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The Right Hon. Lord Ashley, M.P... 9 9 0
The Rt. Hon. Viscount Sandon, M.P. 2 2 O
Charles Hindley, Esq., M.P...

5 5 0
Mr. Alderman and Sheriff Sidney .... 550
The Rev. Daniel Wilson, Islington ..
The Rev. Daniel Moore

0 10 @ David Boswell Reid, Esq., M.D. H. Pattison, Esq.

5 0 0 J. H. Curtis, Esq..

1 1 0 Messrs. Moyes and Barclay..

2 2 0 Mr. Flower, Liverpool

0 100 Messrs. Swan and Edgar

10 100 Messrs. Hitchcock and Co., St. Paul's Church Yard

10 100 Messrs. Harvey and Co., Lambeth .. 10 10 Messrs. Cooke and Gladstone..

5 50 Messrs. Bardwell and Co., Holborn .. 5 0 0 Messrs. Hopins and Co., Shoreditch.. 5 00 Messrs. Shoolbred and Cook, Tottenham Court Road...

10 10 Dessrs. Challacombe and Mayou, Knightsbridge

5 50 Messrs. Peters and Underwood, Sloane

Messrs. Baker and Dowden, Pimlico
Messrs. Hill and Mills, St. Martin's

Messrs. Bailey and Sweet (annual sub-

1 Messrs. Paine and Son, ditto Messrs. Swan and Edgar (2nd donation) 10 10 0 Messrs. Hitchcock and Co., ditto. ... 21 00 Messrs. Bardwell and Co., ditto...... 5 Messrs. Hill and Mills, ditto.

500 Messrs. Peters and Underwood, ditto 2 90 Messrs. Coppen and Frank, Islington 1 1 0 Messrs. Venables, Whitechapel.. 2 20 Mr. Lewis, Regent Street

10 10 0 Mr. Harvey, Knightsbridge

5 50 Mr. Redmayne, Bond Street

5 50 Ditto (annual subscription)

Mr. Owen, Great Coram Street.
Ditto (annual subscription), .
Mr. Crane, Commercial Road
Ditto (annual subscription)..
Mr. Parton, Pimlico
Mr. Edwards, Soho Square..
Mr. Tavener, Oxford Street
Mr. Hall, Bishopsgate Street.
Mr. Griffiths, Strand..
Mr. Pryce
Mr. Floute

1 0 0 Mr. Boyle, Farringdon Street.

1 0 0 Mr. Mansell Mr. Butler

0 0


efforts to get rid of it ? and this cannot be done more effectually than by generously contributing to the fund we are endeavouring to raise for its overthrow.



Central Board.

€. 8. d. Mr. Butcher, Chairman of the Association

1 1 0 Mr. Wright, Regent Street District.. 1 1 0 Mr. St. Clair, ditto

1 1 0 Mr. Foskey, ditto

1 10 Mr. Harding, ditto

1 1 0 Mr. Austin, ditto

1 1 0 Mr. Nicholson, ditto..

1 1 0 Mr. Robinson, City District

1 1 0 Mr. Cockett, ditto..

1 1 0 Mr. Fiveash, ditto..

0 10 6 Mr. Taylor, ditto

0 10 6 Mr. Ross, Strand District

1 1 0 Mr. Hornblow, ditto

0 Mr. Jones, ditto...

0 10 6 Mr. Lilwall, Chelsea District

1 0 0 Mr. Evans, Tottenham Court Road District....

0 10 6 Mr. Dixon, Islington District. ....... 0 10 0

District Committees.
Mr. Gray, Regent Street...
Mr. Underwood, ditto
Mr. Gribbell, ditto
Mr. Rice, ditto
Mr. Purday, ditto.
Mr. Hills, ditto
Mr. Merrishaw, ditto

1 1 0
1 1 0
1 1 0
0 10 6
0 10 6
0 10 6
0 10 6

The following Subscriptions have been re

ceived as Contributions towards the gene-
ral Funds ofthe Association:-

E. 8. d.
The Right Hon. Lord John Russell,

5 0 0
The Rt. Hon. Lord Robert Grosvenor,

10 10 0

Subscriptions received by Messrs. Prescott, Grote, and Co., 62, Threadneedle Street; Messrs. Glyn, Halifax, Mills, and Co., 67, Lombard Street ; Messrs. Barclay, Bevan, Tritton, and Co., 54, Lombard Street; Messrs. Aylott and Jones, 8. Paternoster Row; Mr. W.D, Owen, 44, Great Coram Street, Russell Square ; Mr. C. Mayhew, 19, Ebury Street, Pimlico; and by the Secretary, at the Offices of the Association, 355, Strand.

The Names of Subscribers will be published monthly in this magazine.


We have little to add to the information afforded in previous numbers of our journa! as to the state of the movement in the provinces. We have, however, received intelligence that the tradesmen of the following towns in Buckinghamshire have consented to close their establishments at eight o'clock every evening ; viz., Aylesbury, Brill, Thame, Tring, Winstead, and Wycombe.






If we remember aright-for we read through the Mysteries of Paris with such breathless interest that we left ourselves no time to consider fairly what we were reading at all-Madame George and Fleur de Marie visit a farmer's wife at a short distance from them, who has been perplexed in the utmost possible degree because a certain duchess writes from Paris to say that apartments must be prepared by an appointed day, and that they must be made as comfortable as possible. The good woman cannot for the life of her understand what is meant by the term comfortable—no dictionary of her native tongue can explain the mysterious word. Her daughter has been to a boardingschool, has learnt the usual accomplishments, can dance and sing; but, alas! her ignorance of the meaning of the term is not one whit less entire than that of her more rustic mother. In this dilemma, Madame George appears, and the difficulty is removed; the mountain becomes a mole-hill; and the formidable term is found to denote a state of things peculiarly congenial to the habits and feelings of the English in general, and of old English bachelors in particular. The clouds vanish at once, and the good woman is all sunshine and smiles.

Undoubtedly, comfort is a very respectable and desirable thing. Happy is the man who can feel it at all times within his reach! And we readily admit that, as a nation, we are by no means backward in the pursuit of so desirable a good. We understand every thing that conduces to its realization. We are grateful to those who come to us as the ministers and priests of this our favourite creed. A good cook, like a diamond, has always value in the market. M. Soyer, the renowned chief of the culinary department at the Reform Club, pockets, we believe, 8001. a year. Hood, in the dark days of his life, when, weakened

No. 10.

2 F


by the fierce struggle with the world and its wants, he became the prey of the spoiler death, had a pension of 2001. from government. Many a man, in whose breast genius was a presence and a power, has been suffered to pine and starve, as Chatterton and Savage did, before men said—may they be forgiven for saying it—the schoolmaster was abroad. But no one ever heard of a cook dying of starvation. The man who should be found hardy enough to hint merely the probability of so dire a catastrophe occurring would be held in the utmost abhor

The idea would be considered an insult to the majesty of the British nation. To believe it would be as absurd—we write advisedly

-as absurd as to pretend that a dead ass was ever revealed to mortal eye. One might as well believe at once, as Byron writes

"A woman or art epitaph." How is it, then, that this is the case—that so much is done for the body, and so little for the mind—that the teacher of sensual comforts has enough and to spare, while the teacher of spiritual realities, the enlightener and the regenerator of his brother-men, may perhaps, if he be very successful, contrive to scrape together as much salary as an ordinary clerk? We are not speaking now of wealthy fellows and of titled dignitaries, who, either achieving greatness or having had greatness thrust upon them, repose on beds of roses, but of the busy earnest men who, from the pulpit, or the press, or the schoolmaster's desk, proclaim the morality and the truth without which society would become a mass of corruption and death. How is it that they are overlooked, and that honour is paid to the soldier who gives up his moral responsibility, and agrees to do the devil's work upon condition that food and raiment be granted him—to mere wealth and rank-to what is accidental rather than to what is true and valuable in life? The truth is, our civilization is hardly worthy of the name. We may say; in the language of Scripture, We have not attained, neither are we already perfect. We have but just seen the dim grey

and we boast that we are basking in the sunshine of unclouded day. Talk of our civilization, the Late-Hour System, with a force of thunder, brands it as an imposture and a sham. We are a nation of shopkeepers; and if intellectual pursuits be denied to those of us who are engaged in trade, the consequence must be that the popular opinions must be those of men who know little else than the daily business of the shop, and as a consequence a curse will go forth to the remotest corners of the land. Bigotry, prejudice, falsehood, and passion will be rampant and rife; and truth and reason will be trampled under foot. Just as manhood is forming-just as the moral and intellectual parts of our nature are developing themselves—just as life becomes a reality, and glimpses of the work to be done, and of the blessedness of doing it, and of the dig.

of morn;


nity of the worker, catch and charm the youthful eye, the victim is compelled to stand behind the counter, and is threatened with beggary if he fails to remember that the pursuit of money, to the utter exclusion of aught higher and better, is the great aim for which life was given man. No wonder that such a system fearfully avenges

itself society—that the sensual and mechanical is exalted—that our national tastes and habits should be those of men who are strangers in a great degree to anything like principle and truth. Debarred from intellectual pursuits, what awaits our young men but frivolous and sensual excitements. Ignorant, with the failings of our common nature unnaturally roused and strengthened, with minds enfeebled from a lack of healthy exercise, our middle class—the class perhaps the most important in our land—stands by society in its falsehood, in its conventionalism, in its wrong; and we mourn and sigh over giant ills that we cannot grapple with effectually, because we go the wrong way to work,

In conclusion, then, we would say, lover of your kind and country be one with us! We believe in something else than the shop or the desk. We believe the mind to be as fully entitled to our care as the body; and we are inclined to imagine that the life which is to come should not be altogether forgotten in the life that is. We are doing a great work; we are publishing a mighty truth-a truth that will live and fructify when the great city in which we write shall have become a desert waste—the truth that man was made in the image of his Maker, and that the heart that beats within us is capable of divinity in common with Him who placed it there. We may have drawn in dark colours our national state; we believe it to be in accordance with truth, and to have been in a great manner caused by the sordid character of the influences and habits to which the masses of our fellow-countrymen have been subject. We write not to deprecate the land of our birth; it is one dear to us by every remembrance of the past, and every hope of the future. We are proud of our Saxon heroes; we rejoice in the nobility of our untitled and peasant-born great ones

“In our halls are hung
Armoury of th' invincible knights of old.
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakspeare spake—the faith and morals hold
That Milton held. In every thing we're sprung

Of earth's best blood-have titles manifold.” And because we thus cling to it do we deplore and expose what we deem to be wrong; and that our social state may be healthy, that our civilization may be complete, that our faith may be a living leavening power, do we ask the emancipation of the sons and daughters of trade and labour, that that long looked-for hour may quickly come.


In old libraries in old colleges one might occasionally meet with an oldfashioned quarto, bearing the somewhat alarming title of the Leviathan. Some few students have been known to read it all-most have been satisfied with a cursory perusal of the title-page and preface. Two respectable octavos—the one containing a translation of Aristotle's Rhetoric, and the other a translation of Thucydideshave been occasionally met with on the book-shelves of literary men, and by such means has the name of Hobbes been handed down to posterity. Some few years back, Sir William Molesworth began publishing a collected edition of his works; but the volumes that were published were so soon to be purchased at such an alarmingly-reduced price, that it seemed as if the works of the philosopher of Malmesbury were doomed to remain unhonoured and neglected in the dust and dirt of the bookseller's shop. But, as if to atone for past neglect, the Southwark election took place; and lo! there was not a coalheaver in Horseleydown, or a baker in Blackfriars-road, who was not conversant with the name of Hobbes, and who was not besought by the rival candidates to come to the poll and give his opinion on the English and Latin works of Hobbes in general, and the Leviathan in particular. It was proposed by one illustrious worthy, whose name unfortunately has escaped us, that a collected edition of his works should be placed in every committee-room, for the especial benefit of the voters. The usual electioneering topics were unanimously voted common-place and stale, and night after night the electors were regaled with lectures and harrangues of which Hobbes formed the unvaried theme. Nevertheless, we are inclined to think that to the many Hobbes is still but a name. Many a generation has arisen and walked this earth since, with the furrows of ninety-one years upon his head, Hobbes went down to his grave. But little is known of his opinions; we write for the information of those who have neither the inclination to study them at length. Those who would know more, we refer to the fountain-head. We give but a slight sketch, and intend, if possible, to be neither very philosophical nor very dull.

We begin with his style. His language is singularly appropriate, and so pure that no more than twelve words in his writings have become obsolete. Sheffield Duke of Buckingham describes it as

“ Clear as a beautiful transparent skin,

Which never hides the blood, yet holds it in;
Like a delicious stream it ever ran,

As smooth as woman, but as strong as man." But it is all passionless and calm; clear, cold abstraction; beautiful, but chilling and death-like. He goes on his way as a conqueror, laying down the law, never condescending to explain or modify; he propounds paradoxes the most startling with as much indifference as if every one believed them; he never hints the possibility of doubt, never seems to suspect that he is straining a point; he appears to consider all his propositions as clear as that one and one make two; he announces his well-known theory of laughter as if it were a mere every-day remark. Those who laugh do it from a feeling of superiority—“it is caused either by some sudden act of their own that pleaseth them, or by the apprehension of some deformed thing in

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