tutions. The Christian philanthropist confesses the same truth, but would assign the office of redressing the wrong to that principle which "vaunteth not itself, seeketh not its own-is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly." Thus it is, Convulsion and Ruin are the Socialist's reformers. The true philanthropist evokes the aid of Christianity.

One sketch from this little gem of a story, we cannot refrain from offering to the reader:

"Two young women inhabited one small room of about ten feet by eight, in the upper story of a set of houses somewhere near Mary-le-bon-street. These houses appear

to have been once intended for rather substantial persons, but have gradually sunk into lodging-houses for the very poor. The premises look upon an old grave-yard; a dreary prospect enough, but perhaps preferable to a close street, and are filled with decent but very poor people. Every room appears to serve a whole family, and few of the rooms are much larger than the one I have described.

"It was now half-past twelve o'clock, and still the miserable dip tallow candle burned in a dilapidated tin candlestick. The wind whistled with that peculiar wintry sound which betokens that snow is falling; it was very, very cold,-the fire was out, and the girl who sat plying her needle by the hearth, which was still a little warmer than the rest of the room, had wrapped up her feet in an old worn-out piece of flannel, and had an old black silk wadded cloak thrown over her to keep her from being almost perished. The room was scantily furnished, and bore an air of extreme poverty, amounting almost to absolute destitution. One by one the little articles of property possessed by its inmates had disappeared to supply the calls of urgent want. An old four-post bedstead, with curtains of worn-out serge, stood in one corner; one mattress, with two small, thin pillows, and a bolster that was almost flat; three old blankets, cotton sheets of the coarsest description upon it; three rushbottomed chairs, an old claw-table, a very ancient, dilapidated chest of drawers,— -at the top of which were a few battered bandboxes, a miserable bit of carpet before the fire-place; a wooden box for coals; a little low tin fender, a poker, or rather half a poker; a shovel and tongs, much the worse for wear, and a very few kitchen utensils, was all the furniture in the room. What there was, however, was kept clean; the floor was clean, the yellow paint was clean; and, I forgot to say, there was a washingtub set aside in one corner.

"The wind blew shrill, and shook the window, and the snow was heard beating

against the panes; the clock went another quarter, but still the indefatigable toiler sewed Now and then she lifted up her head, as a sigh came from that corner of the room where the bed stood, and some one might be heard turning and tossing uneasily upon the mattress, then she returned to her occupation, and plied her needle with increased assiduity.

"The work woman was a girl of from eighteen to twenty, rather below the middle size, and of a face and form little adapted to figure in a story. One whose life, in all probability, would never be diversified by those romantic adventures which real life in general reserves to the beautiful and highly-gifted. Her features were rather homely, her hair of a light brown, without golden threads through it, her hands and arms rough and red with cold and labour; her dress ordinary to a degree, her clothes being of the cheapest materials, but then, these clothes were so neat, so carefully mended where they had given way; the hair was so smooth, and so closely and neatly drawn round the face; and the face itself had such a sweet expression, that all the defects of line and colour were redeemed to the lover of expression, rather than beauty.

"She did not look patient, she did not look resigned; she could not look cheerful exactly. She looked earnest, composed, busy, and exceedingly kind. She had not, would seem, thought enough of self in the midst of her privations, to require the exercise of the virtues of patience and resignation; she was so occupied with the sufferings of others that she never seemed to think of her own.

She was naturally of the most cheerful, hopeful temper in the world-those people without selfishness usually are. And, though sorrow had a little lowered the tone of her spirits to composure, and work and disappointment had faded the bright colours of hope; still hope was not entirely gone, nor cheerfulness exhausted. But the predominant expression of every word and look, and tone, and gesture, was kindness,-inexhaustible kindness.

"I said she lifted up her head from time time to time, as a sigh proceeded from the bed, and its suffering inhabitant tossed and tossed and at last she broke silence and said, Poor Myra, can't you get to sleep?'

"It is so fearfully cold,' was the reply; 'and when will you have done and come to bed ?'

"One quarter of an hour more, and I shall have finished it. Poor Myra, you are so nervous, you never can get to sleep till all is shut up-but have patience, dear, one little quarter of an hour, and then I will throw my clothes over your feet, and I hope you will be a little warmer.'

"A sigh was all the answer; and then the true heroine, for she was extremely beautiful, or rather had been, poor thing, for she was too wan and wasted to be beautiful now,-lifted

up her head, from which fell a profusion of the fairest hair in the world, and leaning her head upon her arm, watched in a sort of impatient patience, the progress of the indefatigable needle-woman.

One o'clock striking, and you hav'ut done yet, Lettice? how slowly you do get

on.'

"I cannot work fast and neatly too, dear Myra. I cannot get through as some do I wish I could. But my hands are not so delicate and nimble as yours, such swelled clumsy things,' she said, laughing a little, as she looked at them-swelled, indeed, and all mottled over with the cold! 'I cannot get over the ground nimbly and well at the same time. You are a fine race-horse, I am a poor little drudging pony, but I will make as much haste as I possibly can.'

"Myra once more uttered an impatient fretful sigh, and sank down again, saying, 'My feet are so dreadfully cold!'

"Take this bit of flannel, then, and let me wrap them up.'

"Nay, but you will want it.'

"Oh, I have only five minutes more to stay, and I can wrap the carpet round my feet.'

"And she laid down her work and went to the bed, and wrapped her sister's delicate, but now icy feet, in the flannel; and then she sat down; and at last the task was finished. And oh, how glad she was to creep to that mattress, and to lay her aching limbs down upon it! Hard it might be, and wretched the pillows, and scanty the covering, but little felt she such inconveniences. She fell asleep almost immediately, whilst her sister still tossed and murmured. Presently Lettice, for Lettice it was, awakened a little and said, 'What is it, love? Poor, poor Myra! Oh, that you could but sleep as I do.'

"And then she drew her own little pillow from under her head, and put it under her sister's, and tried to make her comfortable; and she partly succeeded, and at last the poor, delicate, suffering creature fell asleep, and then Lettice slumbered like a baby."

It has been purely accidental that the works mentioned in this article have all been the production of female genius, two of them, we believe, of writers from whom our own country can derive honour. How such works may minister to the best interests of society and of man, it is scarcely necessary for us to speak

"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased-
Plack from the memory a rooted sorrow-
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And, with some sweet oblivious antidote,
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
That weighs upon the heart."

But there are ministrations not named in the Pharmacopoeia, which can do more than the physician in Macbeth dreamed of. There are anodynes which can affect even the body through the mind. How deeply momentous it is that they be carefully prepared and administered! How richly are they rewarded, and, in some instances, how grievously are they abused!

We account it among the happy characteristics of our age, that, in so many instances, periodical literature offers so many safe distractions for heavy hearts and troubled minds; and that, in no few instances, they who read only to be entertained, are acquiring, in their self-indulgence, valuable information. There are, it must be admitted, periodicals of a far different description, designed, as it might seem, to efface good impressions from the heart, to pamper vicious inclinations, and to undermine principle. Such are of the agencies in which a deceiving spirit makes his presence most mischievously manifest. Their omnigenous character, their cheapness, and their abundance. "their name is legion, for they are many"-impose a solemn and a peculiar duty on all who have the welfare of society at heart-the duty of protecting such of the millions of our people as they can influence, from the ravages of these locust visitations. The duty will be most effectually discharged by supplying what is good; but the supply should be accompanied by an exposure of the disguises under which the concoctors of intellectual poison endeavour to screen their malignity from public opprobrium. It would be well worth the devotion of good men's lives to watch over reading-clubs or book societies, where the working classes form the great staple of the members. It is among the great advantages of our time, that wholesome aliment for the mind can be had in such abundance, and of so agreeable a quality, that the vile productions of what has been called the "Satanic School" would soon fall into contemptuous neglect, and return in the form of unsaleable stock "to plague the inventors," if even moderate pains were taken to bring really useful literature within the reach of the people, or rather, for it is

under their observation.