better of it, Jessie Phillips; this must be some fit of low spirits, I am sure. It is quite impossible we can listen to your request. I am certain that the Board will not permit your coming in here to live in idleness when you are so perfectly well able to maintain yourself.

"I have been able to maintain myself and my mother too, sir," replied Jessie, "and I did it with good-will and thankfulness,-but now my health is gone; I have not a shilling in the world, and I must perish if I am refused a shelter here."

"This is very strange," said Mr Rimmington, turning to Mr. Dalton, who sat next to him; "you known this girl perfectly well, Mr. Dalton, as well as myself, and I am sure you must think with me that she is no object for parochial relief,"

66

Assuredly I am very greatly surprised at her asking for it," returned the squire; nevertheless I think, from all I hear of her, that if she says she is in want, we may believe her." "Why surely you must have property, Jessie Phillips?" resumed Mr. Rimmington."Your mother rented a cottage of Mr. Baxter, I think, but the furniture was hers, was is not? And if so, it must now be yours, I suppose."

"Yes, sir," replied Jessie; "and but for that I should be sadly in debt; but there are three shops where we owed money that have agreed to take what there is between them in the way of payment."

"How long, then, have you been unable to work, my poor girl? You certainly look greatly out of health," said the kind-hearted rector, his manner becoming more gentle as he remarked the melancholy contraction of her youthful brow. This question, simple as it was, seemed to shake her firmness more than any thing which had preceded it, but again she roused herself, and was about to answer, when the worthy Mr. Dalton, in the most friendly accents possible, said to her, "How long is it, Jessie, since you went cowslip-picking with my young ones?"

When the squire had first spoken in reply to Mr. Rimmington's appeal, Jessie began, for the first time since she had entered the room, to tremble from the fear that her courage might fail; she had, however, carefully avoided looking at him, and told herself, again and again, that his being there, and having the power of repeating to his family all that passed, was a reason, ten thousand times stronger than any other, for her shewing no sign of weakness; but now, that he had directly addressed her, now that he had asked her a question which, in that moment of agony, seemed to convey an intimation to her guilty heart that he knew all the crisis of her fate appeared to be arrived: she turned her large lustreless eyes upon him as if about to reply, but in the next moment the eyes closed, and the unhappy girl fell prostrate upon the floor.

MANY paupers might have fainted, perhaps, before the presence of a board of guardians without creating so great a sensation as that produced by the fall of Jessie Phillips. In speculating upon human nature, there is no need to make it out to be worse than it really is; and there is, methinks, some disposition to do this when we attribute such a feeling as was produced among the majority of the persons present, by the sudden illness of poor Jessie, to such an influence from her beauty, as a good man might blush to feel. There unquestionably is a tenderness of pity excited in most hearts, whether old or young, male or female, by the sight of youth and beauty in a state of suffering that is more likely to have had its origin in the providential mercy of Heaven than in the corrupt sinfulness of earth, and the eager manner in which almost every one present rose up, and hastened towards the spot where she lay, did them honour. Those nearest to her, however, did what was at once most likely to restore tranquillity, to the honourable Board, and animation to the seemingly lifeless object of their care. Jessie was speedily carried out of the room, and laid upon a bed, with earnest injunctions from the venerable chairman himself to the bustling Mrs. Dempster that she should be treated with all possible care and kindness. This fainting, though the terrible moment which

preceded it brought a pang like that of death to the bosom of Jessie, spared her all further trouble as to the matter of her immediate admission to the workhouse. Being still perfectly unable to rise from the bed on which she had been laid, she was, when the Board separated, left under the care of Dempster and his wife, as a matter of course, with orders that she should be kindly treated, and that medical attendance should be afforded her, if she appear ed to require it.

This order was subsequently confirmed, after due inquiry had been made respecting the disposition of the few articles of furniture which her mother had possessed. These inquiries left no doubt as to the correctness of the facts which Jessie had stated, and her deathlike swoon, together with her excessive paleness, being received in proof of failing health, all opposition to her admission to the house, at least for the present, was withdrawn, and the pride of the village" established as the most desolate, though least complaining inmate of the union workhouse.

The scenes which followed the slow recovery of her senses were terrible enough, in many ways, but they did not come upon her unex pectedly; and, though the sort of stern tranquil lity into which she had forced her spirits could not be considered as the result of a perfectly

natural and seasonable state of mind, it nevertheless gave her strength of some sort, and enabled her to maintain such an aspect of uncomplaining resignation, as saved her from much of the sharp, scolding discipline which Mrs. Dempster thought it beneficial to adopt with most of the new inmates committed to her charge.

But there was one initiatory process which nothing could enable her to escape, and which probably nothing could have enabled her to endure so perfectly without a murmur or a sigh, but the idea so strongly fixed upon her mind, that the more she suffered the nearer should she be to having expiated her fault, and consequently the nearer to such a state as might justify Miss Maxwell in again extending to her the inestimable blessing of her personal kindness. This most painful initiatory process was the having her own garments taken away, and the strictly regulated dress of the Union given her in their stead. In thepain produced by this, there was no mixture whatever of wounded vanity; nay, even when told that her luxuriant chesnut tresses must be cut off, the loss of so much beauty produced not a single pang. No, it was not vanity that was wounded, it was a deeper, a better, and a holier feeling. It was the degradation which she shared in common with the felon inmates of a gaol, that caused her spirits to sink, and almost die within her. An involuntary, but irrepressible sentiment of indignation swelled her heart as she thought how many miserable human beings were exposed to this degradation, who were guiltless of any crime, save poverty. "For me, for me," she inwardly exclaimed, "it comes in the shape of punishment, and it is welcome. But, alas! for the honest pride of those who are innocent! Why must the worn-out labourer, who has toiled till nature denies him strength to toil again, why must he wear the hateful livery of crime, and close his eyes with no greater symptoms of sympathy, or respect around him, than are bestowed on a convicted thief?"

It is scarcely necessary to say that poor Jessie's secret speedily became known to Mrs. Dempster, and afterwards, with as little delay as possible, to every one of her companions. Had these companions been all of the same decent, sober class as the poor neighbours with whom she had been accustomed to associate, dreadful as would have been her feelings under this inevitable disclosure, she would have endured them, as she did the wretched diet, the crowded chamber, and the comfortless bed, as a necessary part of her awarded punishment. But among the recklessly mingled beings with whom she was now associated there were many grossly vicious, and the gibes and jestings which she had to endure from these produced a species of torture that she would willingly have died to escape. By degrees, however, the novelty of the sport she thus afforded this "worser part" of the miserable community wore off, and she was suffered to sit amidst the oldest and most infirm of the helpless beings whom hunger had driven to mingle together in that dismal prison, with little interruption from the levity of the more profligate part of them. This was

so great a relief that even the sour, moody melancholy of those poor old women appeared precious to her as a protection, and more than one among them declared it was "a blessed Godsend to have one in their company who was not worn too low with sorrow and suffering to have any patience or pity left in her heart."

Dismal and dreary, oh! frightfully dismal and dreary was the daily routine of that last refuge of helplessness and want; and, notwithstanding her resolute patience, poor Jessie in truth felt it more keenly than her companions, though they bemoaned themselves without ceasing, and she never uttered a complaint. But the poor girl had loved all the sights and sounds of nature with more of fervour and devotedness than the generality of her companions, and the change she had made, therefore, was greatly more severe. No one, perhaps, sympathised with her so sincerely in her longings for fresh air and green fields as Silly Sally. There may be a luxury in idiotism (as we are told there is in madness) which none but idiots know, and the vivid enjoyment of the blessings which nature freely bestows upon all living things may form a part of it. "Poor Jessie Phillips!" said the idiot girl, on seeing the new comer standing before a window that looked out upon the high wall which surrounded the court; 66 poor Jessie Phillips! Her's thinking of her pretty honeysuckle that her saw every day, and all day long, afore her comed here. Ask missus for leave to take a run with Sally. Do, Jessie, will y'?" Jessie shook her head. "Her won't?" said the girl, with a loud laugh. "Then her's a worse fool than Sally. See else! Look at me, Jessie! I'll bring thee a nosegay, see if I don't!" and so saying, she strode away, and stationed herself in waiting at the outer door till it should chance to be opened; for, if Sally was not of sufficient importance to be restrained from wandering here, there, and every where, like the birds, who were her especial darlings, neither was she worthy, in the estimation of the magisterial Richard, of having a door opened expressly for her use and benefit. Let the weather, however, be what it would, Sally might daily be seen, as soon as her breakfast of gruel was swallowed, standing bolt upright, her hands behind her, her back supported by the wall, at the distance of a few inches from the doorpost, and her roving eye watching eagerly for the approach of the hand that was to set her at liberty. The full possession of the profoundest wisdom could not have taught the poor natural to catch the opportunity more skilfully when it arrived, for she would slip sideways through the very least available aperture, and bound away across the common beyond with the frolicsome enjoyment of a Newfoundland puppy, before the sober eyes of those who looked after her from within were fully aware

that she was gone.

"And isn't it sin and wickedness, now," said a woman, addressing Jessie, while watching this envied escapade on tiptoe from a small square window, the lower half of which was protected from the too-captivating view without by wooden blinds, sloping outwards, "isn't it sin and

wickedness, young woman, to see a poor natural like that set up above us all, as if she was a queen, and we was her slaves? Think what I'd give for such a run as she'll be after getting through the fields?"

The woman who said this was still in the prime of life, but having entirely lost the use of both her arms by a tremendous scald, and being unmarried, without either father or mother to help her, she was one of the few who not only entered the workhouse from absolute destitution, but who did it cheerfully and thankfully, well knowing its shelter must, in her case at least, be the greatest blessing she could hope for. But this cheerful spirit had been sorely tried during the three long years that she had been its inmate. Never, to do her justice, had she been heard to utter a murmur at the very scanty and most unsavoury nourishment which the rule of the house accorded. Never had she been known to remark that the garments which covered her were illsuited for comfort, either in heat or cold; never had she seemed conscious that her bed differed in nothing from the floor, save that it was less smooth and even; neither did the absence of all occupation suggest any idea of discontent, for Nanny Smith had no hands to work with, and had never been taught to read. But there was one privation which seemed to enter her very soul, the patient submission to which was beyond her philosophy, and the restless discontent that was its consequence preyed without ceasing upon the health both of her mind and body. She was perishing for want of air and exercise. The occupation of this unhappy creature, from the age of ten, or somewhat earlier, to that of thirtyseven, had been one of ceaseless out-of-door activity as servant-of-all-work in a small farm. Cows, pigs, and chickens, were her daily care; it was a sort of rest to her when she had crocks and pans to scour, and a hard day's washing was a chatty holyday. Sober, honest, cheerful, and industrious to perfection, her terrible misfortune brought her all the sympathy that poor folks, labouring for their living, could bestow. They could not maintain her, but they pitied, and they loved her; and cheerily did her good mistress point out, during the long suffering through which she nursed her, "that there was much to be thankful for still, for one so cheerful as Nanny, for her eyes, and her hearing, and her speech, were spared, and that would go far to keep her from being melancholy, though her poor hands were gone." But, alas! of what avail are eyes, hearing, and speech, to the inmate of a union workhouse? For several months after poor Nanny's admission to her living grave, her former mistress, and two or three other worthy souls who had known her through the whole of her innocent and hardworking life, perseveringly visited the door of the Union, beseeching admission to poor Nanny, whom they hoped to cheer by a little out-ofdoor news, or, at any rate, to comfort, by proving that she was not forgotten by them. But beyond the door they never penetrated, being uniformly told that it was contrary to the regulations laid down by the commissioners to permit any of the paupers to receive visitors.

"What was law for one was," as Mrs. Dempster incontrovertibly observed, “law for another: and a pretty life they should lead, if all the women in the house, good, bad, and indifferent, | or the men either, for that matter, were per mitted to see all the rag, tag, and bobtail idletons that come to look after them, and to spy and to speer about every thing that was going on in the house." When convinced that it was useless to attempt comforting the poor cripple by seeking to see her at the workhouse, her old master, a man of unimpeachable character in all ways, and, moreover, a regular ratepayer of above thirty years standing, waited upon the Board of Guardians to petition leave for Nanny | Smith, his old servant, to come out, once now and then, of a Sunday evening, to his house, in the hope that it might cheer her under her heavy affliction.

It would have done good to the hearts of the political economists and philosophical statesmen, who have of late worked themselves into such a fever of admiration at the national benefits arising from a central board, and the "uniform" administration of the law, which was its consequence, could they have witnessed the noble burst of indignation with which this pro posal of farmer Mitchell was met by Mr. Lewis and Mr. Huttonworth. The reasons given by these two gentlemen for their irate refusal of this request were different, but both of them in strict conformity with the principles promulgated at Somerset House. Mr. Lewis knit his brows as he looked fixedly in the startled farmer's face, and said, "The bill, my good man, the bill, which, Heaven be praised! is now become the law of the land, is point blank in opposition to your request; and this, I trust, will be sufficient to prevent such a decent, respectable person as you are, from ever expressing such a wish again."

Mr. Huttonworth exclaimed, with equal carnestness and considerably more violence. “A pretty pass we should be come to, old man, if we hadn't the power of sending you about your business in the style that your errand deserves. I know nothing about you, thank God! nor about your dear friend the pauper either, -the girl, I mean, that you are so anxious to befriend and befavour. But this I know, my old fellow, and it is quite time that you should begin to know it too, the country gentlemen of England, in their capacity of guardians of the poor don't come galloping seven miles across the country for the sake of giving leave and license for such unprincipled partiality in dis cipline as that which you have the face to pro pose. By Jove, if I give your dear friend leave to come and go, at pleasure I'll insist upon all the rest of the ragamuffins having the same. Uniformity is the keystone of the whole law; and I'd as soon forge, break open a house, or cut a man's throat, as give my vote for any such barefaced partiality.

But these by-gone details relative to poor Nanny are taking us from Jessie, whom it is our present business to attend to. In reply to the repining observation which the poor cripple had addressed to her, she said, soothingly, though with a heavy sigh,

"No, no! Poor Sally is not meant to be set

I

"Pity!" harshly exclaimed the once kindtempered woman; "she an object of pity? tell you, girl, shat you know not what you are talking about. You have not sat, and stood, and sat again, gazing on these horrid walls, for six-and-thirty dreadful months, and three hateful days over! You have got the look and the smell of the fields fresh in your mind as yet. Ay, and I'll be bound for it, you can still shut up your eyes for a minute, and fancy that you feel the cool soft grass under your feet. And maybe, if you try for it, you may call back like the pretty chirruping of the happy birds. I could do so for months and months; but I can't do it now! It's all gone, gone for ever! Oh what would I give for only one such walk in the fields as Silly Sally is let to have every day!" "Give! You give! You pauper you? I should jist like to know what it is you have got to give," croaked a sour-looking, little old woman, who was kneeling down upon the stone floor, in order to vary her position from sitting upon a bench about nine inches wide, and placed too high against the wall to admit easily of her touching the ground with her feet. "Will you be pleased to tell us what it is you have got

It was a bitter laugh, that rung round the bare walls, and sounded strangely hollow, as it repaid this witty sally; but the melancholy cripple replied, with more earnestness than anger, "I'd just offer'em half my life, if they'd let me walk for one hour of every day in the fields, for the other half."

"And you are a'cute woman for that," mumbled another haggard old soul, who was twisting her stiff fingers about by way of occupation. "A piece of your life is just the thing they'd like best. If we would but all die off a little faster, they'd be ready to do a'most anything to please

us.

Jessie shuddered. But Jessie had yet a good deal to learn before she fully comprehended the nature of a union workhouse. We must now, however, leave her for awhile, for the purpose of looking a little after the fortunes of one whose destiny was strongly blended with hers. When we return to her, we shall probably find that the excellent opportunity she will have enjoyed of obtaining this knowledge will not have been altogether thrown away; and the gentle reader, in his easy chair, shall be permitted to profit by her experience.

Ir chanced one morning that Ellen Dalton, having heard that her old friend Mrs. Buckhurst was indisposed, determined upon taking one of her rare solitary walks to her cottage, in order to inquire for her; but it chanced, also, that instead of achieving this immediately after breakfast, as she intended, a score of services, at the very least, were demanded of her by father, mother, and sisters, the performing which rendered it impossible to leave the house before luncheon was announced. This was exceedingly inconvenient, because it occasionally happened that persons visited Mrs. Buckhurst whom Ellen did not desire to meet; and as these persons were not in the habit of calling early it was highly advantageous to get her own visit over as soon as possible. But Ellen could not refuse her father, would not refuse her mother, and rarely refused her sisters, any thing; neither did she like to let the day pass without inquiring for the venerable invalid; so, trusting to chance, which she reasonably thought considerably in her favour, and intending to watch for certain indications which were likely to announce the arrival of those whom she wished to avoid, she ventured forth, and took her wonted path to the cottage. It was quite evident that no wheels had drawn up to the little gate since the early shower which had washed out all traces of the goings and comings of the day before, and Ellen, therefore, made her entrée boldly. But not only did she find the little parlour free from the presence of those she wished to avoid, but also without that of the dearly loved friend by whom she had hoped to be welcomed. Ellen's intimacy at the cottage, however, reached

even to the kitchen, and thither she now went to learn tidings of the old lady. There she found the minister plenipotentiary of the establishment busily engaged in the preparation of chickenbroth, who, the moment she saw the young lady, exclaimed, "Oh! bless you, Miss Ellen! I am glad to see you are come, for my poor missis have been looking out for you all day. I don't believe there is any body, except just the Duchess perhaps, that she loves as well as she does you, Miss Ellen."

"And how is she, Molly? and why is she not in the parlour?" demanded Miss Dalton. "Why, she is not right, Miss Ellen, nor have n't been for these three or four days. But now, thank God! she's getting a nice nap; but I could not make her lie down till I had promised that if you come I would keep you till she woke up."

"Most certainly I will not go till I have seen her," replied Ellen. "I shall find plenty of books in the parlour, and there I will stay till you call me.'

And to the parlour Ellen returned, and found, as she expected, plenty of books, but probably did not set about reading any one of them with as unbroken attention as she might have done, had not the name of "Pemberton" been inscribed on the title-page of nearly all. But nothing could be farther from Ellen Dalton's wishes or intentions than to spend her time there, or any where, in meditating on the name of Pemberton; she exerted herself, therefore, to break the spell, and succeeded so well, that she was already deeply engaged in following the noble but vain struggles of "Edwin the Fair," when