse country manufacture, and his white hat was enveloped by a piece of black crape as a sign of mourning for his deceased brother, Don Carlos Smith, the late editor of the Times and Seasons.' His age is about thirty-five. I had not an opportunity of observing his eyes, as he appears deficient in that open straightforward look which characterises an honest man. He led the way to his house, accompanied by a host of elders, bishops, preachers, and common Mormons. On entering the house, chairs were provided for the prophet and myself, while the curious and gaping crowd remained standing. I handed a book to the prophet, and begged him to explain its contents. He asked me if I had any idea of its meaning. I replied, that I believed it to be a Greek Psalter, but that I should like to hear his opinion. No,' he said; it ain't Greek at all, except, perhaps, a few words. What ain't Greek is Egyptian, and what ain't Egyptian is Greek. This book is very valuable. It is a dictionary of Egyptian hieroglyphics." Pointing to the capital letters at the commencement of each verse, he said, 'Them figures is Egyptian hieroglyphics, and them which follows is the interpretation of the hieroglyphics, written in the reformed Egyptian. Them characters is like the letters that was engraved on the golden plates.' Upon this the Mormons around began to congratulate me on the information I was receiving. There,' they said, 'we told you so we told you that our prophet would give you satisfaction. None but our prophet can explain these mysteries.'" The error of taking a Greek Psalter for a specimen of Egyptian hieroglyphics, sufficiently proves the slender pretensions of Mr Joseph Smith to be a mystery-expounder. |