pressing temptation. When a capital crime is committed, it starts before us all at once in its full enormity; the inducement or the provocation appears totally inadequate to have urged its perpetration; and the guilty author, denounced as possessing nothing in common with his fellow men but the shape, is denied every access to their sympathies. But an abhorrence of depravity ought never to steel the heart with a determined animosity against the veriest wretch: we can estimate the amount of guilt, but not relatively. We cannot tell how the mind of him who suffers for his wickedness, may have been studiously perverted from his youth, or how the hard usage of the world seared his better feelings, clouded his understanding, and nourished the evil passions, from inconsiderable beginnings, into fearful energy. Because we are placed beyond the sphere of temptation, we are too apt to deem ourselves proof against its power; we cannot see why others should have yielded more than we. quently heard, "I am above act so basely for the world." haps; but to keep life and soul together to satisfy the hunger of those whose pangs it is more grievous to witness than to suffer in our own persons-who can tell what he would do in that emergency? Many citadels have the reputation of being impregnable, only because they were never assailed.

"Sir," is a boast not unfresuch a thing; I would not No, not for the world per

What is then to be done? Are we to look to the palliating circumstances alone, when a misdemeanour comes before us; or whenever a case of distress is presented, are we to be indiscriminately charitable? This is not what should be done to the full extent; but, at the same time, we should never forget that, in denying an importunate beggar, we perhaps furnish him with a justification in his own eyes for resorting to dishonest or violent means of procuring what he cannot obtain from the pity of his fellow-creatures: and, above all, we should never grudge their small gains to the exertions of ingenuity or labour, however humble. How can we tell but it is

the last effort the miserable objects before us have resolved to make, and that, if we close our hearts against their appeals, we are in fact thrusting them back among the ranks of the openly and hopelessly profligate! If we suppose that the poor creature who sold three-halfpence worth of goods in a day, realised by her bargains one hundred per cent., she must have cleared only the pittance of a halfpenny farthing; yet she was by this success encouraged to go on in her laudable endeavours to procure an honest livelihood.

Let us not, then, turn with a contemptuous sneer from the picture of human beings, however mean and poor, exerting their skill in honest though almost ineffectual labour. We have often thought there is a blessing on industry, even if exerted in the most trifling degree. How respectable it seems in comparison with idleness and pampered vice! Near the gateway of one of the public offices in Edinburgh, there sits every day, during both summer and winter, from an early hour in the morning till nightfall, a poor old woman, a widow, whose occupation is to sell fruits and small comfits to children, and by which she realises about the sum of threepence a-day. She also employs herself in knitting, but in this she is not regularly engaged, and altogether clears from one shilling and ninepence to two shillings a-week. With this humble weekly pittance she not only keeps herself from depending on the parish, but gives support, such as it is, to two children, left to her charge by the death of her husband, who was killed by the falling in of a quarry. Now, the lot of this very poor and humble widow would by many be reckoned deplorable, and in the last degree mean. Yet, how noble are her feeble efforts!—how noble are the efforts of all such unaided individuals!—and how much are these efforts calculated to produce happy reflections, in comparison with the exertions of the dissolute in squandering the means of others, or of that listless indolence which induces reliance for support on public charity! The poor industrious

widow is a respectable member of society, while the dissolute spendthrift and the competent pauper are equally objects of reproach.

The persevering efforts of poor women in gaining an honest subsistence by their industry, are nowhere so conspicuous as in Scotland, and that not only in the more unsophisticated parts of the country, but in the populous and refined cities. A class of individuals rendered destitute by family deprivation, and who would, if in the adjacent country, most likely rely on the parish—that is, depend on compulsory alms-for support, here project many little schemes for acquiring an honourable and in some measure independent subsistence; and how gratifying is it to state, that their endeavours are generally blessed!-blessed not only as regards their individual exertions, but as respects the welfare of the whole community. These will assuredly be esteemed pleasing characteristics of a people. Never, therefore, let us forget the utility of such admirable examples, or turn with affected contempt from the efforts of the humble and industrious poor. Much rather let us learn to sympathise in their fate, as beings fully as good but not so lucky as ourselves, and in the spectacle of enduring hope which they oftentimes present, be more and more impressed with the conviction, that Providence never refuses to yield protection and consolation to the afflicted, nor leaves, unassisted, the desolate to mourn.

TEA AND SUPPER.

"I hate your immense loads of meat: that's country all over. Something nice and a little will do."-GOLDSMITH'S Essays.

SUCH was the saying of the exquisite Beau Tibbs; and whether with or without a cautious regard to the scrankiness of his larder, whether from real taste or from economy, there was certainly much propriety in the remark. The more formal the party-the more immense the pre

paration-the more weighty the load of meat and vessels— just so much less chance is there of that light-hearted hilarity, that social and cordial union, which forms the charm of a miscellaneous party. From a conviction of this, but without any positive knowledge of what does constitute a pleasant meeting, many persons abjure dinner-parties, as liable to all the objections we lately stated against them, and seek for ease and felicity in invitations styled technically at homes, which implies tea and supper. No doubt such people are safer here. Tea and supper generally require candles, by which there is always more sociality than under the business-like thing called daylight. This is so much in favour of the hopes of the inviters. Then, tea and supper always implies the drawing-room in the first instance, where there is likely to be a little more ease than in the fixed parallelogram of sitters, which distinguishes the dining-room. This is so much more. Between tea and supper, moreover, there is more variety of conversation, more variety of amusement, and a greater chance of the various divisions of the company becoming coherent, and agreeable to each other, than in any part of the penitential solemnity styled a dinner. All these advantages, however, will be in a great measure lost, if a proper attention be not paid to the selection of the guests. A meeting of Blacks and Whites, and Slaters and Wrights, all in pairs, called together for the mere commercial purpose of clearing off so many debts, and unrelieved by any admixture of good talkers and good singers, would freeze the nectar, and poison the ambrosia of the immortal gods.

A dinner-party is generally gone into with one's eyes open; a tea and supper party is often a matter into which one is betrayed. Some day, your wife mentions to you, quite in what Mrs Pringle called an overly way, that she happened to meet her old friend Mrs Nicholson on the street that day, and, not having seen her for a good while, had asked her to come up next Friday night, bringing the Misses Nicholson along with her-just in an easy way.

This passes as a very simple matter, and there is no more thought about it for some time. However, meeting a friend or two of your own whom you have not seen for a long while, and recollecting that there is to be somebody with you next Friday at any rate, and that you will therefore be unable to attend to any business that evening, why, you ask your two friends to come too, as it will make little difference whether your guests be three in number or five : besides, as your wife sagely remarks, "these two young gentlemen will be company to the Misses Nicholson." That afternoon you are informed by Mrs B., that, recollecting a particular school acquaintance, whom she had not seen for many years, but who was now spending a few days in town with Mrs Armstrong, she had sent to invite her with the said Mrs Armstrong, and Mrs Armstrong's son and niece, for the same evening. The affair now begins to look serious, and you half think, with Bucklaw in the Bride of Lammermuir, that it will be as well just to make a night of it. Having ultimately resolved upon this course, you set your wits to recollect others whom it would be "as well" to invite on the present occasion, and "so," as Mrs B. remarks, "be done with all parties for the winter." "Since we are to have so many at any rate," says your truly wise helpmate, "it will be best to make up a good set when we're at it-for, in an evening affair, you know, a few more does not make much difference." There is then a hurry-skurry issue of notes to this one and that one, whom you were not at all thinking of inviting till this opportunity occurred, and who, good souls! would far rather stay at home than thus be dragged at the chariot-wheels of your conveniency. Some can come, and some cannot; and on summing up the acceptances, and finding that one or two more could still be taken in, why, in all probability nothing will please Mrs B. but she will call upon several formerly omitted individuals—the very newest, or the most forgotten of your acquaintanceand ask them in an easy way, "as it is now too late to