legislates for a speck of time, while he ought to be legislating for eternity, and that because he sees but the present, and does not connect it with the future: and this dividing the now from the hereafter is nothing less than severing man from his Maker. It amounts to no less than the blinding man to his own liability, whilst every moment of time is only increasing the responsibility which is to be discharged in eternity. Human legislation, however, makes enactments only for the present; and hence the miserable doctrine of expediency with which the ailments of the constitution are so pitifully temporized.

It seems to us, and we believe to most thinking men, that this panacea is at length worn out; that mollifications have lost their soothing potency; and that the nation on whose vast empire it has been so often proudly said that the sun never sets, has arrived at a political crisis that none of the measures of expediency can meet. The cry of hungry beggary rings through the land, that cry which our honest and right-minded forefathers never heard in the smiling fields and happy cities of England, but which has in our own day swelled into a wailing chorus. For a while it broke low and faint upon the ear, but was partially stifled by some measures of expediency: again it broke forth, strengthened into the lamentation of a multitude, and the humanity of the country sought to ameliorate by almsgiving the stern necessities of their afflicted fellow-subjects: but now, even this stage of temporized misery has gone, the resources of benevolence approach exhaustion, and the cry of starvation echoes through our own prosperous, hospitable, and once happy England. The evil has been gradually advancing: partial benevolence might postpone but could not avert it: and, in truth, the dolings out even of the most liberal charity have not been suited to the necessities of honest Englishmen. It is in some sense injury to give men alms who ask but for the interchange of fair remuneration for honest labour. If the legislature of a state degrade the honourable working classes into paupers, is it to be wondered if the mind as well as the body assimilate with the debasement, and still less is it matter of surprise that the canker misery, thus ever in the process of reproduction, should at least corrode the very vitality of the country?

If England, then, despite her vast dominion, her armaments, and her uncountable treasures, and her dominancy among nations, have at her core the rottenness of pauperism so fast consuming her strength that day by day something is sapped from her real stability, and that ere long her stately fabric will prove but a hollow and an empty shell, ready to crumble on the first rude touch into ruin and decay,—if we say this be so, high time indeed is it to look the enemy in the face, and take measures to stay the plague while yet it may be possible. But still there exists a blindness on the side of influence, an incredulity as to our actual condition, which must eventually check and deaden all salutary measures; and this it is that the work before us is so admirably and so eminently calculated to dispel and to remove.

"The Perils of the Nation" is a just and clear-sighted exposition of the condition of the country. The author has held the mirror to society, and stamped the reflected image. He is most especially the

Champion of the Poor, and we hold that to be an honoured title. He has investigated their condition with scrupulous attention, and assembled into this collective focus the strongest facts which bear upon the state of their various classes, carefully guarding against statements which might be deemed apocryphal, and for the most part resting on the official documents of the Parliamentary Commissions. The state of those employed in the manufactories, and of those still more oppressed and injured beings who labour in our coal mines, the vestiges of their humanity almost lost sight of in their assimilation to beasts of burden, putting to shame our boasted humanity for the swarthy race of Africa abroad in the deep-dyed infamy of our home inhumanity,these he has presented to us in the atrocity of simple fact. From these he has passed on to the condition of the commercial and agricultural poor, exemplified the prevailing principle of selfishness, investigated the necessity of salutary regulations, inquired into what he considers the popular errors of the day, searched into pauperism, speculated on education, advocated the necessity of the subdivision of parishes for more effectual pastoral care, spoken of the necessity of parliamentary interference, with numberless minor divisions of his subject. From these he passes to a solemn address to the ministers of the crown, founded on a recognition of their great responsibilities; to the bishops of the church, on the sacredness of their obligations; to the clergy, on the mighty importance of the due performance of their sacred functions; to the magistrates, on their not only being faithful in arbitration, but on using their influence in supporting and protecting truth and virtue : from these he proceeds to a consideration of the high qualities that ought to characterize the legal and the medical professions, and to mark the sphere of Christian usefulness open to their several members; and then adverting to the large sphere of female usefulness, concludes with some more general remarks upon a few of the many objectionable aspects of society. Of the following we can only say, can these things be!

"So far, the removable causes of fatal disease are external to the habitations of the poor: we must now look into their dwellings. These, of course, vary in different places, but generally they may be said to consist of tenements two or three stories high: the first, or keeping room, opening into the street, with a bedroom over it, and another above that. Sometimes the houses are double; and sometimes they rise to a greater height; but in most cases, where the nature of the soil will admit of it, they have a cellar, unconnected with the interior of the house, entered from the street by a flight of steps-which also affords the only mode of ingress for light and air-rented out, either by the landlord or the occupier of the dwelling, to some family, a grade lower in destitution. From this abode of misery there constantly arises a steam of exhalations-of coal and tobacco-smoke, the fumes of spirituous liquor, and every description of animal effluvia. Very rarely are these dens paved; the ground in its natural state is their floor; and soaking up innumerable liquids thrown upon it, sends them back in fœtid damps to saturate the bedding, hang upon the walls, and slowly struggle out at the narrow opening which, at night, necessarily incloses, as in a box, the heterogeneous contents of the cellar; including fever and asthma; consumption, measles and small pox; the lying-in woman and the drunken man, just as chance may order the assemblage for the night. These cellars are mostly always open to tem

porary lodgers, the price demanded varying from twopence a night to fourpence; and it is a common thing to find as many as twelve or fourteen human beings, generally strangers to each other, stowed in three or four wretched beds, or on trusses of straw; and not unfrequently a corpse among them. The rooms above certainly enjoy an advantage in point of ventilation, such as it is; but they receive, as well through the broken flooring as by the door and window, a full share of all that ascends from the subterranean apartment. The intense heat engendered by the crowding together of so many human beings, together with the process of cooking for them, as in summer it tends to produce the worst kind of fevers, so in winter it renders the abrupt transition of the half-clad lodgers, from such a temperature into the cold rain or biting frost of the streets, the prolific source of ague, of rheumatic affections, and consumption. Be it also remembered, that it is no matter of choice to the wayfaring man, whether he will take up his temporary abode in such pesthouses; or if there be an alternative, it lies between this and the open air, where he would be seized as a vagrant: for it is made penal to prefer the clear vault of heaven to the low ceiling of a crowded cellar. The poor wretch who has not the means of paying for better accommodation, must avail himself of this; and very often, amongst the most necessitous of all poor, the Irish, a shelter is gratuitously afforded to him who has not wherewith to pay. The penniless stranger, who would not be permitted to rest for a moment on the step of a rich man's door, is received by those whose daily bread depends on what they can get for their wretched accommodations, invited to share the scanty meal, and to repose, rentfree, in the corner that a more profitable tenant might otherwise occupy. Munificence like this is frequently practised, in the dreariest dens of misery and often does the poor traveller communicate to, or bear away from the hospitable cellar, the seeds of some contagious disease, to ravage many a home ere its deadly progress be stayed. We saw the Asiatic Cholera introduced into a healthy rural district, through the gratuitous harbouring, in a very humble cottage, by some of his own country-people, of a poor creature who had slept the preceding night in an infected cellar. He died in a few hours, and the neighbourhood lay for some weeks under the visitation, with great loss of life.

"Another constant generator of disease in the houses of the labouring poor is their bedding. Any thing better than a straw palliasse is rarely met with, and this is a luxury. Loose straw, damp, mouldy, decomposed and swarming with vermin, is the general substitute for a bed, with very rarely a blanket to hold it together; for blankets are convertible into money, and many wants more urgent than that of a warm covering at night press for its sacrifice. It has been ascertained that multitudes make the ground their bed, with nothing under them or over them except the clothing worn throughout the day, which is not laid aside at night. We are no levellers; we would guard with jealous care the distinction of ranks that God has evidently established: we would not take from the man of property his lands, tenements, or possessions of any kind; but we must say, that after dwelling for a while on this faint picture of realities that we have often contemplated in the centre of London, and in many towns and villages of the land, we regard as somewhat worse than mere wanton luxuries, the down beds, the damask hangings, the gilded cornices, the sparkling lustres, the costly services, and jewelled apparel of another class. The impartial eye of God looks down on both: at the same moment lie open before Him-the crowded saloon of the noble, the luxurious board of the wealthy citizen, the expensive elegancies of more retired life, and the loathsome dens where unchecked vice riots in all its grossness, unalleviated disease gnaws the gaunt frame of poverty, and starvation itself looks out from the straining eyeballs of those who, either on a happy or a horrible equality, must be throughout eternity the companions of their now unapproachable brethren. He sees it all!"

As we said at the commencement of our notice, all party feeling should be laid aside, and the author met on the broad basis of huma nity. We know that from neither hand will there rise a dissentient voice, when alleviation of misery and the succour of necessity are the objects proposed. Men may differ as to the means: they can never divide as to the end. We welcome this work, because it is a powerful seconder of the clamorous cry that something must be done: that a starving people may no longer be neglected: that undirected energies may-must-rush to evil: that force, unguided by mind, may do a tempest's work of fearful devastation: that now expediency, the much abused word, as well as justice and humanity, require vigorous measures; and that without them the throne of England itself may totter, shake-nay, fall.

For the sake of its pure piety, and its sound sense, we would gladly see this book in the hands of every influential person in England.

Aunt Martha; or, the Spinster.

Full of amiable feeling and domestic loveableness, this slight sketch of true worth in the character of a gentle, kind, and benevolent woman, is full of the force of honourable example. The author seems to us to have had a double motive in the delineation of "Aunt Martha" the first to mark the injustice of the vulgar prejudice against spinstership, and to show the state sometimes to be one of voluntary choice; and the second, to display how truly amiable and useful a woman in this position of life may prove, dispensing blessings to all around her, the solace of the old, the playmate of the young, the sympathiser with all ready to fulfil everybody's duties without leaving one of her own neglected. At once gentle and generous to the poor, and neither envious nor censorious against the rich in short, full of those charities and courtesies which elevate the character of woman beyond all praise, and entitle her to virtue's best payment— the hearts' affections of all who can estimate her worth. Such is Aunt Martha, a beautiful exemplar of goodness, truth, and piety; and though the lines which trace her character are meant but to form a sketch, yet it is one which we can all easily fill in with the thousand touching kindnesses which make up its harmony. Happy are the families who have an "Aunt Martha" in their bosom. How much of true happiness comes within her bestowal; how much of usefulness within her performance! The occasion of happiness in others, she is consequently happy herself; and after a life spent in acts of love and benevolence, she teaches, as life passes on, that great secret so difficult to learn, the art of growing old gracefully. The ties of the vanities of life tighten not upon her in age with their powerfully contracting ligaments, because in youth they held no hold upon her heart; and well may it be said of many and every Aunt Martha, that the morning of their youth being unclouded by the storms of passion, the sunset grows richer and gladder still, until their sun of life sets to rise again in brighter glory. We give the close of this little work as describing such a decline of virtuous existence.

"Only of Aunt Martha I mean to speak ;—she is now, indeed, in the winter of her age. Life to her has been, as it is to all mankind, a varied scene,-pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow, have mingled in her cup. For all the comforts and blessings in her lot, she has, by word and deed, showed her thankfulness. Adversity was met with resignation, and served but to bring forth those virtues which might otherwise not have been perceived. Truly may she be said to have followed Seed's advice; for her piety did not break out in sudden, short, interrupted flashes-but it shone on in one continued steady daylight. She had not just religion enough to make her uneasy, but enough to give her solid satisfaction, and a wellgrounded assurance of future happiness. She gave to religion all she could-her heart. She did not content herself with thinking how holy and charitable she would be if she had such a fortune, or were in such a situation; but she was never easy till she was as holy and charitable as it was possible for her to be, in the station in which she was placed. Silently went she on her way;—hers was not outward, but inward religion, running through her every action. Ostentation she condemned; and no one fully knows the good she has done. Softly and gently is she descending the vale of years; her cheerfulness is uninterrupted- she is still the cherished one of those of her own circle left to her,-the honoured "Aunt Martha" of her younger friends,-the kind considerate mistress of her humble dependents, the affectionate adviser of rich or poor, who need her advice. Yes! there she sits-the perfect picture of a contented, happy old age; her silver spectacles glistening by her hoary locks. Her eyes are still bright, and she can yet ply her needles;-her step is feeble, but still she can yet enjoy the sunshine of a summer's day, supported by those friendly hands who assist her with so much readiness; and around the winter fire she still gathers a circle, who delight to have a seat near her, to listen to Aunt Martha's tales of the olden time; to catch the approving smile, and treasure it as the heart's delight. Can we doubt her happiness, who has been the comforter of so many in this world of trial-who has cntered so fully into all their joys? All who have known, and do know, "Aunt Martha," must surely love "The Spinster."

Letters written during a Journey to Switzerland in the Autumn of 1841. By Mrs. ASHтon Yates.

In olden times writing a book and taking a journey were considered as Herculean exertions, either of the twain being deemed a most stupendous undertaking. The first of these labours seemed to have entitled its worker to a sort of wondering honour; the second was the incurring of such peril that making a will and bidding adieu to family and friends was a needful preparation for some hundred or so miles progress. Later days have, however, brought up newer fashions: a trip to Constantinople is but a bagatelle-and writing a book, instead of labour, is now nothing but play. Nay, so facile have ancient difficulties become in modern days, that a tour and a tome have become a very twinship of relationship, the one and the other being inseparably connected; and so far from seeing anything objectionable in this species of partnership, we rather find in it a large amount of profit to the world, for thus our information respecting the state of other countries, and our knowledge of the condition of society, is not only revived and renewed, but the progression of change, whether in decay or improve