and his long life-for it was extended nearly to the term of seventy years was not on the whole joyless or forsaken. His intellect was darkened and distorted, but not so as to render him an object of disgust and terror, or to incapacitate him from performing many tasks of trifling utility. He even exercised a sort of rude ingenuity in many little rustic handicrafts. He wove rush baskets and mats, and neatly and strongly wove them, and of the refuse straw he plaited coarse hats, such as are worn by plough boys, and he could make wicker cages for black birds and magpies, and mouse-traps, and rabbit-hutches; and he had a pretty notion of knitting too, only that he could never be brought to sit still long enough to make any great proficiency in that way. But he was useful besides, in many offices of household drudgery, and though his kind master never suffered poor Johnny to be "put upon," he had many employers, and so far as his simple wits enabled him to comprehend their several wills, he was content to fulfil them. So he was sent to fetch water, and to watch that the coppers did not boil over, and to feed the fire, and blow the bellows, and sift the cinders, and to scrape carrots and potatoes, and to shell beans, and to sweep the floor, (but then he would always waste time in making waves and zigzags on the sand,) and to rock the cradles, and that office he seemed to take peculiar delight in, and would even pretend to hush the babies, as he had seen practised by their mothers, with a sort of droning hum which he called singing. But besides all these, and other tasks innumerable, more extended trust was committed to him, and he was never known but to discharge it faithfully. He was allowed (in exception of those rules of the house imperative on its sane inmates) to wander out whole days, having the charge of a few cows or pigs, and for a trifling remuneration, which he brought regularly home to his master, who expended it for him with judicious kindness, in the purchase of such simple luxuries as the poor idiot delighted in, a little snuff and tobacco, or the occasional treat of a little coarse tea, and brown sugar. Then was old Johnny in his glory, when, seated on some sunny road-side bank, or nestling among the fern leaves in some bosky dingle, within ken of his horned or grunting charge, of which he never lost sight, he had collected about him a little cluster of idle urchins, with whom he would vie in dexterity in threading daisy necklaces, or sticking the little white flowers on a leafless thorn branch, or in tying up cowslip balls, or in making whistles, or arrow heads of hollow elder stalks: or in weaving high conical caps of green rushes, and then was Cæsar in his element, for then would he arm with those proud helmets the heads of his childish mates, and marshall them (nothing loath) in military order, each shouldering a stick, his supposed musket; and flourishing his wooden sword, and taking the command of his new levies, he marched up and down before the line of ragged rogues, gobbling like a turkey cock, with swelling pride, in all the martial magnificence of his old-cocked hat and feathers, and of his scarlet tatters with their tarnished lace. Rude as were But sometimes was he suddenly cast down from the pinnacle of earthly grandeur, by the malicious wantonness of an unlucky boy, who would slyly breathe out a few notes from an old flute, well anticipating their effect on poor Johnny. those notes, they "entered into his soul." In a moment his proud step was arrested, his authoritative, uplifted hand fell nerveless by his side; his erect head dropt, and large tears rolled down his aged face; and at last sobs! burst from the bosom of the poor idiot, and then even his mischievous tormentor almost wept to see the pain he had inflicted. Yes, such was the power of music, of its rudest, simplest tones, over some spring of sensibility, deep hidden in the benighted soul of that harmless creature, and he had apparently no control over the tempestuous ebullition of its excited vehemence, except at church, during the time of divine service. There, while the Psalm was being sung, he was still, and profoundly silent. But when others rose up from the form beside him, he sunk still lower in his sitting posture, and cowering down, bent forward his head upon his knees, hiding his face there within the fold of his crossed arms, and no sound or sob escaped him, but his poor frame trembled universally, and when the singing was over, and he looked up again, the thin grey hair on his wrinkled forehead was wet with perspiration. Now, let the clarion sound, or the sweet hautboy pour out its me lodious fulness, or the thrilling flute discourse, or the solemn organ roll over his grave its deep and mighty volume, and he will sleep on undisturbed-ay, till the call of the last trumpet shall awaken him, and the mystery of his earthly existence shall be unfolded, and the soul, emerging from its long eclipse, shall shine out in the light of immortality-At that day of solemn reckoning, how many, whose brilliant talents, and luminous intellect, have blazed out with meteoric splendour, not to enlighten, but to dazzle and mislead, and bewilder the minds of their fellow-mortals, in the mazes of inextricable error-How many of those who have so miserably abused the great trust reposed in them, shall be fain to exchange places with that unoffending innocent, crying out in the agony of their despair, " to the mountains, fall on us, and to the hills, cover us!" Farewell, old Johnny-quiet be thy rest!-harmless and lowly was thy life!-peaceful and unnoticed thy departure! Few had marked the gradual decline of the poor creature, but for many months he had wasted away, and his feeble, deformed frame had bowed nearer and nearer to the earth, and he cared little for any nourishment, except his favourite regale of tea, and the mistress's occasional bounty, a slice of white bread and butter; and there was less willingness to exert himself than formerly. He still crept about his accustomed tasks, but slowly and silently, and would sometimes fall asleep over his more sedentary employment, and when spoken to, he seldom replied but by a nod and a smile-that peculiar smile of idiotic intelligence. Some said, the old man grew lazy and sullen, for "what could ail him?" they wondered. Nothing nothing ailed him—nothing to signify-only the cold hand of death was on him, and he dropt at last with the leaves in autumn. One evening, long after milking-time, the cows he had been enttusted to watch came straggling home without their keeper. Search was made for him, and he was soon discovered by the children, who were well acquainted with his favourite haunts and hiding-places. They found him gathered up in his usual posture, among the dry fern leaves, at the foot of an old hawthorn, near which ran a reedy streamlet. His back rested against the hawthorn's twisted stem, his old grey head was bare, and a few withered leaves had dropt upon it. Beside him lay a halffinished cap of woven rushes; one hand was on it, and the other still grasped the rude materials of his simple fabric. There was a smile upon his countenance, (he was always smiling to himself,) but his head had dropt down on his bosom, and his eyes were closed as if in sleep. He was deadquite cold and stiff--so they took him from his pleasant fern bank, to his late home, the workhouse, and the next day he was screwed down in the shell of rough boards, the last allowance of parish bounty, and before sunset, those green sods were trampled down over the pauper's grave.-Fare well, old Johnny! Oh! no, no, this love is not love for me: Be mine like the sight of yon sea bird, whose wings SONG. If but for one moment a chain I could bear, Oh! form it of opals, which change with the sky, SIR, MACADAMIZING versus STREET-PAVING. YOUR OUR last number contains a few sensible remarks, by Mr. T. Single on the subject of street-paving, which at present occupies, and in a great measure divides, the public opinion. It would appear truly unaccoun table that this branch of our civil economy should have been so long misunderstood or wilfully perverted, were it not notorious, that all such departments of public duties, are subject to the control of select boards, committees, or whatever other title the parties may assume: such committees consisting usually of a few active individuals in each parish or district, who cannot be supposed to be totally exempt from a wish to serve their own immediate friend whenever an opportunity occurs. That this has been the primary cause of the shameful mismanagement of the street-pavement of the metropolis for many years past cannot for a moment admit of doubt. And the consequence has very naturally followed the cause, the parties, who have been favoured with the contracts for such parish jobs, have, in almost every case, made the most of them by executing the work in a negligent, and oftentimes a scandalous manner. It is not necessary to mention instances; they abound in different parts of the metropolis, where the pavement is in a disgraceful, and frequently in a dangerous, state; yet there appears to be a continual repair going on in these places. In order to understand how such anomalous proceedings can go hand in hand, it will be necessary to examine briefly of what materials our streetpaving consists. Mr. Single, in his paper, has stated some of the evils which arise from the bad workmanship of paviours, but not all. He very justly says, that "in order to place the paving stones of different sizes together in the same mass of paving, they are obliged to scratch away the loose ground below, till the upper face of the stones become nearly horizontal, when the rammer is applied to cover all the defects beneath, so that, in fact, the present system of paving is nothing more than putting the ground into a state of hard and soft, or hills and holes, and placing stones upon it to prevent our seeing or believing that it is so." Mr. Single then recommends, very judiciously, that all paving stones should be reduced to nearly the same size, in order to produce a good firm pavement; and, that instead of loosening the soil below, as in the usual bungling way of paving, the ground should be previously rammed as hard as may be before the stones are placed. But Mr. S. should also have advised, that paving stones be placed in as close contact as possible. For it is well known that the admission of water between the stones is one of the principal causes of their becoming loosened almost immediately after the pavement becomes deluged by rain. This must be so obvious as scarcely to require explanation; for if any portion of the sand used by paviours be soluble in water (and, from the rubbish employed very frequently for this purpose, at least one-half of it must be soluble), it will evidently be washed out from the interstices of the pavement, leaving the stone in a bed of quagmire. It should also be observed, that the system on which these job-contracts are taken-that of paving so many square feet at a given price-offers a temptation to the paviour to substitute the cheapest materials for the best, without any regard to the accommodation of the public, or the durability of the work: indeed, this interest is promoted by the frequency of the necessary repairs ; consequently he takes care, like the leasehold builder, not to render his work too durable. And as rubbish, brick-dust, sand, &c. are far cheaper materials than granite paving-stone, the less of the latter substance in every hundred feet of pavement the better. There is an immediate saving of twenty or thirty per cent. and provision made for another job the ensuing year, instead of waiting three or four years for 66 a consummation so devoutly to be wished!" To be serious. The scandalous manner in which these tradesmen execute their contracts, though notorious to every observer in the metropolis, has been permitted from year to year, from some reason or other, to the entire disgrace of the heads of parishes and the local police. However, like most other evils, this great nuisance to the inhabitants (especially to the proprietors of horses and vehicles of any kind) is rapidly abating; not in consequence of the liberality or vigilance of the managing parties of districts, but in consequence of the talents and perseverance of an enterprizing North Briton! It is notorious that, even at the present day, when experience has demonstrated, as clearly as any proposition in Euclid, that a good, firm, hard roadway may be advantageously made in every tolerable wide street, that doubts and queries are continually started as to its eligibility! The plan of roadmaking adopted by Mr. McAdam is far from being any visionary scheme, and is intelligible to every man of the most ordinary capacity, who does not wilfully shut his eyes. The principle is simply this to have the substratum made very nearly level, or just sufficient for the water to drain off; to have the road-material of the hardest stones which can be procured; to break such stones down to one uniform size, in order that no unequal interstices may be left between them when embedded together; and to exclude the use of rounded gravel, and the loam, sand, or clay with which they are usually combined. The angular fragments of the broken stones serve to keep them firm in their place, whilst the pulverized matter from the friction on the surface fills up the interstices with the best kind of cement. For want of these angles, it must be obvious that the rounded or diluvial gravel, usually dug from gravel pits, cannot bind firm, but when exposed to wet, acting on the loam, &c. will invariably form a loose or shifting mass, which must be continually liable to fall into holes or inequalities, according to the hardness of the substratum on which it rests. What has been called McAdam's system (perhaps with some justice, as a compliment to his perseverance in following it up in defiance of all the interested opposition he has experienced), is in reality nothing more than that of preventing water from gaining access to the materials of the road, and using materials of the very best kind, instead of the compost of sand, clay, and chalk, called road-gravel; or of substituting the softer varieties of limestone or sandstone. It is, I believe, one of the maxims of Mr. McAdam to recommend the purchase of the best material, at almost any price, as a measure of ultimate economy. It is however very easy to perceive, that if any gentleman who happens to have a bed of inferior gravel on his estate, also happens to be a trustee or commissioner of turnpikes, that the virtue of such commission would probably transmute the gravel (containing thirty or forty per cent. of loam) into a better material for roadmaking than hard limestone, iron sandstone, or granite dug from a quarry out of the pale of such commission. Another advantage, which Mr. McAdam appears to possess over most other road-makers, is that of being able to judge where good materials are likely to be obtained, by sinking a certain depth below the soil. And in a case where his hands have been unfettered by any of the local considerations above-mentioned, he has converted, what was formerly one of the worst pieces of road between any two opulent cities, into one of the finest in the whole kingdom: I mean the twelve miles between Bath and Bristol. The soft Oolite stone which forms the surface of that district being a miserable material for road-making, the height of a hill was reduced; at the same time an abundance of very hard iron sand-stone was procured, equal, if not superior, in some respects to granite. With regard to the superior economy of employing this latter substance for road-making in London-streets, there can be no doubt; the old paving stones furnishing a surplus quantity for the improved system. But there is probably greater durability and less dust from the use of flint, if that material can be obtained in sufficient quantity. I fully agree with your correspondent Mr. Single, that (if paving the carriage-way of our streets be at all necessary) granite is the best material we can use; but I differ from him in his conclusion against the new system applied to narrow streets. He says, "it will not do where there is much traffic, from the frequency of opening the ground in order to repair the water and other pipes." But he surely must admit that excavations can be filled up with the broken stone à la McAdam in a fourth part of the time and with half the nuisance to passengers, that attend the job-contract-system of paving. The chief objection to laying gravel instead of pavement in a narrow street, is the ruts which are liable to be cut by carriages following each other in the same track. This, however, might be in a great measure avoided, by having a vigilant and civil resident-inspector or street-keeper, to see the road always kept in good repair, by scraping and moderate watering, and superintending the carriage traffic of the streets. The progress of this decided improvement to the metropolis is now, in spite of all the opposition of "vested interests," corporate and parochial, making very rapid strides; and I have no doubt the experience of seven years will make us blush for the passive obedience, which has been heretofore conceded by a generous public to the local jurisdiction of a few parish or district dictators. I shall conclude by citing one instance as a proof whether the street pavements of the metropolis were formerly done as well as they might have been :-That fine area Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, instead of being gravelled, is now nearly new-paved in a manner vastly superior to any work of that kind previously performed. Should not the opulent inhabitants of that square erect a statue in honour of McAdam? LINES ON A DEAD SOLDIER. WRECK of a warrior pass'd away, Stripped of thy garments, who shall guess The light of that fixed eye is set, Though from that head, late towering high, And low in dust that form doth lie, Yet Death's dark shadow cannot hide "That on the lip and brow reveal The impress of the spirit's seal. Lives there a mother to deplore Long shall she linger there, in vain The evening fire shall trim, And gazing on the darkening main, Shall often call on him Who hears her not-who cannot hear :--Oh! deaf forever is the ear That once in listening rapture hung Upon the music of her tongue! Long may she dream-to wake is woe! The heart, bereaving of its stay, |