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subject, or to appear more resigned than he really was. His son Francis, a youth of promise, wished to be a carpenter, and had discovered a talent for that useful calling. His father, then much at his ease, had put him apprentice, at twelve years of age, to a substantial master-carpenter of the town. He was going on most satisfactorily, when he was seized with a contagious disease; his master was apprehensive for his family, and sent him to the hospital, where, after a time, he died. Bertha had this hospital upon her mind. She fancied that he had been badly attended, and she would have wept for him less bitterly if he had died in her arms. They had still left to them a daughter, of sixteen years of age, a pretty and good girl, who, doubtless, by marrying, would soon have restored to them a son, when a new misfortune reached them. Their house was struck by lightning, and entirely consumed, together with all the outbuildings, and all that they contained. It was after harvest, so that nothing was left them, not even their chief treasure; for their beloved daughter died of the terror of that dreadful night. The father and mother were long ill with grief; and were still longer in recovering their perfect health. To pay for their lodging, and for the expenses of their sickness, they borrowed money on their little stock in land. Having no longer any children, they did not restore their farm. They might still, with frugality, have found the means of subsistence; but the terrible seven-years' war came on, and they, like many others, were its victims. They were obliged to provide lodgings for soldiers, and, not having a house, it cost them much to do so. They were called upon for contributions, and their fields and meadows were mortgaged. They were obliged to pay heavy interest, and, failing, their small estate was taken from them, and sold for nothing.

They were thus at last reduced to the most abject poverty, and compelled to abandon the place of their birth, and to seek an asylum. Some neighbours joined, to raise them a little sum, with which they bought this solitary and almost uninhabitable cottage, at the end of a little village, ten leagues at least from that which they had left. Bertha spun from morning till night for the country people; and Marcellus, too old to work in the field, mended shoes by the side of his wife's wheel. The village called him the Old Cobbler of the Cottage, and never let him want for work. Both together, they gained enough to keep them from starving, but they had not yet been able to save anything for clothes. Their garments being worn to rags, they dared not go to church, and they dreaded the approach and rigours of winter. But winter was not yet come; the month of July had scarcely begun, and Marcellus read to his wife, that God feeds the young ravens, and clothes the lilies of the field.

As he finished the prayer, the congregation came out of church, and this was another melancholy moment for him. The groups gathered on the turf around the church, the young people gaily meeting each other, and their parents looking on with smiles; this picture of joy and paternal love, which represented to him a state of happiness lost beyond return, racked his bosom. The crowd dispersed, and he remained pensive at the window, absorbed in his recollections. Before the cottage was a green hillock, shaded with some fine nut-trees, under one of which a traveller was sitting to repose himself. A wallet on his back, a stick in his hand, and his shoes covered with dust, showed that he travelled on foot; but still he was well dressed, and had no appearance of poverty. After resting for some moments, he laid down his stick by his side, took his wallet from his back, and,

drawing out a piece of white bread, and some dried fruit, eat with good appetite this simple breakfast, in which Marcellus, who had not breakfasted at all, would willingly have shared. He also drew out a piece of fine new cloth, which was in his wallet, half spread it out, looked at it with apparent pleasure, and put it back again. Here was another object of envy to the poor, ragged, old man. After this, the stranger rose, took a good silver watch out of his pocket, threw a glance round the adjacent country, and proceeded on his journey.

This man had seemed to Marcellus so happy in the place where he sat, that the latter felt an inclination to go and repose himself under the same beautiful nut-tree. He thought, that perhaps an hour's sleep under its shade would make him forget his troubles and his hunger.

He went out, without saying anything to Bertha, who was employed in furnishing her wheel with flax, in readiness for the next day. He crossed the high-road, and ascended the little hill. He had not reached the nuttree, when he already discovered something white lying at its foot. It was a folded piece of paper. He took it up, and, finding it heavy, opened it. It contained, first, four double louis-d'ors, and, in the second fold, one of those large crosses which women hang round their necks, attached to which was a small gold chain. Even in his better days, Marcellus, perhaps, had never seen so much gold at once; but this at least is certain, that he had seen it but very seldom.

(To be continued.)

THE LATE HOUR SYSTEM.

A LECTURE DELIVERED AT THE ISLINGTON AND PENTONVILLE LITERARY INSTITUTE,

BY EDWIN LANKESTER, ESQ, M.D., F. L. S., &c.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,-Under any other circumstances than those which have brought me before you on the present occasion, I should have pleaded an excuse for not giving my lecture this evening. The fact is, I am labouring under indisposition; but it will at least, I hope, procure me your indulgence for any incompétence that may perhaps characterize my remarks. I shall, however, do my best in a cause so sacred-the cause of suffering humanity. When I was first asked to give this lecture, I did not hesitate, for I have always felt the warmest interest in the cause; and I entertain a hope that the testimony of a medical man may assist it. The object of the Metropolitan Drapers' Association is not to compel the Masters to close their shops early, but to impress the public with the fact, that it is the public who make the young men suffer. Whatever may be the amount of suffering inflicted upon the community from the long hours they are kept at their business, it is not those who are more immediately engaged in so keeping them who are the most guilty-but the public, who are constantly consuming the articles sold in these shops-it is they who must bear the burden of this responsibility. I think, therefore, that the Metropolitan Drapers' Association have done quite right in coming before the Public and saying it rests with you to emancipate us from our thraldom.

Now I am to suppose that you are somewhat ignorant of these evils, and I will endeavour to give you some account of the evils complained of. But I would just state this,

subject, or to appear more resigned than he really was. His son Francis, a youth of promise, wished to be a carpenter, and had discovered a talent for that useful calling. His father, then much at his case, had put him apprentice, at twelve years of age, to a substantial master-carpenter of the town. He was going on most satisfactorily, when he was seized with a contagious disease; his master was apprehensive for his family, and sent him to the hospital, where, after a time, he died. Bertha had this hospital upon her mind. She fancied that he had been badly attended, and she would have wept for him less bitterly if he had died in her arms. They had still left to them a daughter, of sixteen years of age, a pretty and good girl, who, doubtless, by marrying, would soon have restored to them a son, when a new misfortune reached them. Their house was struck by lightning, and entirely consumed, together with all the outbuildings, and all that they contained. It was after harvest, so that nothing was left them, not even their chief treasure; for their beloved daughter died of the terror of that dreadful night. The father and mother were long ill with grief; and were still longer in recovering their perfect health. To pay for their lodging, and for the expenses of their sickness, they borrowed money on their little stock in land. Having no longer any children, they did not restore their farm. They might still, with frugality, have found the means of subsistence; but the terrible seven-years' war came on, and they, like many others, were its victims. They were obliged to provide lodgings for soldiers, and, not having a house, it cost them much to do so. They were called upon for contributions, and their fields and meadows were mortgaged. They were obliged to pay heavy interest, and, failing, their small estate was taken from them, and sold for nothing.

They were thus at last reduced to the most abject poverty, and compelled to abandon the place of their birth, and to seek an asylum. Some neighbours joined, to raise them a little sum, with which they bought this solitary and almost uninhabitable cottage, at the end of a little village, ten leagues at least from that which they had left. Bertha spun from morning till night for the country people; and Marcellus, too old to work in the field, mended shoes by the side of his wife's wheel. The village called him the Old Cobbler of the Cottage, and never let him want for work. Both together, they gained enough to keep them from starving, but they had not yet been able to save anything for clothes. Their garments being worn to rags, they dared not go to church, and they dreaded the approach and rigours of winter. But winter was not yet come; the month of July had scarcely begun, and Marcellus read to his wife, that God feeds the young ravens, and clothes the lilies of the field.

As he finished the prayer, the congregation came out of church, and this was another melancholy moment for him. The groups gathered on the turf around the church, the young people gaily meeting each other, and their parents looking on with smiles; this picture of joy and paternal love, which represented to him a state of happiness lost beyond return, racked his bosom. The crowd dispersed, and he remained pensive at the window, absorbed in his recollections. Before the cottage was a green hillock, shaded with some fine nut-trees, under one of which a traveller was sitting to repose himself. A wallet on his back, a stick in his hand, and his shoes covered with dust, showed that he travelled on foot; but still he was well dressed, and had no appearance of poverty. After resting for some moments, he laid down his stick by his side, took his wallet from his back, and,

drawing out a piece of white bread, and some dried fruit, eat with good appetite this simple breakfast, in which Marcellus, who had not breakfasted at all, would willingly have shared. He also drew out a piece of fine new cloth, which was in his wallet, half spread it out, looked at it with apparent pleasure, and put it back again. Here was another object of envy to the poor, ragged, old man. After this, the stranger rose, took a good silver watch out of his pocket, threw a glance round the adjacent country, and proceeded on his journey.

This man had seemed to Marcellus so happy in the place where he sat, that the latter felt an inclination to go and repose himself under the same beautiful nut-tree. He thought, that perhaps an hour's sleep under its shade would make him forget his troubles and his hunger.

He went out, without saying anything to Bertha, who was employed in furnishing her wheel with flax, in readiness for the next day.

He crossed the high-road, and ascended the little hill. He had not reached the nuttree, when he already discovered something white lying at its foot. It was a folded piece of paper. He took it up, and, finding it heavy, opened it. It contained, first, four double louis-d'ors, and, in the second fold, one of those large crosses which women hang round their necks, attached to which was a small gold chain. Even in his better days, Marcellus, perhaps, had never seen so much gold at once; but this at least is certain, that he had seen it but very seldom.

(To be continued.)

THE LATE HOUR SYSTEM.

A LECTURE DELIVERED AT THE ISLINGTON AND PENTONVILLE LITERARY INSTITUTE,

BY EDWIN LANKESTER, ESQ, M.D., F. L. S., &c.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,-Under any other circumstances than those which have brought me before you on the present occasion, I should have pleaded an excuse for not giving my lecture this evening. The fact is, I am labouring under indisposition; but it will at least, I hope, procure me your indulgence for any incompétence that may perhaps characterize my remarks. I shall, however, do my best in a cause so sacred—the cause of suffering humanity. When I was first asked to give this lecture, I did not hesitate, for I have always felt the warmest interest in the cause; and I entertain a hope that the testimony of a medical man may assist it. The object of the Metropolitan Drapers' Association is not to compel the Masters to close their shops early, but to impress the public with the fact, that it is the public who make the young men suffer. Whatever may be the amount of suffering inflicted upon the community from the long hours they are kept at their business, it is not those who are more immediately engaged in so keeping them who are the most guilty-but the public, who are constantly consuming the articles sold in these shops—it is they who must bear the burden of this responsibility. I think, therefore, that the Metropolitan Drapers' Association have done quite right in coming before the Public and saying it rests with you to emancipate us from our thraldom.

Now I am to suppose that you are somewhat ignorant of these evils, and I will endeavour to give you some account of the evils complained of. But I would just state this,

that the remarks which would apply to this class of the community are not confined to the Drapers alone, but extend in their application to Druggists, Grocers, and, indeed, all who are employed for a greater number of hours than is consistent with health. I will endeavour just to state, in as few words as possible, what these evils are, and perhaps I cannot do better than quote the words of the Rev. Baptist W. Noel, in his Preface to the Prize Essay on Late Hours of Business, by Thomas Davies. He says here, that, with regard to the Drapers, they are generally "young men from sixteen years of age to twenty-five or thirty; are engaged in draper's shops daily about fifteen hours, of which fourteen hours and a half are actually employed in business. During this time they are not permitted to sit down, or to look into a book, but are standing or moving about from morning to night, generally in an atmosphere exhausted by respiration, and in rooms ill-ventilated. When night arrives, gas-lights and closed doors complete the deterioration of the air, till at length it becomes almost pestiferous. Meanwhile, their meals must be swallowed hastily, like the mouthful of water which impatient travellers afford to a smoking post-horse in the middle of a long stage. No exercise is allowed in the open sunshine, their only relaxation being to take a walk in the streets about ten o'clock at night, when the sober and virtuous part of the community have retired to their dwellings, or to smoke and drink away the last hour of their evening at a tavern, or to form pleasure parties for the Sabbath. From the company of their friends-from all cultivated and virtuous society-they are, by their circumstances, excluded; all scientific institutions are closed against them by the lateness of their hours; they are too tired to read after their work, and, when they throw themselves upon their beds, it is too often to breathe in the close bed-rooms, where numbers are packed together, an air more pestilential than that which poisoned them during the day."

This I believe to be a correct epitome of the evils under which this class of young men labour. You will perceive that they are of great magnitude. There is first the number of hours they are engaged in business, which far exceeds what their health enables them to withstand. Then, in the next place, we have the closed rooms often most imperfectly ventilated, and which, indeed, do not permit of being ventilated, except in such a way as to produce the greater evil of a perpetual cold draught of air. In the third place, we find that these occupations are of various kinds, and such as of themselves to produce 3 vast amount of ill health. There are many classes occupied in sedentary pursuits, thus exhausting the system, from the exclusion of action. Other persons are constantly obliged to be doing the same thing, thus producing an activity in one portion of the frame, while the rest of the system is thrown into disuse. Others, again, are placed in constrained positions, thereby throwing an undue strain upon certain parts of the body thus called into action. I do not mean to say that these remarks apply to Drapers in particular; but they have to stand during a large number of hours, and their employment is exceedingly monotonous, and the injurious tendency of this monotony is greatly increased by the ill ventilation of the rooms.

Now another evil which I think the Drapers are more exposed to is, that of hastily partaking of their meals;—a habit which involves great deterioration of health. Then we come to the exercise of the mind; the mind gets wearied and exhausted by constantly superintending the same physical actions. That mind cannot be well developed that has its energy absorbed, or frittered away by attention to the maintenance of some trivial muscular exertion, or perhaps wearied by the incessant demand made by the whims and fancies of others.

This monotony is, perhaps, more obvious in factory labour than among shopkeepers. Again, we have in the case of these persons, an exclusion from society. Man, you know, is a social being, and the advancement of civilization is owing to this capability of man for society. But these individuals are almost excluded from social intercourse. The young

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