it; but I'll uphauld this threip, that syne the days of Moses, the Prophets, and King Solomon, there has been mony waur given to the public, and mair sang made about their merits than I mean to mak about mine. Ae thing will be apparent to the meanest capacity, tho it were that of a modiewort, quhilk is, that my book disna contain ony wicked allusions or profane ballatry—and that gif it does no good, it will, like the doctor's potion of cauld spring well water, flavoured with peppermint-do no harm to either beast or body, or sooking bairn-the whilk is a negative virtue of some consequence in this sin-laden and unregenerate age.

But Solomon, when he delivered his opingyon anent book-manufacturing, with some thing mair of bitterness than a body could expeck from ane that has written meikle and no leetle himsell, has not stated his balance-sheet fairly; for ye see he has lost sicht of the credit-side of the account a'thegether. He has forgot to balance the weariness of the flesh, with the pleasour whilk every sensible mind feels when, day by day, and page by page, it beholds the works of its individual hands prospering and increasing; and the images, and creations, and visions of the brain assuming a tangible shape, whereby they can influence and direck other minds, and be as eternal finger-posts in the paths of learning and virtue for generations after generations, to guide them in their search after the wells of divine truth and universal benevolence. It does not come well aff ane like me to differ with a greater and and a better man than mysell-ane that was a crownit king, and ruled over a powerful and singular people; and ane whase name rang frae the outermost ends of Ethiopia to the farest bounds of Assyria, marching, as I would jalouse, with the Chinese dyke; as renowned for natural wisdom and acquired knowledge, while I, at the heichest pitch of my earthly dignity, was naething mair than the first Baillie of a great manufacturing and intelligent town, and wauked and sleeped for full twa yeirs with a gowd chain, significant of authority, about my neck—and my name and reputation was soundit nae farrer nor Glasgow or Embro, Manchester, or, aiblins, Lunun. I needna say, aiblins, regarding Lunun; for the late King kent me full weel, I having had the pleasour and honour to kiss his loof, and welcome him to his auld kingdom of Scotland, when he cam to Embro in the year twentytwa, as will be seen in the papers and records of the day, and as is mair fully detailed in an ensuing chapter-weel, I was saying, it was na decent for me to differ with King Solomon on speculative points; but, nevertheless, I maun be honest aneuch to say, that his sentence anent the manufacture of books has an unco strong taste of the weariness and peevishness of auld age, and a mortified speerit. For the present, we shall insist upon this point nae farder, till I hear what my good friend Dr. Kittletext (of whose kirk I am an unworthy vessel, having been an elder thereof for ten years bygane, of the whilk office mair in its proper place hereafter) has to say, in his ain yedifying, and pleasing, and soulrefreshing manner. I may just hint, however, that I think the Doctor, honest man, will side with me; for he writes books and pamphlets himsell as fast as a mill shills groats; but they are all ower good, as he assures me, to sell weel in the market-which is undoubtedly a desperate pity.

Having couped the cree's ower King Solomon and his glory, I may now shortly state the solid and substantious reasons which weighed with me in this great concern. And, first, ye must observe, that tho I am or have been a Bailie, a Councillor, a Commissioner of Police, a Director or Manager of various public establishments, and have kist the King's loof, and been muckle thocht of here and elsewhere; yet, at the outset of life, I was as puir and humble as my neibours, and had a weary and lang faucht to fecht afore I got my neb abune the water, and then as sair a strussle to soom to dry land, to beik upon the banks in the sunshine of prosperity. The fack is, and I take pride in telling it, I raise frae naething to something by the sweat of my brow and the lawbour of my twa hands. Step by step I muntit the ladder of fortune, till I speelit up to the heicht I now enjoy; for I may tell ye that I am neist bore to the Provostship. When that dignity is put in my offer, I dinna think I will accept it; for I feel myself growing downwards like hawkie's tail-cauld in the blude, and a wee thocht ower auld; and am really no quite sae gleg and whippy as I was sax years syne, quilk, nae doubt, is but piper's news to the feck of the world: for, though I say it mysel, Baillie Pirnie has been gayen kenspeckle in his day. Weel, ye see, getting on frae little to mair, and frae mair to muckler things, and instead of doing business in a wee way, but upon a graund scale with augents here, and there, and every where, and with correspondents and merchants ower the haill face of the country, it must be acknowledged that my progress thro life, with all its ups and downs, must serve as a good example to the young and an incentive to the thochtless, to try and tread in my footsteps. It will pruve a moral lesson to man in ilka station of life-high or low, rich or poor; which, if learned and pondered upon, must conduce to their welfare and happiness in particular, and thereby contribute to the general good of society.

Secondly, it must be self-evident that one who has, like me, come thro' sundry vicissitudes of good and evil fortune, and has been reckoned by the public as a man of steady, moral, and religious habits, that in his ain person has filled many onerous offices of trust and dignity, and kept a sickar outlook upon all that was acting or transacting around him, far or near, bere or beyond, for the better half of a century, cannot fail, in the natural coorse of

things, and under the favour of Providence, to have gathered much useful and practical knowledge, and made many weel-grounded observations anent occurrents, worthy of remembrance to all after times, as weel as of great good to the rising generation, which is unco uppish, and apt to sneer at the wisdom and calm ways of jogging through life, familiar to their elders.

And, thirdly, having jotted doun, in an old ledger, which was only half used when I gave up business and retired upon a competency, to enjoy, as my sin, Tummas, says, (wha is bred for the kirk, and is this year in the Hall,) my otium cum dignitate, every thing remarkable in my life, accompanied with moral reflections and precepts for after guidance, I thocht it would be a pity not to make all mankind welcome to the fruits of my matured experience, that they might be made better and wiser by scanning the omissions or commissions, and the errors of head or heart, of ane of themsells.

And, fourthly, and lastly, I will confess that my ain gratification has had no inconsiderable weight with me in becoming an authour. Books are a sort of passport to worldly immortality. Bairns may keep up a name, but they cannot maintain the fame of ane that has actit his pairt like a man in this theatre of the world. I have liked weel to hear poets and sang writers express themsells feelingly on this natural passion of man's heart. Really, without a sark to their back, a bite in their belly, or a saxpence in their pouch, I have heard, in my time, some o' them speak like emperors about the way they wud be idoleezed by after ages. Puir creatures, my heart bled for them and their dreams, and aften hae I stappit a sma tritie intil their loof, just that they micht not die of downright starvation. They aye received it as a lend, and lookit as proud as gin they had obleegit me by taking it; however, their term day never came roun, and I didna mind, as the sillar was never posted in ony ither way in my books, than as “incidents disbursed." But some of the words of these flichty creatures stuck to my memory; for, fou or sober, they had aye some glimpses of a deep-searching wisdom into human nature and feelings, very profitable for a man of my understanding to pouder upon after warehouse hours, and the cares of the day were bye. There is anither observe which I think I am enteetlit to mak, and that is, that it is an uncommon fine thing in itsell, for a man, in the fall of his days, to meditate upon his bypast life, and the uncos thereof, its lichts and its shadows, and all its turnings and windings. For my ain individual pairt, I may well repeat, as I have before observed, that, meikle have I seen, and meikle have I learned, in this idle stramash, aad that, being of an observing turn, my hope is, that every change in the crook of my lot has not owerslided without improvement.

It has been my constant endeavour to sook the marrow of reflection out of every circumstance and accident of life; and, as weel as I could, to preserve, above all, an even mind and a resigned speerit. Fiery tempered bodies get aye into a carfuffle about trifles; but I never saw ony good come of losing temper about what it was out of the power of man to mend or prevent. "To jouk and let the jaw gang by," is an auld proverb, though it may not be in Davie Lindsay; and, "what cannot be mendit suld be sune endit," is anither. My puir faither, that's deid and gane, and laid in the mools mony a year syne, was a deacon at proverbs, and, saving some pickles of warldly wisdom of that sort, education I never had, till I wrocht to put mysell to the schule, when I got on like a house in fire, and ran thro' the wee spell like a lamplichter, which was an uncommon thing for a bairn of my years.

But, as I was saying, I ayc keepit an easy turn of mind, and that, in my opingyon, is a great lengthener out of a bodie's days in this weary warld, and helps wonderfully to eik out the silly thrums of life. Were it not for this quiet contentment in ilka situation it pleased an owerseeing and divine Providence to place me, I will not say I would be living and life-like at this moment of time, pleasantly occupied in endyting my ain life, in my cozie back parlour, whilk looks into a pleasant bit garden, weel plenished wi' vegetables, sic as leeks, cabbage, green kail, turnips and carrots, forbye pinks, sweet Williams, roses and lillies, and other savoury herbs, and sax grosset busses as round as a bee's skep, and, without leeing, ilka ane the bouk of a rick of hay, wi' twa apple trees, a pear tree, a geen tree, and some ither bonnie things that needna be named, over and above a fine sun dial, standing in the centre of the middle walk, the whilk is nicely laid wi' gravel and white chuckey-stanes, and bordered with bachelor's buttons, daisies, boxwood, spearmint and rosemary, the smell whereof is very pleasant and refreshing in the callerness of morning, or the saftness of the gloaming.

Such are a few of the digested reasons which have promuved me to turn authour in my auld days; and, having told the public who I am and what I mean to do, I shall cease my labours for the present, and, in my second chapter, enter at auce into particulars, like a man of business habits.

LITERARY GEM.

Quoth Tom, my book is full of fire,
It sparkles like a jewel,

Yes, cries his friend, that's truth entire,
It is the best of fuel.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

"THE DAY will turn out a Week," cried my gouty uncle, and he looked for applause to the indifferent joke. "Excuse me," said my Eliza," it has already become an Epoch."

After the Manner of the Americans." Lack a day!" exclaimed the fair Fanny, as her lover seized her hand to kiss it, "Lack a day! Lack a day!" "That is unnecessary, my charmer," cried he, "for you can make it up by subscribing at Wylie's Circulating Library, who also engages to complete Numbers amissing."

LONDON THEATRICALS.

From our London Correspondent.

SINCE my last, the Operatic play of "My own Lover," has been brought forward, with tolerable success, at Drury Lane. The music, as well as the dialogue, is the composition of Mr. George Rodwell, and, upon the whole, is creditable to his talents. The Drama is not so much remarkable for a plot as it is for all the ingredients essential to the support of one. It owes its origin, essentially, to the ingenuity of Le Sage, but the plagarisms have been so judiciously made, and so admirably improved upon, that the author of this Drama may lay claim to a merit tantamount to originality.

I am happy to inform you, that Mr. KEMBLE resumed his professional labours at Covent Garden Theatre on Monday last, in the character of Mercutio, assisted by his daughter in that of Juliet, and other worthy people in their respective parts. The only novelties I hear of, at Covent Garden are, the tragic play of Lord Leveson Gower, yclept Catherine of Cleves, is to be, after all, launched, as Forbes calls it, immediately-that Lord Fife has been chasse'd by Miss Cawse, and that the Romeo of the theatre has, in consequence, become "a free and accepted MASON."

ANOTHER COMPLAINT OF A SEMPSTRESS.

THE following epistle has been just received, it will speak for itself:

DEAR MR. DAY.-Since you have so readily attended to the "complaint" of sister Letitia,* touching the miss-demeanours of certain seamstresses, † you surely cannot refuse bestowing on me the same gallantry, by inserting my complaint-touching the man-œuvres of nearly the whole tribe of the Puppy-race. I dare say you smoke me, as the phrase goes. Well, then, 'tis of the cigar smokers, who infest our streets, that I wish to speak; for, do you know, that as Letitia was "shocked" at exposing her baby-linen to the view of "several gentlemen!" so am I like to be choked by the fume that issues from the mouths of these fire-brands! If they will make a public parade that they can smoke a cigar, why don't you, in virtue of your office, pronounce the "order of the Day," compelling them to keep the middle of the street, in place of strutting on the pave, to the great annoyance of

́LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

A NEW French and English Pronouncing Dictionary, on the Basis of Nugent, with many new words in general use, in two parts, I. French and English, II. English and French, to which are prefixed, Principles of French Pronunciation, and an Abridged Grammar, by F. C. MEADOWES, M. A. of the University of Paris, will be published immediately.

Mr. CHARLES MACFARLANE proposes to publish, by subscription, a Description of the Present State of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor, to be illustrated by seven etchings, by Mr. Thomas Knox, from Views taken on the spot.

A new Novel, to be called Stanley Buxton, or the Schoolfellows, is preparing by Mr. GALT.

"The Double Trial, or the consequences of an Irish Clearing," a Tale of the present Day, by the Rev. C. LUCAS, is nearly ready.

"The Chameleon brought to the Light of Day," is in the Press, and will be published this week.

MUSIC.

BOHEMIAN BROTHERS.

Ir is rather a rare thing in this city to hear any real good harmony. Solo singing we are frequently treated to, but a trio or a quartetto, well given, is indeed a rara avis in terris. The requisites and the practice necessary to produce this peculiar species of Vocal Music, are, in fact, seldom ever found in this country. It is to Germany, which may be said to be the cradle of this noblest branch of the Musical Art-Harmony-that we owe both the best compositions of this kind, and the persons who are best able to execute them. Among the people of that land, the mysteries of counterpoint are not limited to a few Maestri, nor the execution of a difficult chorus, to the elite of a King's Theatre. There, music is really studied, practised and worshipped by every one from the peasant to the prince, affording, as it ever does, the most hallowed delight of the one, and the most jovial pastime of the other. The boor, on finishing his daily labour, retires to the bosom of his own family, to enjoy after his beer and black bread, a glee or madrigal; the citizen in the evening burries to the Wirtshans, not to discuss politics and fret about taxation, but to meet a set of gossips, who can join in the choral music of "Am Rhein— am Rhein !" or who, over a glass of Kaltschal, can pour out a loud burst of harmony in praise of Crambamboli, while the Student amid the misty atmosphere, produced by his Meerschaum, and the fantastic visions resulting from the intoxicating weed Caprioles, and modulates on his harpsichord, or practises his Solfeggi, in all their direct and inverted intervals.

The Germans, of all people, are gifted, by nature, with most correct ears. Tune, to use Phrenological language, is, in fact, most peculiarly developed in a Teutonic head, and, among the Germans, in none so great as those of the Bohemians. We are led to make these remarks from having attended the concert given, on Friday evening, by four natives of this circle of Germany, and, it is only justice to say, that we have scarcely ever heard, in any quarter of the musical world a greater treat of its kind. We expected to have heard something, nearly akin, to the Tyrolese; but the music of the Bohemian Brothers is of a higher and more scientific description, while their voices are not only individually splendid, but the ensemble is altogether electrifying. The Soprano is quite unique both in volume of tone and in facility of execution, while the Basso is more like the delicious tones of the late Mr. Holmes's bassoon, than any thing we have heard. In some future number we shall, probably, enter into particulars-in the meantime, we would counsel all the real lovers of music to hear these foreigners. After hearing them they will perhaps be taught to understand the reason why music is so much a ruling passion in Germany.

GLASGOW: Published every Morning, Sunday excepted, by JOHN WYLIE, at the British and Foreign Library, 97, Argyle Street, Glasgow: STILLIES BROTHERS, Librarians, High Street, and THOS. STEVENSON, Edinburgh: DAVID DICK, Bookseller, Paisley: JOHN HISLOP, Greenock; and J. GLASS, Bookseller, Rothsay.-And Printed by JOHN GRAHAM, Melville Place.

9

THE PRESENT STATE OF PARTIES.

IN a former number, we offered a few remarks on the origin and position of the different political parties. We shall now attempt to trace the effects of party spirit on social life.

One of the most evident consequences, of the freedom of the press in this country, is the diffusion of political intelligence, and the conversion of all orders of men into political reasoners. At one period in the history of the world, and that not very remote, politics was called a science, and its deductions were thought to be somewhat recondite and subtle, though it be more than questionable, whether any purely abstract political principle has ever been discovered, in which time has not rather tended to diminish, than to increase our confidence. This, however, is not the general opinion, and, as the masters of the public press (the only real tyrants, by the way, of whose existence we know any thing in these islands,) have a direct interest in upholding an opposite belief, it is not very likely that it will speedily prevail. By the majority who derive their knowledge of abstract truths from the daily and weekly caterers for the general appetite, it is not demanded whether the oracles who generously take the trouble of thinking for the community, have really any principles of their own to support, much less to inculcate. The constantly recurring tergiversations, and the obvious paralogisms of the mighty men of the fourth estate, are, for the most part, unnoticed and unknown. The reasonings of one week are followed by the counter-reasonings of another, and the entire mass of sophistical rubbish, volventibus annis, finds a common tomb, where it sleeps as profoundly as if it had been dipped in the waters of Lethe. The good-natured thing called the public, however, makes no exceptions to all this mummery. It requires a certain quantity of reading on both sides of the question, and so long as this desire lasts, in good sooth, it were a pity not to gratify it. Though political parties be virtually extinct in Great Britain, therefore, it never can happen that all appearance of opposition shall subside. The passing topics of the day will always afford abundant materials for difference of opinion; besides, political quietism would starve an interesting and sleek class of gentlemen, who know full well the value of a little well-timed agitation, and would induce something like a torpor of the national mind. Under the empire of reason and moderation, vulgar ambition would be repressed, and the wretched compound of buffoonery and bombast, misnamed eloquence, would be totally extinguished. Public dinners would fall into desuetude, and, in the general ruin, the muddled orators, who resemble Demosthenes in nothing but in speaking thick, and the spruce persons who do the ancient office of tapsters, would be involved. National bankruptcy and revolution are the lesser horrors, and will doubtlessly be preferred. This being so, let us inquire in what shape we are benefitted in our social capacities, by a love of political discussion, and the perpetuation of political animosities.

We think it will not be denied to us, that an exclusive and invincible attachment to one mode of belief, on any subject whatever, the merits of which are still open to discussion, is necessarily significant of personal interest or of ignorance-not of the mat

ter in dispute, so much as of its collateral effects. The African traders were averse to the extinction of the slave traffic, and persuaded themselves-re duce that a halfpenny less on the pound of sugar was a good moral ground for continuing a commerce which was a disgrace to our common nature; and the abolitionists of the present day quote Scripture to prove, that acts of Parliament are not worth waste paper, and that a majority in the House of Commons will compensate for colonial ruin and alienation. Now, as regards politics, nothing can be more certain than that for one man who, by his talents, studies, or opportunities, is qualified to pass a sound opinion upon a great state question, ten thousand, at least, are not so; and yet, in these times, nothing would be more hopeless than an attempt to render this an acceptable article of belief in common life. The great object of the leaders of the press has been-not to set forth the truth, or what they esteemed to be such-but the dogmas of their respective factions; and, as men of imperfect information are not only prone to take up general views, however little these may be warranted by their premises, and as it saves both time and trouble to adopt readymade conclusions, instead of searching out the grounds on which these could be made by ourselves, it is not wonderful that, on political subjects, the tendency should be towards extremes, not towards means. a man who attempts to estimate the causes which influence the prosperity of states, and the rise and downfall of nations, nothing seems so difficult. At every step his progress is embarrassed by so many cross and intricate considerations, that certainty in his results becomes unattainable. A glimpse of the truth he may occasionally get, but a full view of it he never can; and it may always be observed, that the conclusions of a philosophical mind on points of this kind are cautiously given, and guardedly worded. But, if you ask a political weaver what he thinks of these matters, he has no difficulties at all. The whole thing is as patent to his vision as the sun in the firmament; and, with the confidence of thorough conviction, he unravels the mysteries with the same ease as King Gordius's knot was cut asunder by Alexander's sword. It signifies not what the subject is. The Corn-laws-Free trade-Colonial policy-Reform-are alike indifferent to the disciple of the march-of-intellect school. The fears and scruples of statesmen he treats with utter scorn, as the squeamish misgivings of weak minds; and, it is obvious from the whole bearing of the man, that one idea is predominant in his mind, namely, that he, and he alone, should be at the head of affairs.

To

To some minds, this preposterous folly may seem a light thing; to our view, however, it is much otherwise. No man, who is conversant with the present state of feeling in the West of Scotland, can fail to know, that the melancholy delusion which we have hinted at is not confined to a corner. It is the common and popular creed of the country, and that it has led, and is leading, to much mischief cannot be doubted. We say nothing of the absurdity of the thing itself; but, in looking at its consequences, we feel the deepest uneasiness. In the first place, it tends to create imaginary causes of discontent, and to increase the interval which separates the wealthier from the poorer classes of society; and, in the second place, by

diverting the attention of a man of hunble rank from his proper avocations, it leads directly to the acquisition of habits of the most ruinous kind. The state of the country now, as compared with what it was twenty years ago, when we were the carriers of the world, is not taken into consideration; neither is the necessity of preserving public credit, on which our existence, as a nation, depends; but, every thing connected with the effects of foreign rivalry, excess of population, and of over-productive power, is ascribed to acts of misgovernment, which, were trade brisk, would never be heard of; and, to remedy all imperfections, some general panacea is proposed, which, like the balm of Gilead, is a cure for all diseases. Nothing, certainly, can be more distressing to a humane mind, than the condition to which the manufacturing population is at present reduced; and the statement which lately appeared in a contemporary print, (Glasgow Chronicle,) of the sufferings of the poor in a neighbouring town, must have affected every sensible heart with the deepest sorrow still, political mania, and impotent political nostrums, will not cure this state of things, the causes of which lie deep in the bosom of society, and seem, unfortunately, to be inseparably associated with the general elements of our national prosperity. But, if a working man once persuade himself that his own depression is owing to the unjust acts of the general government, his mind becomes seared against all conviction to the contrary. Like the madman in his phrenzy, who fancies himself a king, and who hugs his delusion so firmly as to demand the homage due to royalty, he can think and speak of nothing else. Others, he finds, are similarly predisposed. They meet-they talkthey adjourn. The miserable earnings of the most grinding labour, are consumed in discussing questions quite beyond the reach of their knowledge. Habits of intemperance and profusion are engendered-wives and children are neglected-and a deserted family, or a murdered friend, closes the career of ruin, which

political passion entails on its victim! Let no man say this picture is overcharged. We know that it is not; and, did we desire a striking proof of the fact, we might refer to the fate of the unfortunate person who suffered on Wednesday last, in this city, and the cause of whose melancholy death was a scuffle brought on by a discussion on the Reform Bill.

So far as the upper ranks are concerned, we consider the introduction of party politics, in a mixed society, as impertinent. When men meet together at the board of a common friend, there should be no invidious ground of distinction instituted, which must ensue, if party politics be discussed. In all arguments on these knotty points, we have invariably remarked that passion and vociferation pass for proof. No truth is elicited, and no information gained, but much angry and disagreeable feeling is excited. At present, it is a melancholy fact that many men, who have a sincere respect for each other, dare not venture into society, from a consciousness that something would occur which might diminish their mutual regard; nor is it uncommon to find father and son, and even brothers, at issue on politics at this moment. This is a dreadful state of matters, and, did we not feel that the excitement must soon wear itself out, would necessarily create great uneasiness. We sincerely hope, however, that a return to moderation will speedily take place, and that men of education, and of polished manners, will see the folly of desecrating the sacred altar of private life, by the noise and nonsense of party politics. May we beg of them to remember that a period of great national depression and commotion is not the time which wise men should choose for creating or increasing paltry feuds. The elements of society are, at this moment, in a state of unusual agitation; and now, probably, more than at any period in the history of Great Britain, is it peculiarly incumbent, on persons who have enjoyed the benefits of liberal instruction, to shew their practical

tendencies, which, we need not remind them, are emollire mores.

In conclusion, we would indulge the hope that the splendid subscriptions which have been collected within a few weeks, to provide for the wants and diseases of the poor, will satisfy the discontented among that class that, whatever political quacks may say to the contrary, the monied men of Glasgow, of all parties, are deeply sensible of the claims which their less amply provided brethren have on them; while we suggest to the members of the community generally, whether it would not be becoming, at this particular time, when the scourge of pestilence is hanging over the land, to suspend party passions, and allow the benevolent sympathies of the heart to have free and full issue.

BERLIN DURING THE CHOLERA.*

BERLIN is not a whit changed since this sickness came among us, If you walk out in the morning, at mid-day, or in the afternoon, there is still the usual stream of human beings along the Linden, and in the Königstrasse, people do not hurry faster than before along the bustling Frederick Street, nor move on at a slower pace through the quiet and spacious Leipsic Street. They stop and enter into conversation just as willingly as ever; and where two or three are met together at a corner, in an instant, they are joined by a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth ; and we soon have what we Berliners call a crowd-a crowd, as usual, no one knows what about.

People are just as fond of joking as they used to be they joke now even about death.

They still, as before, delight to talk on the topic of the day-the one fashionable topic-which is discussed as zealously, and at as great length as ever; in the streets, in society, at the Theatre, you hear the same subject—and, for the present, this subject is the Cholera. Even now, as before, men wish the endless theme were exhausted, and something new in its place.

In Berlin we have had witticisms on all subjects on the Horse-Artillery Barracks-on the turn-out of the tailors-on the Sonntag and on the departed Diebitsch; so much wit, that a book might be printed on every separate subject. We still are unchanged. A book of smart sayings might be collected under the the title of "Cholera Wit." And is there, then, nothing changed?

The gentlemen now wear cloaks, though the weather is yet warm; and at night they hold a handkerchief to their mouth. Besides, there are conversations on Cholera belts and worsted stockings-on the bad effects of night-air, and what we should eat and what abstain from.

There is another notable change. The poor have now on their tables the rejected food of the rich-melons and costly fish; poor people-poor indeed; for labour is now as low as every thing else but that is nothing new-every year complains of low prices.

In my walk, I remarked yet one greater change than all these. People are now become so kind and friendly in their intercourse! How warmly they salute and squeeze your hand, and lock tenderly upon you-wish you a very good morning, and a happy meeting again! How conversation flies along! One would

think all the world had become intimate friends. 'Tis but yesterday the same men kept out of each other's way, grudged a salute if they met, and tried to pass without speaking-grumbling, each to himself, God be praised, the wearisome fellow has not fastened upon me! Has Cholera, then, banished all bores from the world? That were no bad thing in Cholera !

You may now smoke on the street, and yet no house takes fire. It seems our police and gens-d'armes have a sinecure.

*The above article is translated expressly for The “ Day," from the last Number of the Berlin Conversation's Blatt, which has reached this country. We may mention, that we have made arrangements to present our readers with the latest Literary Intelligence from Germany, and to favour them occasionally with the most interesting papers that appear in the German Journals, which Mr. John Reid, of this city, receives regularly from the Continent,

Besides this smoking and these friendly greetings, another change A fair-haired boy was amusstruck me something quite new. ing himself-making figures of soft clay, and cutting a piece of wood. That is nothing strange; but what do you think he was making?-A coffin !—and with all the glee in the world he cried, "Sister, I must now have a dead man, and then all will be ready;" and to work he set with his clay, and in a minute had the dead man. I went a little farther, where some bigger children were at play. One wheeled the other in a barrow, and the lad in the barrow was swaddled about with handkerchiefs, and lay most demurely quiet. "What game are you playing at?" cried I."We are playing Cholera," was the answer. This, to be sure, was new in Berlin.

THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL AT PARIS.

THE following is an interesting sketch of the Enfans Trouvés at Paris is from the pen of DELRIEU, and is translated from the celebrated volume of the “Livre des Cent-et-un,” lately published:

"No public edifice ever presented an appearance more in opposition to the painful reflections its mere existence gives rise to, than the Foundling Hospital. You expect on entering nothing but tears and disgust, and yet you scarcely hear the cries of the newly-born babes-you expect matter for dark philosophical emotion, and you see nothing around you but flowers, good grey sisters, snow-white curtains and crucifixes-to which you may add the fruits of weakness, perhaps of crime. You walk between two rows of cradles, as in a flower garden; only in the latter, nature gives to the orphan plants their proper nurture. Here you may see heads with flowing yellow ringlets, angel faces, a room poetically called the crib, a pretty little chapel, and a dissecting room. This edifice was formerly a convent of Oratorians; it is now a Foundling Hospital-there are two centuries between these names. There is nothing remarkable in the building itself; it is like a college, a manufactory, a house in the street, or your father's house. But I had almost forgotten a statue which you salute on entering. Vincent de Paule* keeps watch in the vestibule of his temple; the same Vincent de Paule whose evengelical and philanthropic zeal saved the lives of at least one-fifth part of the popu lation now treading upon his grave. His contemporaries put his name into the Almanack;-Napoleon would have made him a minister of state."

"On arriving at the outer door, I was struck with a sort of box or cupboard with a double opening, one towards the street, and the other inside the building. It was much like the letterbox at a post office, and the comparison is strengthened when we consider that a mother often dropped her child into it as she would a billet-dour, with this shade of difference, that the billet began the intrigue, and the child ended it. This box or cupboard is no longer used. Formerly the unhappy mother deposited there, mysteriously and at night, her new born babe; then, after ringing the bell to awaken the sister on duty, she disappeared-her tears and her remorse still heard in the surrounding darkness. It is different now-a singular abuse compelled the change. Dead bodies of children were often found in the cupboard, put there either to avoid the expense of burial or to conceal a crime. mode of defrauding the guillotine and the undertaker,† no longer exists. A sister sits up all night at the entrance of the parloir, and receives from the hand the children that are brought to the hospital during her watch. The cupboard is closed, and its lock rusty-mishaps are thought less of than formerly.

The

Whether the

child be born in a boudoir or in a garret, it is now a mere family affair, and amicably adjusted. The infant is taken to the hospital at noon day; it is even recommended to the kind attention of the sisters; its father's name is carefully repeated, and after a few tears the whole is forgotten. If subsequently the unhappy babe cry, expire, be cut to pieces by the anatomist, and its severed limbs sewn up in a canvas bag, and consigned without ceremony to the earth, no matter; family honour is safe; the mother goes either to a ball or to the Salpetrière; civilization continues its progress; surgical knowledge excites admiration, and we have lectures on political economy at the university. All this is admirable!"

"In London, the education of these orphan children partakes of the Franklin school, and of the hospitality of an industrious people. Correct manners, and even morals, are instilled into them; which is rare with us. I must add that the mothers are obliged to appear, prior to their accouchement, and declare their pregnancy, and although their names escape the dishonour of being registered, the shame of appearing before hand, deters all but the most wretched and the most abandoned from availing themselves of the charity. In Russia and at Naples, the natural dispositions of the children are consulted before their future calling is decided upon, and at Moscow there is an hospital where the foundlings

learn music, dancing, and all the other accessories of the dramatic art, in a theatre which they have themselves constructed. This hospital was the first to which Napoleon sent a guard, on the very evening of his entrance into Moscow.

"In France, scarcely have the foundlings passed the age of childhood, when they are dismissed from the hospital. They are dispersed, whether they will or not, among the lowest classes, with the present of an imperfeet education; and if one of them should, under his homely garments, feel the thrill of genius, and try to wrench off the helot's collar, his choice would still be confined to the alternatives of a plane, a spade, or starvation.

"If I were to say, that not one-half grow up to reap this inheritance, poor as it is, and that the remainder die from the privation of a mother's milk, the uncertainty of science, and the infection of loathsome diseases, I should be far within the mark. At the present day, nearly three-fifths of the foundlings die in their first year. A fourth of the newly-born children perish during the first five days, and more than two-thirds after the first month. Five years after the day on which eight children had been deposited at the hospital, only three of them would be found alive. Extend the time to twelve years, and there is only one survivor. It is lamentable to think, that the efforts of art aud those of administration are powerless in averting this deplorable mortality. It is, however, some consolation to learn, that the number of deaths decreases daily, and that the mortality of the hospital, at present, bears no proportion to what it was forty years ago; a single fact will prove this. Now-a-days, convenient carriages bring nurses to Paris from the country, and each department has its foundling hospital. But can it be credited that, prior to the revolution, the hospital in the metropolis was the only one in the kingdom, from all parts of which children were brought to Paris to receive a life ticket, which oftener turned out a certificate for death! A porter walked through the provinces, carrying upon his back a padded box containing three newly-born babes placed upright in it, supported by wadding, and breathing through a hole in the lid. This man quietly wended his way towards Paris, careless of dust, mud, the mid-day sun, or the bustle of inns. Now and then he stopped to take his meals and make his young companions suck a little milk, On opening the box, he sometimes found one of them dead. When this happened, he would throw the body by the road side and continue his journey with the remainder. On his arrival, he got a receipt for the goods delivered, without being answerable for accidents on the road."

Had lilies eyes,

With glad surprise,

They'd own themselves outdone,

When thy pure brow,

And neck of snow,

Gleamed in the morning sun.

Could shining brooks,

By am'rous looks

Be taught a voice so rare,

Then, every sound,

That murmured round,

Would whisper, "Thou art fair."

Could winds be fraught

With pensive thought,

At midnight's solemn hour,

Then every wood,

In gleeful mood,

Would own thy beauty's power.

And, could the sky

Behold thine eye,

So filled with love and light,

In jealous haste,

Thou soon wert placed

To star the cope of Night!