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terested a friend; and I can most truly bear this testimony to his memory, that I never witnessed in any family more decorum, propriety, and regularity, than in his where I never saw a card, or even met (except in one instance) a person of his own profession at his table; of which Mrs Garrick, by her elegance of taste, her correctness of manners, and very original turn of humour, was the brightest ornament. All his pursuits were so decidedly intellectual, that it made the society and the conversation which was always to be found in his circle interesting and delightful.' In reference to the regularity of their household arrangements, she jocularly complains in another letter-Alas! I dare not lie in bed in a morning, for the Garricks are as much my conscience here as the doctor (a clerical friend) is at Bristol.' It is pleasing to find ground for the hope that to mere amiability and general excellence, Mrs Garrick (who died so recently as 1822, at the advanced age of 97) added those distinctive religious feelings which seem -a consideration which ought to weigh much in any discussion of the lawfulness of stage amusementsscarcely compatible with the profession of her husband. Mrs More's account of her behaviour about the time of the funeral is, in this view, highly interesting:-'She ran into my arms, and we both remained silent for some minutes. At last she whispered, 'I have this moment embraced his coffin, and you come next.' She soon recovered herself, and said, with great composure, 'The goodness of God to me is inexpressible. I desired to die, but it is his will that I should live; and he has convinced me he will not let my life be quite miserable; for he gives astonishing strength to my body and grace to my heart; neither do I deserve, but I am thankful for both.'' Traits, all of them, which may prepare us for the emphatic protestation of another friend-Never did I behold so happy a pair.'

Two faults have been laid to his charge. That he was vain and also somewhat addicted to envy there can be no doubt. He was never known to praise another actor. Adulation, when he himself was its object, was rarely too gross to be grateful. For fame and distinction, his appetite was insatiable. Mallet had but to hint that he had found a nook for him in his promised life of Marlborough, in order to introduce his Elvira on the boards of Drury; and notwithstanding the unlikelihood of any such notice, considering the period and the subject, the bait was swallowed, and the play accepted. This cupidity of praise often exposed him to mortifications. He was once exhibiting a very rich snuff-box he had had presented to him by a German Prince during one of his foreign excursions, as a mark of his Serene Highness's pleasure at witnessing a private performance of his. So,' said a cynical member of the company, you went about the Continent mouthing for snuff-boxes.' Dr Johnson turned to ridicule a line in one of his songs

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The second charge admits of question. That he was frugal, especially in early life, is certain; but that he was a niggard may very fairly be doubted. It is true that he was alleged by a celebrated wit to have been frightened from a generous action by the ghost of a halfpenny, and that he grumbled in Johnson's presence at the strength of the tea- Why, it is as red as blood.' And yet, if stingy by fits and starts in trifles, he must have been, on the whole, a generous man. Johnson, who would let no one find fault with Garrick but himself, gave frequent testimonies to his liberality. Garrick,' we quote from Boswell, was a very good man, the cheerfulest man of his age; a decent liver in a profession which is supposed to give indulgence to licentiousness; and a man who gave away freely money acquired by himself. He began the world with a great hunger for money; the son of a half-pay officer, bred in a family whose study was to make fourpence do as much as others made fourpencehalfpenny do. But when he had got money, he was very liberal. Sir, a liberal man. He has given away more money than any man in England. There may be a little vanity mixed; but he has shown that money is not his first object.' To his relations he was ever kind and considerate. The distressed he was always prompt to relieve. The poor at Hampton lost in him a constant benefactor. Numerous instances of his liberality are recorded by his biographers. It seems, for instance, that to rescue a friend from difficulties, he once made a proffer, with little prospect of repayment, of no less than £5000.

And yet, of the two defects, real or alleged, in Garrick's character, the great doctor would sometimes exaggerate the second, and now and then palliate the first. For example- What do you think of Garrick? He has refused me an order for the play for Miss Williams, because he knows that the house will be full, and that an order will be worth three shillings. On the other hand

-'It is wonderful how little Garrick assumes. Consider, sir, celebrated men such as you have mentioned have had their applause at a distance; but Garrick had it dashed in his face, sounded in his ears, and went home every night with the plaudits of a thousand in his cranium. If this, sir, had happened to me, I should have had a couple of fellows with long poles walking before me, to knock down every body that stood in the way.'

Of Garrick's conversational powers, often put forth in connexion with his turn for mimicry, the same authority declared- After all, I thought him less to be envied on the stage than at the head of a table.' The doctor was not, perhaps, aware that the talent for entertaining on which he passed this encomium, was occasionally exercised at his own expense. The author of the dictionary, it seems, had never got rid of certain provincialisms. On these Garrick would fasten; and squeezing a lemon into a punch-bowl, a la Johnson, mimicking, at the same time, his singularly uncouth manner, would demand of the company, Who's for poonsh?'

6

Mimicry, however, was but the unbending for an hour; Imitation, its more serious sister, was the study of his life. It is the business of an actor to be every body but himself. In all the rest of the fine arts, the artist and his work are distinct; but the player must be at once the imitator and the imitation. No one ever applied himself to his task better fitted for it than Garrick. There were combined in him the three great requisites for success-taste, talent, and enthusiasm. His person, though slight, was symmetrical; his voice was melodious and clear, his eye was lightning, and his face a lan

I'd smile with the simple, and feed with the poor. 'Poor David!' said the literary dictator; smile with the simple! what folly is that! and who would feed with the poor that can help it? No, no; let me smile with the wise, and feed with the rich.' This rough handling, when reported to Garrick, instead of being treated as a jest, gave him sensible annoyance.-On one occasion he played Richard the Third before the reigning monarch, whose opinion of the performance he was anxious to reach. It seems that, for George the Second, the personation of his predecessor had no peculiar charms. But when an obscure actor appeared as Lord Mayor of London, his Majesty seemed highly gratified:guage. His versatility and range were amazing. He 'Duke of Grafton,' said he, "I like that Lord Mayor; again, when the scene was over, 'Duke of Grafton, that is good Lord Mayor;' and once more, when Garrick was shouting, A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!' the sovereign expressed his desire for another sight of the civic functionary- Duke of Grafton, will that Lord Mayor come again ? On this occasion, it is presumed, his solicitude for the royal approbation would have its antidote in his contempt for the royal taste.

could do anything, and do everything well. In single parts he might be equalled, but in universality of power and excellence he was without a rival. Comedy and tragedy came alike to him. He was favoured alike by Thalia and Melpomene. He would melt his audience into tears in Lear, or make their blood run cold in Mac

The expression of one of Garrick's admirers, who was deaf and dumb!

beth; and in less than half an hour they would be convulsed with laughter at Abel Drugger, the tobacco-boy, Bayes in the Rehearsal, or the Lying Valet.

It was, however, in the depicting of the passions that his great strength lay. Discarding that bombastic rant and foolish gesticulation which had rendered the drama ridiculous, he adopted the tones and attitudes of real feeling; and by making himself simply a looking-glass to nature, earned a title to the applause of the satirist who lashed so unmercifully his predecessors and cotemporaries:

Hence to thy praises, Garrick, I agree;

And, pleased with nature, must be pleased with thee. One anecdote, in connexion with this excellence, is well worthy of preservation. A friend of Garrick's had let his only daughter, a child of two years old, fall from his arms at an open window, and the infant was killed on the spot. The unfortunate father went distracted, and the rest of his life was passed in imaginary repetitions of the tragical incident. He would daily repair to the same window, there seem occupied for a little in dandling his child, then appear to let it fall, and lastly give vent to

the most poignant agony. At this melancholy spectacle Garrick was often present. He would give such an affecting representation of it in private, that the company would be dissolved in tears. It furnished him with the hint for Lear, one of his grandest efforts. It was then,' he would say, when relating the story, that I learned to imitate madness. I copied nature; and to that I owed my success in Lear.'

Praises thus accorded by the mass were re-echoed by the gifted few; and the name of Garrick has found a place in the pages of the poet, the historian, and the moralist. Johnson averred that his death 'eclipsed the harmless gaiety of nations;' Smollett expressed his eagerness to 'do him justice in a work of truth, for the injury he had done him in a work of fiction,' and he kept his word; his genius and his virtues employed the elegant pen of Sheridan; and the tribute paid him in the verse of Churchill stamps him to posterity as the Shakspeare of

actors:

If manly sense, if nature linked with art,
If thorough knowledge of the human heart,
If powers of acting vast and unconfined,
If fewest faults with greatest beauties joined,
If strong expression and strange powers which lie
Within the magic circle of the eye,

If feelings which few hearts like his can know,
And which no face so well as his can show,
Deserve the preference-Garrick take the chair,
Nor quit it till thou place an equal there.

LECTURES ON THE ORDINARY AGENTS
OF LIFE.*

WE present our readers with a few extracts from this volume, in the belief that as it was published in the form of lectures addressed to the medical profession, it may have been seen by comparatively few of those who stand most in need of information on the subjects so ably treated by Mr Kilgour, and which all who feel an interest in the Garrick may be styled the reformer of the drama; he comfort and well-being of their fellow-creatures must recertainly accelerated the popularity of the prince of dra-joice to think are now beginning to attract that share of matists. He discountenanced at once offences against good taste in acting, and offences against good morals in plays. The histrionic art, till he appeared, was at a very low ebb in Britain. Here is the idea given in the Rosciad of the style of acting he laboured to supersede :

When, to enforce some very tender part,
The right hand sleeps by instinct on the heart,
The soul, of every other thought bereft,

Is only anxious where to place the left;

He sobs and pants to soothe his weeping spouse,
To soothe his weeping mother turns and bows:
Awkward, embarrassed, stiff, without the skill
Of moving gracefully or standing still,
One leg, as if suspicious of his brother,
Desirous seems to run away from t'other.

public attention which they so well deserve. Without venturing an opinion on points on which the most eminent medical authorities differ, we would recommend a perusal of Mr Kilgour's lectures, in the confidence that there will be found in them much valuable information on subjects of great importance to all classes.

Atmosphere. The necessity of a pure atmosphere for the preservation of health is readily admitted; but how few persons provide themselves with that which they acknowledge to be beneficial to them? The man who takes, on some special occasion, a walk into the open fields, feels an exhilaration of spirits, and a lightness and vigour of body as he inhales the pure ether. But he seems to think that a pure atmosphere is only to be obtained or enjoyed in the country, and that in his dwelling-house, or his workshop, the atmosphere within the walls is better than that without. How few ventilate their apartments, how few workmen seek to give exit to the vapours and odours, separated from the materials of their trade, provided that has to be done by sending a current of cold air through the workshop. There is nothing in nature but is undergoing a decomposition, nothing which is not giving off something to the atmosphere, or taking some of its constituents. It has been said that air, by stagnation, may corrupt itself, and become a subtile poison. It is more correct to say, that air cannot exist in any place without acting or being acted upon by that perishable matter which encloses it. The air of a room which has been long closely shut, has a smell which is well known. That air has been loaded with the decaying matter around it, and the more extensively that the air becomes deteriorated, the more rapidly does decomposition of all things around, or in it, advance. The foul air in an old well, or in a common sewer, does not arise in consequence of the stagnation of atmospheric air inducing decomposition of the particles by action upon each other; but in consequence of that air being decomposed by the chemical affinities of the bodies to which it is exposed. Habit has a very great effect in reconciling the constitution to a vitiated state of the air. The countryman soon feels the pernicious effect of the air

This wretched parody of nature Garrick had the good sense to avoid, and the power, in some degree, to put down. His taste raised the taste of the age; he made the stage respectable, and the player a gentleman. In the course of his public life, he realized the enormous fortune of £100,000. He was thus enabled to maintain a style of living, which, together with his pleasing talents, his superior intelligence, and his strict decorum, gained him admittance to the first circles in the nation. The great Lord Chatham courted his society, he lived on terms of intimacy with all the wits of his day, and the first nobility of England bore him to his grave. The popularity which he had enjoyed from the outset of his career continued unimpaired to the last. One summer he played at Dublin, an epidemic which then raged in the city received the nickname of the Garrick fever.' Pope said of him in the dawn of his fortunes- This young man will be spoiled, for he will have no competitor. For five-andthirty years, at a period when the stage was half men's business, Garrick was the lion of London-the prime minister of entertainment to the metropolis of the world. Clarion, herself the most brilliant actress in France, was so enraptured with his consummate performance, that in the presence of Mrs Garrick, to whom she afterwards apologized for the freedom, she caught him in her arms and kissed him. When he took his final leave of the stage, tears told still better, though they told in silence, the regard of the public for their favourite player, than the thunders of applause amidst which he withdrew; and sadness itself lent value to the triumph which was borne By ALEXANDER KILGOUR, M. D., Member of the Royal Colto him on the universal and enthusiastic farewell.'lege of Surgeons, London. Edinburgh: Adam & Charles Black.

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which appears to have little or no effect on the workman who has breathed it for years. There is a practical remark here of great importance. Children suffer from a vitiated air, in proportion to their youth. The great mortality amongst the children of the poor has been ascribed not so much to a deficiency of food as to a deficiency of pure air. Sir John Sinclair affirms that onehalf of the children born in London, die before two years of age, in consequence of the impurity of the air of that city. In the lying-in hospital of Dublin, the proportion was found still greater; for, in the space of four years, ending anno 1784, no less a number than 2944 infants, out of 7650, died within the first fortnight after their birth.' It was fortunately discovered that this melancholy circum stance arose from their not having a sufficient quantity of food air to breathe. The hospital, therefore, was completely ventilated, the consequence of which was that the proportion of deaths was reduced to 279. Hence there was reason to suppose that out of 2944 who had died in the space of four years before, no less a number than 2655 had peris' aed solely from want of a due supply of fresh air. Sudden alterations of Atmospheric Caloric and Moisture.-P.esides the effects of a cold or moist atmosphere, the most frequent and exciting cause of disease is the rapid change from the one to the other, and more particularly the change of temperature. The constitution is taken by surprise. It had accommodated itself to the season, the hat on the surface or in the internal parts was in accordance with the external temperature, and cold occurring unexpectedly sends the blood on the unprepared interna lviscera, producing congestion orinflammation; whilst unex pected external heat brings the blood to the unprepare I vessels of the surface. We have here, therefore, the cause of the colds and catarrhs of an early winter, and the cutaneous affections of an early spring. We obsen ve the fatality amongst those who pass rapidly from onelimate to another, and the comparative security of those who gradually bring themselves from the one to the ther. We all know the greater health of the British troops by being gradually carried from station to station, until they are eventually able to bear the hot and miasmal clim ate of the East Indies. The most injurious sudden chan ge is tha' from warm to cold. This cannot take place with out a deposit of moisture-the capacity of the air for water being lessened by the alteration of temperature. The worst state of the atmosphere, that of cold and moist, is then present. This change produces a contraction of the skin, with a feeling of pain in the part most exposed to the air. There is an irritation over the skin, and a gen eral shivering. This irritation is conveyed to those par is most predisposed to disease, and excites the diseased acti on in them. The gouty, the rheumatic, the phthisical, the asthmatical, always suffer from this change; and provided the change be sudden, it has the same effect, although the variation in the thermometer may not be great. A falling of 10 degrees at once will produce it. The change from cold to heat is not accompanied with such injurious ef fects, except in those cases where a very great cold has been previously applied. The effect, in more moderate cases, is merely to produce an expansion of the fluids. The uestion may be asked, have we any means of correcting he state of the atmosphere, or of preventing its injurious action upon the human body? We have both. We may correct the moisture, the dryness, caloric, and motion of the air, by draining or irrigation, by the extension of cultivation, and by the rearing or cutting down of trees or forests. Or we may defend ourselves against its influence by habitations, by artificial heat, by ventilation, by baths, by clothes, and by cleanliness.

Habitations.-Low-roofed rooms are worse ventilated, and much more unwholesome than high-roofed. Moderatesized rooms are much more equable in their temperature than very small or very large rooms, and do not require such an expenditure of fuel as either of the former. In some cases the size and height of rooms are carried too far, and they are thus rendered cold and cheerless for the inmates. The draught of cold air is always great in a

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large room; and many of our hospital wards are highly dangerous to the sick inmates from this circumstance. It would be very easy to ventilate wards, jails, school-rooms, and public rooms, with air raised to any required temperature. Square rooms are not so easily warmed as oval. Bed-rooms ought to be spacious, and well-aired daily. We are beginning to recover from that absurd plan of cramming our beds into small closets, in order that they might be out of sight, and out of the way. Architects and the public seemed to think, some few years ago, that the public rooms could not be too large, nor the bed-rooms too small, provided only a dressing-closet was attached. third part of the twenty-four hours at least we spend motionless, and exhaling the rankest and most fetid part of our cutaneous and pulmonary secretion, in a small and confined bed-room, in order that we may shiver and starve in large dining or drawing-rooms, during the rest of the day that we remain in the house! How often has the physician to regret the confined bed-room in which his patient is placed? Often it is impossible to ventilate it by raising the window, without risking the full draught of cold air on his patient. I have more than once seen the convalescent from fever cut off by pneumonia, from being exposed to the current of cold air, from a window raised a little in order to refresh him, or to ventilate the room. Alcove beds are improper, from retaining the foul air. The bed should stand in the middle of the room, and not in a corner, but yet not so as to be in the draught from door to window or chimney. Windows ought to be very large, so as to admit plenty of light. The relative position of doors to windows or fire-places ought to be well attended to, in order to secure a proper ventilation when no other special contrivance for ventilation has been made. Clothing. The influence of particular kinds of clothing in the removal of disease is by no means trifling; but the influence of clothing in the preservation of health is of the greatest magnitude. Yet there is no part of Hygiene in which there has been more error, from the raw and undigested opinions of theoretical men or careless observers. One of these errors it will be necessary to consider at some length, because of its most mischievous effects on the community. There has a maxim long prevailed, that the body should be reared in the most hardy manner, so as to be able to endure every vicissitude of weather; and the method followed to ensure this hardiness of the system, is to expose the body as much as possible to the action of the air, whatever may be its moisture or heat. We see the plants of the northern or cold climates strong and hardy; and why should not the human body get hardy in the same manner, by exposure to the atmosphere? Inure the body to it from infancy, they cry; and then they boldly appeal to the children of the poor, as the hardy human plants of the climate. Now, the matter comes to this: Is it better to have a very scanty population which is able to endure all the vicissitudes of weather, or to have a numerous and abundant population, which, by proper clothing, &c., can defend itself against the injurious effects of cold and moisture ? I do not deny but that, by gradual seasoning, the body will be brought to endure every change of season without injury; but how few are they who pass through the trial; and who, to provide for that which can be by other means obtained, would hazard the experiment? The example of the children of the poor is not a fair one. No doubt we see many hardy persons reared from amongst them, but then we forget how many deaths have taken place, which would not have been the case had they been kept warm. Mr Wilmot Horton stated in Parliament, session 1829, that one-half of the children of the poor of London die before twelve years of age; and Charles Dupin stated in the French Chamber, session 1829, that out of 73,000 foundlings, 30,000 died before twelve years of age. A late writer on the diseases of children says, It is a subject of very common observation, that children who have been inured to cold, and brought up hardily (as it is called) are the strongest in adult age, and this has induced many parents to expose their children thinly clad to all the severities of weather.

It is in part true, since children who survive the season-his ale, drank his ale, and always slept upon his ale; and ing are generally the strongest. The original strength of we know that the same honest innkeeper must have their constitution probably enabled them to bear it in the been intended to represent, in rotundity, one of his own first instance; and if they are able to encounter it in early ale puncheons; whilst his wife again, always wishing to life, they will in some measure lose the susceptibility of qualify the ale with a dram, was a poor thin sickly woman, being readily affected by changes of temperature after- that went to her grave after an Irish gentleman had prewards. But all medical men, who have had opportunities sented her with a dozen bottles of usquebah. The conof attending much to the diseases of children, must have stitution acquired by the constant use of fermented liquors, observed that those families in which children are least the beer-swiller's, is the worst possible to endure disease, exposed to cold in winter, are generally most healthy; worse even than that of the wine-bibber or whisky-tippler. whilst those who act on the erroneous principle of hard- The system will not stand depletion when the disease ening them, by the exposure of their tender bodies to is inflammatory, as it often is; and when of a cachetic severe weather, are scarcely ever free from disease of some character, there are no medicines that have much effect kind. Disorders which might otherwise have remained on the diseased chylopoietic viscera of the beer-drinker. dormant are thus brought into activity by this mode of Witness the effect of disease or injury on the London treating children, and many fall sacrifices to pulmonary brewery draymen. consumption and scrofulous complaints, in more advanced life, from this error alone, of being exposed in childhood to cold, with the intention of being made strong and hardy.' He then adds- The present fashion of clothing young children, founded upon the same erroneous notion of hardening them, is also very injurious to their health. Their arms and chests are entirely uncovered. They generally wear no stockings at all; and from the stomach downwards, they are almost in a state of nudity: A chubby child in this dress, in a drawing-room, is no doubt a pretty sight; and the guests tickle the mamma by patting the cheeks and bare necks of the sweet little masters and misses; but there cannot be a more infamous practice than that of sending young children out, with their arms, their necks and breasts, and their legs, exposed almost wholly to the influence of a cold and dry, or cold and moist day. Mamma will not budge without her shawl, and furs, and flannels; but as to a piece of flannel about any of the children, unless when they are really sick, she would as soon think of wrapping them in a Cachmere shawl, or a Siberian fur. When the children thus rearing on the hardy system are looked at on the street, their bodies are observed to be blue, from the congestion of the blood by the cold; and when they get within doors again, they rush pell mell to the fire, and heat themselves as rapidly as they can. If we look to the creatures of instinct, we find them exhibiting the law, that the younger the animal is, the warmer does it require to be kept. The feathered tribe line their nests with the warmest substances; they pluck the down from their own breasts to form the warmest bed; they bring forth their young only in the spring and the summer; the mother, by sitting upon them, furnishes them with a portion of caloric, which, by huddling together, they retain in the fine down that covers their bodies, whilst in her short absences she is seeking for their food; and she does not forsake them until they are clothed with a garment of feathers, until they have taken to themselves wings and fled away in the breath of the summer morning. And we have reason over the brutes, and what hath it availed us?

Fermented Liquors.-Ale and porter are prepared from the same grain, but differ in this, that the ale contains nothing but as much of the bitter of the hop as will serve to keep the infusion of malt from running into the acetous fermentation, whilst the porter, besides containing much more of this bitter, holds other substances in solution. Porter is, in fact, a composition known only to those initiated into the mysteries of the brewery. These liquors contain a quantity of sugar, gluten, mucilage, bitter extract, alcohol, and carbonic acid. They are stimulating in proportion to the quantity of alcohol they contain, and nourishing in proportion to the mucilage and sugar. The constitution acquired by the use of fermented liquors is, to all appearance, the same as that from the mucilaginous foods. The body is fat and plethoric, but at the same time not muscular, and by no means powerful or vigorous, except when under the immediate stimulus of a large quantity of the drink. The alcohol contained in it acts on the sensorium, and the beer-drinker is indolent, dull, or choleric-a dolt, or half a savage, whilst drunk. We all know Mr Boniface, who fed purely on

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Alcoholic Liquors.-The long-continued use of alcoholic liquors, including brandy, rum, gin, and whisky, produces weakness and emaciation, and leads to a numerous train of nervous affections in the first place, and ultimately to the most incurable disease of the chylopoietic viscera, attended generally by dropsy. The mind is not rendered dull and stupid like that of the drinker of beer: it is at first brightened intensely, and appears ultimately to have been consumed as it were by its own fire. The clog may be removed from the mental workings of the beer sot; but the intellect of the dram-drinker is not checked by want of exercise or by foreign impediments: the machinery has been shattered and knocked to pieces beyond the hope of repair. Emaciated in his frame, dropsical, diseased in his stomach and his liver, with a mind that has lost all that is dignified and majestic in his species, the tippler, in the prime of his years, crawls over the earth in the imbecility of premature old age-despised and shunned by old friends and acquaintances-without an affection for one living thing-without the least spark of shame or feeling-caring for nothing-valuing nothing but that glass which his now palsied hand will not allow him to carry full to his mouth, and for which he has bartered independence, fortune, fame, and even honesty.

We must, for the present, conclude our extracts from the work of Mr Kilgour; but so thoroughly do we feel convinced of the benefits to be derived by the community at large from a knowledge of its contents, that we may possibly recur to the volume on some future occasion. We would suggest to its enterprising publishers, that a cheap edition of the work, in an abridged form, and partially divested of its professional phraseology, would, at the present time, be most acceptable to the public.

REMOTE SYSTEMS OF STARS.

The elder Herschel, directing his wonderful tube towards the sides of our system, where stars are planted most rarely, and raising the powers of the instrument to the required pitch, was enabled, with awe-struck mind, to see suspended in the vast empyrean, astral systems, or as he called them, firmaments, resembling our own. Like light cloudlets to a certain power of the telescope, they resolved themselves, under a greater power, into stars, though these generally seemed no larger than the finest particles of diamond dust. The general forms of these systems are various; but one at least has been detected as bearing a striking resemblance to the supposed form of our own. The distances are also various, as proved by the different degrees of telescopic power necessary to bring them into view. The farthest observed by the astronomer were estimated by him as thirty-five thousand times more remote than Sirius, supposing its distance to be about twenty thousand millions of miles. It would thus appear, that not only does gravitation keep our earth in its place in our solar system, and the solar system in its place in our astral system, but it also may be presumed to have the duty of preserving a local arrangement between that astral system and an immensity of others.

THE STORY OF ARTHUR HUNTER,
AND HIS FIRST SHILLING.
By Mrs CROWE, Authoress of Susan Hopley,' &c.

PART I.

CHAPTER I.

'Make me to understand the way of thy precepts; so shall I talk of thy wondrous works.'

Ir was on a very cold day in the month of December, that a woman was observed seated on the step of a handsome house in one of the fashionable streets of London, by two ladies, who, arm in arm, and with a footman behind them, happened to be passing that way. Beside the woman stood a pale, wan, thinly-clad little boy, whose attention seemed to be divided between the gay scene around him and a sickly-looking baby that lay in the woman's lap.

'Don't cry, Bobby,' said he to the whimpering infant, making a vain attempt to extract a smile from its suffering features, by poking his own dirty little finger into its hollow cheek. But the baby cried on; and indeed well it might, for it was exceedingly ill. 'What wretched-looking children! said one of the ladies, stopping opposite the group. Why do you sit there, good woman, this cold day ? At this address, the woman lifted up her head, which had before been hanging on her breast, and exhibited a countenance in which vice and intemperance were written with a too legible hand; she was evidently half intoxicated. 'Poor children! said the lady, how shocking to have such a mother! Whilst the other, who had pulled out her purse, replaced it in her pocket, saying, 'Of what use would it be to give her money? She would spend it all in drink.'

'No,' answered the child. 'Father said I should learn, but he died just as I was going to begin.'

'Wouldn't you let us put your child to school for you?" asked the lady.

'And what am I to do without him the while?' answered the woman. Who's to help me to carry the baby, I should like to know? I can't be lugging him all day myself, when I've no place to lay him down out of my arms.'

'I don't think he'll want any body to carry him long,' observed one of the ladies to the other. "Well,' she said, again addressing Arthur, 'your mother won't let us do anything for you now; but we live at No. 25 Brook Street, Grosvenor Square; and if we can at any time be of use to you, come there, and tell the servants we desired you to call.'

Arthur said he would; and he repeated over to himself several times the name and number, that he might impress them thoroughly on his memory.

What's that they gave you?' asked the mother, as the ladies walked away, after slipping a shilling into the boy's hand.

We might buy plenty to eat with this, and get a place to sleep in too,' said Arthur, unwillingly exhibiting the

money.

'What do you know about buying? said the woman, snatching it from him. Come along! I'm cold sitting here so long; we'll go and get something to warm us and so saying she rose, and staggering away to the most convenient liquor shop, the shilling was soon exchanged for a fiery fluid, which she poured down her own throat and that of her wretched children.

Although Helen Hunter was obstinately resolved not to let her son profit by the proffered kindness of the ladies, she had nevertheless no objection to take their money; and she therefore placed herself very frequently in their path, in hopes of experiencing a repetition of their bounty. And, accordingly, the interest they took in Arthur did sometimes induce them to slip sixpence or a shilling into his hand as they passed; but it all went the This, however, was a question not easily answered, for same way: and we may venture to say, without any exthe mother's intemperance had made her children home-travagant figure of speech, that every alms they gave this less; and, for some nights past, they had slept in the most wretched tramp-houses, after passing the day in

'It's hard that the children should suffer,' said the first. I wish we could do anything for them. I like the boy's face very much. Where do you live, child?

the streets.

'We don't live any where now,' replied the child. 'We used to live in Rose Street, Whitechapel.'

'He is certainly intelligent,' observed one of the ladies to the other. What is your name?" she added, addressing the boy.

'Arthur Hunter,' replied he; and this is Bobby.' 'And where is your father ?' 'Father's dead.'

'And is this your mother?'

'Yes,' answered the child, with a slow subdued tone and downcast eye, which plainly betokened that, young as he was, he had already sensibility enough to blush for his parent.

'I am really interested in the child,' said the first lady; I wish we could do something for him.'

"The first step towards doing him any good, would be to separate him from his mother,' returned the other; 'and perhaps she would not part with him.'

'You never said a truer word than that in your life,' said the miserable woman, looking at the ladies with defiance. What for should I part with my child to the like of you?'

'We wished to serve him,' answered the ladies, somewhat terrified by the fierceness of her address; whilst the footman advanced and said, You had better not speak to her, ma'am; she's quite drunk.'

'And yet what a pity it is to leave that poor child to her mercy,' said the lady. 'I am sure there is some promise in him, if we could help to bring it out; but what can he do without assistance, and with such a mother as that?"

'It is hard, indeed,' replied the other. 'Can you read, boy? Did you ever learn your letters ?'

miserable family only served to injure the children's health, and drive another nail into their wretched mother's coffin.

In this way had passed some months, when, one day, Helen Hunter, after swallowing several glasses of liquor, fell down dead in a gin-shop, leaving little Arthur standing beside her body, with the baby in his arms, which he happened to be holding at the moment, about as forlorn a creature as existed on the face of the earth. Not a friend in the wide world had he, that he knew of, that was either willing or able to serve him; and a mere child, clothed in rags, and without any education, he appeared very little able to help himself.

As the company assembled in the shop were there for the same purpose as Helen herself, two things may be predicated of them pretty securely-one, that they were not very respectable, and the other that they had empty pockets; and therefore, though some amongst them really felt for the desolate child, they were not in a situation to offer him either protection or assistance. But it so happened that there was a young carpenter amongst the bystanders, who, at the moment of Helen's death, had been engaged in repairing some piece of furniture in the back-room, and who, being a sober, industrious lad, was in better circumstances; so, moved by the poor. child's helpless situation, he put his hand in his pocket and drew forth a shilling. Here, my boy,' said he, slipping it into Arthur's hand; this may keep you from starving till you get some friend to look after you a bit. I'd try and help you myself, but I've got my mother that's somewhat sickly upon my hands, and a young sister-and that's as much as I can well manage. How ever, if you look sharp and keep out of this here shop and the like of it, you may do for yourself perhaps believe most people could if they would. You must look about, and try if you can't get a bit of work somewhere.

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