we were regretted by none: extreme poverty has few friends. We now left a small country village to go and live in a large manufacturing town, where we were unknown, friendless, and almost without money. Here for a time fortune frowned upon us. I recollect well on one occasion or two we debated the question, whether we should still buffet the world, or give up a contest we seemed to be unable to maintain, and retire at once into the parish workhouse. I obtained work in a warehouse at very low wages; shortly after, my mother and also my brother obtained work too, and things began to look better; we settled down now more content in our new situation. Having some taste for reading, I obtained books from a small library in the neighbourhood for a halfpenny per week. Amongst the earliest of the books which I read, was a small life of Franklin; I was so much pleased with | this small work, that I read it over several times, and I may with truth say, that this book determined my future conduct through life; I took this book as my guide. As a stimulus to those who may be equally poor, I can assure them that hope never left me, that with honesty and industry, I might arrive to a better condition in society. During this time we were very poor, my stock of wearing apparel consisted of one suit only; when my shoes wanted repairing, I generally sat at the shoemaker's till they were mended; on Sundays I was a prisoner, having no decent clothes to wear; I generally employed my time in reading. My wages kept advancing a little with my years. When I was about eighteen, an event happened which had a most favourable influence upon my own destiny, and likewise upon that of the rest of my family. And here let me impress upon the reader the importance of learning any kind of employment which he may have an opportunity of doing, and paying no attention to the old adage of "Jack of all trades and master of none," for there is no telling what use you may have for the knowledge. My employer conceived an idea that he could manufacture by machinery what he was then having made by hand. I being steady, and having been a hand-loom weaver, I was selected to assist in the new business. For a length of time we laboured without success, but ultimately we succeeded. This was my first introduction to a cotton factory. In the distribution of the new situations, I obtained one of the most profitable, but, at the same time, a very unhealthy employment. Shortly after I had learned my new business, I found my wages considerably increased. I was now in the receipt of more than twenty shillings each week; this was a great change from seven. As the rest of my brothers had no knowledge of any trade by which they could get their living when grown up, I agreed to give my mother twenty shillings each week, so that they might learn trades, as there is little or no wages while learning; what I got over twenty, I was to keep for myself, to find clothes, books, and to save. This saving is a sure and never-failing method of making way in the world, and when once begun properly, it assists you to save more. I would earnestly impress upon the minds of all young men that they should not spend the whole of their earnings. I shall perhaps be told that their earnings are already too little, but I consider that all parties should endeavour to live below their incomes, and they may depend upon it that it is the only method by which they they can increase their incomes. I recollect well what those with whom I worked used to say to me on the subject of saving: "Why, S-, what will you do with the money you are saving ?" I used to answer, Why, if I die, I shall leave it to my friends, and a good example in the bargain;" for which answer I always had the laugh against me; but if I were asked now what I would do with the money I was saving, I could give many more reasons why a young man should save while he can, and of a practical nature too. We shall see, as we proceed through this memoir, that this turn of saving was the ship that kept me afloat through life, and which enabled me to overcome difficulties that fall in the way of the most careful and virtuous. Shortly after this time, a Mechanics' Institution was established in the town of B- ; I became a member on its opening, and I now feel grateful to those gentlemen who were instrumental in its formation; and if this should meet the eye of any of these gentlemen, they will see that their labours liave not been without their reward, and that gratitude is not extinct in the world. I would advise all young men to enter these institutions, where they will find abundant information, entertainment, and something to cheer the mind, and enable them to bear with many difficulties which are the natural lot of all mankind. When a young man enters one of these institutions, I would by no means wish him to give up his mind to mere reading, he ought to begin to learn the principles of the business by which he obtains his living, and this ought to be learned first; for a man who does not understand the business by which he gets his living, though he may be acquainted with every thing else, is nevertheless an ignorant man. If a man be a mechanic, he ought by all means to make himself acquainted with arithmetic, algebra, geometry, and mechanical drawing; he should attend all the lectures on mechanics; by this means he will the better understand his business and the instructions of his employers; after these are learned, he may then turn his attention to other branches of knowledge. But to the working man, an increase of knowledge in the useful departments should be the first consideration. I found the following plan the best for obtaining information from lectures: I procured a book on the same subject as the lectures intended to be given, and by looking over the syllabus I found what was to be treated on: I then read over the same subject in the book. I attended the lecture for the purpose of seeing the experiments performed which I could not afford to see performed myself; by this means I could almost anticipate what the lecturer had to say, and my chief attention was to see that the result of the experiments agreed with the reading. Many young men may perhaps think that the subjects here enumerated are more than they could manage with their limited time, but let me assure them that three or four years' constant application would enable them to master these subjects; I worked in a factory, and all know how long the hours of labour are in factories, yet I managed to make some progress in these subjects. I have digressed a little from the thread of my narrative. But to return: I continued at my new employment; I kept saving a little, but my means of saving were not great, because of the demands of my family. Now I have seen many young men, who, when they y have obtained a situation where they can earn a little more than what they think will keep themselves, leave their parents to go and live in lodgings, where they take all their earnings to themselves; this appears to me to be a most reprehensible proceeding, and one which often ends in misery, the just retribution of filial ingratitude. Indeed, nothing better can be expected from such conduct: the young men and women who act thus, being without parental control, stay out late at night, and form connexions which embitter the rest of their existence. What money I could save I placed in the savings bank, and I would advise all young men who can save a little, to place their savings in these establishments, rather than enter any of the many schemes for making fortunes, such as money and building clubs, which often prove traps for ensnaring the savings of the poor. I have myself been in both sorts of clubs, but was always a loser; and I have known many more working men who have shared the same fate. The savings bank offers less than the clubs, but it realizes what it promises, and that, too, without any trouble or anxiety of mind. There is another evil attending these societies,-they create a habit of attending the public-house, and engender a desire for drink; indeed they are oftener established for the benefit of the landlord than for that of any other person. I continued at my new employment about six years, when my employer and I disagreed, and we parted. I was out of work a short time. I now found for what purpose I had been saving; my money served me to live on. I obtained a fresh situation, and as it was one of responsibility, and I was entirely unknown to my employer, he required some guarantee for my honesty; my savings served me here again; they were taken as security for my good conduct. My employer made this remark at the time, that he preferred a servant who was of a saving turn, because those who took care of their own property would be more likely to take care of his. The next change was, that I got married; our family were by this time nearly all able to help themselves, and of course required less of my support. Marrying is an event which the working people generally do not properly prepare for, and if begun boldly, it is almost sure to end in misery. I again discovered for what purpose I had been saving my money instead of spending it foolishly. I now required household furniture; this was bought with ready money. I have known many who, when they were married, had not a penny to begin the world with; nay, more, that their wedding dresses have been obtained on credit. Now how can a partnership prosper that is commenced without capital, and their earnings mortgaged for a long time to come? If young married people cannot save money, there is little prospect of their being comfortable in the married state. The great error of the working classes is, to allow themselves to be in debt. I determined never to be in debt for any one thing, but always to pay for every thing with ready money; by this means I had always a greater amount of goods for my money, and of course my power of saving was by that means increased. There is this advantage likewise in always paying ready money, that you seldom buy any thing which you do not want. Two-thirds of the working people manage their earnings in the following manner: they purchase their food at a shop where they are a week in arrear, and generally an old score besides; their clothing and furniture are purchased in a similar manner, and they are likewise regular customers at the pawn-shop. Now the shopkeeper charges more for his goods in consequence of the uncertainty of credit; and what necessity is there for a working man being a regular weekly customer at a pawn-shop? I know families that spend a shilling a week in this manner. The other day I saw an article, the first cost of which had been six pounds, which had been pawned for one pound, and the interest had been paid upon it for ten years, which amounted to more than ten pounds, so that the man was one pound worse than if he had given it away. Numbers of the labouring class carry regularly to the pawn-shop on a Monday morning, goods upon which they obtain the loan of twenty shillings, and which are released again on the Saturday evening; for this sum they pay nearly sixpence, thus paying each year one pound five shillings for being twenty shillings behind. The sums which these poor misguided people pay for accommodation, I have to save, and live better than they do into the bargain, out of the same means. Let us look at the manner of purchasing a chest of drawers, and of course the same rule will apply to all goods bought in the same manner. For ready money they may be obtained for about four pound ten shillings; on credit, five guineas, or perhaps five pound ten shillings. Now instead of buying on credit, suppose the following plan were adopted: place the money, which would have to be paid weekly to the shopkeeper, into the savings bank until the proper sum be accumulated, and then buy with ready money; by this means you have the interest arising from the money in the bank, and the difference between ready money and credit, which will make a considerable sum, either to save or to increase the comforts of life. This is only one of the many illustrations which this subject is capable of. My wife having only her mother alive, I allowed her to live with us and form one of the family, and I think it the duty of all people to do the same. I only introduce this matter here, because I think many do not pay that attention to the comforts of their parents which they ought to do. I do not see how it is possible for the people to form communities where they cannot eat salt with their parents or to complain of the neglect of government, when children can allow their parents to go into the workhouse while they themselves are in comparative plenty. I remained at my new situation about a year, when the concern was unexpectedly broken up; after this I was out of a situation for six months, and if I had not saved before, I should have suffered most severe privations. I might have got into debt, sold my furniture-in short, I might have fallen into the abyss of debt and misery never to rise again. I found another answer why working people should use their best endeavours to save while they can. Of course during this time I had to live upon what I had saved, and having only lately married, it gave my savings a very severe shake. I obtained work at a large cottonmill in the town, and the first thing that the men that I was to work with required me to do, was to pay to them ten shillings as a footing, or in other words, I was to pay for ten shillings' worth of drink for them, though I had been six months out of work. Footings are often the cause of much contention, are excuses for drinking, and rob those who can least afford to be robbed. What would be said of an employer, if he were to charge his work-people ten shillings before he would allow them to work for him? My life took now a tolerably even turn for a period of about seven years, and affords very little for observation; and if one week were described, it would answer for all. I now found that the married state required more money than what I had calculated upon, and that my means of saving were not so great; but I still held to the doctrine of living below my means and of never getting into debt. It has often been said, that as men become more educated they are either less disposed to work or less capable: I would beg to deny both propositions so far as I have seen and felt in my own experience. Where I have worked, few have done more work than I have done, and none have been more careful or more regular in their attendance during working hours; and I should say that education has a most favourable influence upon health. I have worked in cotton-mills about fifteen years, at one of the most unhealthy employments in a cotton factory, and I have not during that period lost one week through sickness, and I do not possess by any means what is called a strong constitution. I believe that if the mass of the working people were better educated, we should see less want, misery, and sickness. If ever I have thought myself degraded by being a working man, it has not been from the circumstance of having to work, but from having to spend the greater part of my existence in the company of 1 men whose whole language was of a degrading and sensual character. When I had finished my week's work on a Saturday, and obtained my wages, I always went home first, the time of leaving work on Saturday being four o'clock. The first thing which I considered it necessary to do was to give myself a good washing and put on clean linen; this I always found to be more refreshing than any dram drinking; towards seven or eight o'clock I generally went to the Mechanics' Institution, and there spent a couple of hours, then returned home. By this line of conduct the body was relieved, and on the Monday I was always prepared to commence work again. I made it an invariable rule always to go home first, on leaving my work at the factory, and get a good wash, which had always an invigorating effect upon me. By some these observations may seem foolish, but I have seen numbers whose faces have been strangers to soap and water for a week together. Though working in a cotton factory (and who has not heard of the tyranny and the strictness of these places?) I was very seldom late, and I believe that five shillings would cover all the fines and forfeitures which were ever inflicted upon me during all the time that I worked there. I never needed any one to call me up. Now, how do the generality of men spend their time? Why on the Saturday, when they draw their wages, they retire to some neighbouring ale-house, and there stay till nine or ten o'clock, when perhaps the wife comes to see if her husband is for coming home; then commences a scene of uproar; at last he goes home, and what money he has left is taken to the pawn-shop to release their Sunday clothing. Sunday over, their clothing is again taken to the pawnshop, and the money which was paid to the pawnbroker on the Saturday is again obtained, and their clothing deposited as security. During the other evenings of the week, what little time they have, is spent in like manner. Many of these men know no better, and can hardly be blamed. I now found a new difficulty in my way, and that was an invention to supersede the machine which I worked upon. I saw that the invention would supplant my business in time, and I resolved to look out for a new employment before I was compelled to do so, and in doing this I must confess that I found some difficulty. Most trades are so fenced round with trades' unions, that it is difficult for a man turned thirty to get an opportunity of learning a fresh trade, because he cannot serve a seven years' apprenticeship to it. My savings came to my aid again; I purchased the machinery necessary to learn a new trade, and of course trades' unions could not interfere with my learning in my own house, and on my own machinery. I gave a man a trifle to set the machine up for me, and I practised when others were asleep, both before I went to the factory in the morning, and after I left it in the evening. The knowledge which I obtained by the aid of this machine, enabled me to obtain a situation in another line of business, which I am now working at. In conclusion, I would say to the rich, that if you wish to increase the happiness of the poor, you must educate them; if you wish to prevent them from making aggressions upon your persons and your property, you must educate them; if you wish to take them out of the hands of the trading demagogue, you must educate them. And the persons to whom the task of educating the people is delegated must have some better qualification than that of having failed in every other branch of business. To my fellow-workmen I would say, that this memoir does not present any splendid result, but you will see what can be done by industry, energy, and care. I had a very bad start in the world; I had likewise a very heavy drain upon my industry by my relatives, indeed such a sacrifice as few are required to make, yet I have still made way in the world. You must begin to think for yourselves; you must cease paying attention to those men who tell you that happiness is to come from others, and not from yourselves; depend upon it, you have more power over your own happiness than any other person or persons. To the young unmarried men I would say, by all means endeavour to lay by something before you are married; for if you cannot save something before you are married, there would have been little chance of your doing so after. And to all the working population I would say, that the following parties should never have any of their money, namely, the keepers of ale-houses and gin-shops, pawnbrokers, quack doctors, and last, though not least, fortunetellers. THY WILL BE DONE.* THE object of this little work is to develop the genius of Christianity, first, by showing its influence in producing submission to the Divine will on the part of those who are suffering under the ills to which humanity is heir, and, secondly, by illustrating the sympathy it inspires for all who are the subjects of affliction. The meeting of an English and Christian officer with the unhappy victim of "About fifty years ago the tower of Zear was surrounded by a ditch, and put in complete repair, by order of the government, for the reception of a leper, who under its solitary roof was to be separated from society: such was in those days the fear of the infection of this painful and loathsome disease. "It was, however, the intention of the government to procure for this afflicted being every consolation of which his pitiable situation could possibly admit. The hospital of Saint Maurice had the care of providing his food; he was also accommodated with comfortable plain furniture, a few books, and a good supply of garden tools and seeds. Here he lived for a long time, seeing no one but the man who brought his weekly supply of food, and the good priest who occasionally called to administer to the poor outcast the consolations of religion. "It was during the war of the Alps, in 1797, that an officer quartered at Aosta passed by chance near the garden of the leper, the door of which accidentally standing open he walked in, and observed a man clad in the simplest garments leaning against a tree in deep meditation. At the noise which the officer made in approaching, the leper, without turning to look upon the intruder, exclaimed in a voice of sorrow and agitation, 'Who is there? who wants me?" The officer advanced: 'Excuse a stranger,' said he, who has been tempted by the sight and scent of your flowers to commit a rudeness, but who would on no account intrude upon your privacy.' "Do not advance!' replied the inhabitant of the tower, motioning with his hand; do not advance a step! you are in the presence of an unhappy man attacked with leprosy.' "Whatever may be your malady,' replied the stranger, 'I shall not withdraw unless my presence is irksome to you; I am not in the habit of flying from the afflicted.' "You are welcome,' said the leper, turning suddenly round, "most welcome to remain, if after having looked upon me, you are still desirous to do so.' "The officer was for a moment motionless with surprise and terror at the sight of the unhappy man whom the leprosy had so cruelly disfigured; at length he replied, 'I will stay willingly if you will accept the visit of one who feels a compassionate interest in your fate.'' Our next engraving represents the unhappy man as sitting alone, deriving consolation amid his solitude and sorrows from the contemplation of the works of nature. "Though sickness and sorrow," says he, "make the hours appear long, still the year rolls on with the same rapidity; and we who are so deeply afflicted have one comfort which the generality of mankind cannot appreciate,-life is to us so uncertain that each day added to our existence is received with joyful gratitude as almost beyond our hope. Frequently in the summer season I pass hour after hour on the rampart, enjoying the pure air, and rejoicing in the beauties of nature. At such times a sort of delicious languor is spread over me; sorrow, the usual inhabitant of my heart, no longer overwhelms me, but is softened into resignation; and I look with calm delight upon the rocks and mountains by which I am surrounded, the different views of which are so strongly impressed upon my mind that I may almost say they form a part of myself, and each mountain peak is to me as the face of a friend with which the Almighty has blessed me. "STRANGER. When my soul has been heavy with sorrow, and I have found no sympathy in the heart of man, I have often experienced the same sensation. "LEPER.-Your candour encourages me to open my heart to you, and confess that the same feeling leads me every evening, before I retire to rest, to salute the icy mountains of Ruitorbs, the dark woods of Mount St. Bernard, and the fantastic peaks which overhang the valley of Rheme. Although the power of God is as visible in the minute formation of the ant as in the creation of the universe, yet the imposing spectacle of vast mountains overpowers me, and I never look upon yonder enormous masses covered with snow without a feeling of religious awe. But in the beautiful country by which I am surrounded, there are some spots more dear to me than others. I especially love to look upon the hermitage, which you see on the summit of the mountain of Charvensod, isolated in the midst of the deep wood on the borders of the desert: it is tinged with the last rays of the setting sun. I have never been to the hermitage, (though I am allowed to walk abroad occasionally on that side which is most distant from Aosta,) yet I feel a singular pleasure in looking upon it. In the evening as I sit in my garden I turn my eyes towards that peaceful spot, and I feel, what I cannot well describe, as if I had in some happier moment seen or inhabited such a spot in a far distant country. I amuse myself with contemplating the distant mountains as they mingle with the clear blue sky; like futurity, its distance conveys to me the feeling of hope. Oh, how my oppressed heart relies upon that hope conveyed in the Holy Scriptures, that there exists a distant land where at some future period I may enjoy the blessing for which I sigh: a humble faith points to that land where the weary are at rest."" We shall present two more illustrations in our next, only mentioning in the mean time, that the story is founded on fact, and that it is told with great feeling and pathos. FATALITY, OR THE SIBYL. A TALE OF THE PAPAL STATES. BY A TRAVELLER. PART II. THERE were at the gate of the Ambrosian convent, of which Julio was now a confirmed brother, a poor woman and a little boy, her son, both pensioners of Theresa, and subsisting chiefly upon the alms they daily received from her hands. Little Carlo was frequently in attendance at her side, carried her prayer-book to chapel, and repeated his prayers at the same altar. Julio, who could not muster resolution to approach Theresa himself, sent a message by Carlo to say that "Father Julio would expect her at the confessional, at seven o'clock in the evening." What a fearful day was this for Julio! He trembled at the thought of again finding himself alone, and in company with Theresa! He dreaded lest his courage should fail him when called upon to pronounce the final adieu! He alternately formed and abandoned his resolutions; and now determined not to see, but to write to her; and little Carlo was charged to present her with a note the moment she entered the chapel. Theresa, on receiving his first message, felt herself distressed and confused. "What can he want with me ?" she sighed "we were so happy-so resolved.” She failed not, however, to keep the appointment-she felt even some degree of impatience, and repaired to chapel a little before the appointed hour. As she approached the confessional, Carlo, who was stationed there for the purpose, presented her the letter. She opened it with visible emotion and an agitated hand; the salient blood suffused her countenance for a moment, then rushed back upon her heart and left her pale and exhausted: her look was totally changed; her expression was the language of despair. She read the following words: "Pause, and reflect, imprudent woman! Come not hither to sully with thy presence the sanctity of these walls. Bury a remembrance which has become the torment of my life. I have never loved thee-I will never see thee more!" Her remorse was much less bitter than these words; but stifling what she felt, smothering what she apprehended, she had strength to leave the fatal spot and return home. Her mental agony was succeeded by a violent fever, and her life was despaired of. The name of Julio frequently trembled upon her lips; but still, even in her delirium, the cherished name remained undivulged-her passion was unbetrayed; only at times, she murmured in a low voice the blighting words of his letter-" I have never loved thee!" In the mean time is it to be supposed that Julio had recovered his peace of mind? that he had succeeded in stifling the upbraidings of remorse? Far from it! His life was miserable. After having declared to Theresa that he loved her not, he abandoned himself without reserve to his fatal passion so terrible had been the effort required to write that letter, that the sacrifice it imposed appeared to him a sufficient penance and atonement for the guilt he had incurred. "O Theresa," he exclaimed, in the solitude of his cell," didst thou but know what it has cost the wretched Julio to write that letter, thine own grief would be forgotten in pity of the intensity of his sufferings!" Julio was now a prey to the most distressing anxiety-three months had already passed away, and he had received no intelligence of Theresa. Time seemed only to add to that unhappy passion, under the effects of which he was fast wasting away, and he avoided more and more all intercourse with the brotherhood. Under the pretence of bad health, he succeeded in obtaining from Father Ambrosio a dispensation from all exterior functions; and from that moment he was night and day shut up in his cell, or, if he went abroad at all, it was only during the night, when he would wander for hours among the tombs of the cemetery; indulging his wild reveries and drunk with the disorder of his own rebellious sentiments; having neither courage to combat his passion, nor at once to give way to it, and above all tortured with that agonizing uncertainty which wears away life, and blotting alike from the mind every soothing recollection of the past, every cheering prospect of the future. To the long malady under which Theresa had laboured, there now succeeded a state of extreme languor, but a state that was no less dangerous than the fever itself. She felt that she was dying, and disposed herself to perform the last duties of life, and embrace the last consolations of religion. Her family, who loved her tenderly, easily perceived that some unacknowledged grief was fast hurrying her to the tomb; but they respected her silence, and ventured to ask no questions. Father Ambrosio, who was held in great veneration in the place, was intreated to visit her. He prepared to fulfil this important duty, and was already on the steps of the convent, on his way to the sick chamber, when an unexpected circumstance occurred at the instant, and prevented the possibility of his proceeding. Under these circumstances he delivered the sacred charge into the hands of Julio, desiring him to repair forthwith to the house of Signor Vivaldi, there to shed a consoling balm over the breast of a dying sister. Julio would gladly have excused himself, but Ambrosio persisted in delegating to him the obligation of performing this duty; for, from his rigid mode of life and austere manners, he had already acquired the odour of early and distinguished sanctity, and appeared a fit and proper substitute for the superior in the present embassy of Christian charity. Little aware at whose couch this last duty was to be performed, Julio repaired to the house of Signor Vivaldi. He was shown into a dimly-lighted chamber, where a number of friends stood weeping around the couch of a lady, apparently on the verge of dissolution. At his entrance every one retired, out of respect for those holy func tions of which he was the depositary, and Julio was left alone with the sick lady. After hearing her confession, and agitated by an indescribable sensation, Julio continued motionless and unconscious. My reverend father," said the dying lady, in a feeble but earnest voice," is there yet mercy reserved in heaven for a poor departing sinner?" Scarcely were the words pronounced, when Julio fell on his knees before the couch of death :-"Theresa! Theresa !" he exclaimed, and the name died on his lips. Vain were the attempt to describe the feelings of both at this moment; explanation was superfluous. They now loved one another with a truth and sincerity which no circumstances could influence. In a word, Julio repeated every thing he had suffered for her sake, and accused himself as the cause of all that she had suffered. Forgive, forgive the past, he exclaimed, and Julio is henceforth thine-only thine! These tender expressions once more revived the drooping Theresa; she was too weak to reply in words; but she heard him; her hand was in his, and a death like this appeared to her more desirable than life. Julio hung over her in an agony of hope and fear; he pressed her hand to his heart; he would have prolonged her days at the price of his own. "Thou shalt live, my Theresa, thou shalt live |