in one of our Scottish proverbs, two blacks wont make a white,' alluded, in reply, to the penal code of England. In your country,' retorted he, they hang, sir, for the slightest offences.' 'I allow that,' rejoined Mr Howard, but the multiplicity of her capital punishments is a disgrace to my country; but as one fault does not excuse another, so neither, in this case, is the parallel just; for I declare I would rather be hanged, if it were possible, ten times over, than undergo such a continuance of sufferings as the unhappy beings endure, who are confined in your Majesty's prisons.' This interview was speedily followed by the most happy results.

Mr Howard returned to England in 1787. While at home on this occasion, he lived chiefly in London. A lunatic, guarded by two keepers, occupied his house at Cardington! That lunatic was his own son, whose sad excesses had overthrown his reason. What a contrast between Howard the younger and Howard the elder! Truly virtue does not run in the blood! There were many associations entwined around his establishment at Cardington, which must have endeared it to his kind and sensitive heart; but the pitiable condition of his only son made it no home for him. Deep, indescribably deep, must have been the sorrow of his spirit, when he found, on visiting it, which he did soon after his arrival in the metropolis, that dear old Cardington, the spot where he was nursed, the scene of his benevolent labours, and where, with his beloved Henrietta, he had spent so many happy days, could not now yield him a peaceful shelter. Gentle, good Howard! one's bosom bleeds to think of thee taking thy solitary stroll in its garden, and musing, in tears, both on the past and present. There is something peculiarly touching in the grief of a man in declining years. Youthful reader, try to realize the feelings of the amiable Howard now; and, oh, cling to the paths of virtue, lest thou bring down thy father's grey hairs in sorrow to the grave!

felt his pulse, looked at the swelling, and ordered him to keep warm in a little cabin, as he had caught cold. In two hours after, I sent for a French captain, desiring him to give no alarm, but said that I was persuaded the man had the plague; and on Tuesday after, I saw the grave in which he was buried. I visit all the prisons, to inform myself; but my interpreters are very cross with me. I am bound for Scio, as in that island is the most famous hospital in the Levant. My quarantine of forty days' imprisonment is to be, I hope, at Venice. I could easily have made my route by land to Vienna, without being stopped, as no quarantine is performed on the confines of the Emperor's dominions; but should such an establishment for our shipping be ever introduced into England, things which now may appear trivial may be of future importance. I have therefore procured from the Venetian ambassador the strongest recommendation to assist me in the minutest observations I can make during my quarantine. I bless God, I am quite well, calm, and in steady spirits; indeed I have at times need of determined resolution. Since I left Helvoetsluys, I have never met with any English ship, or travelled one mile with any of my countrymen. I am persuaded I am engaged in a good cause, and confirmed of having a good God and Master. His approbation will be an abundant recompense for all the little pleasures I may have given up.' During his absence from England, and while he was thus exposing himself to diseases the most loathsome and appalling, acting, indeed, at times, in a way which almost tempts us to charge him with letting his courage degenerate into rashness, his countrymen, in their admiration of his noble conduct, proposed to honour him in a style quite repugnant to his own modest feelings and tastes. A subscription, headed by persons of the highest distinction, was set afoot to erect a statue, or some other monument, to his honour. Who better deserved some such tribute of public respect? Who ever earned for himself a nobler title to the praise of his countrymen, yea, of mankind? But John Howard did not need such things to perpetuate his name; and everything like ostentation offended his pure and simple taste. As an instance of this, we may mention the fact, that, before he set out on this journey, he left pointed directions that his funeral expenses should not exceed ten pounds-that his tomb should be a plain marble slab, placed under that of his beloved Henrietta, in the churchyard of Cardington, with this inscription upon it: John Howard, died -, aged - My hope is in Christ. We may learn how the proposal we have been alluding to affected him, when we hear him, in letters to his friends, speaking of it and the bad behaviour of his son as circumstances which, at the time, filled him with deep concern. The affair of the monument was thus, in obedience to his own strongly expressed wishes, reluctantly abandoned. While at Vienna at this time, the Emperor Joseph II., who had shown a most creditable zeal in the improvement of those different establishments respecting which our philanthropist was so well versant, requested an interview with him. The etiquette of the court required that persons presented to the Emperor should kneel before him. Howard thought this too servile an act from one man to another, and tried to avoid the interview. The ceremony was dispensed with by Joseph; and he and Howard had an interview of about two hours, which the latter did not fail to improve. He informed the Emperor that he had seen in his prisons many things which astonished and shocked him. The torture has been said to be abolished in your Majesty's dominions,' said Howard, but it is only so in appearance; for what is now practised is in The remainder is soon told. On the 4th of July, 1789, reality worse than any other torture. Poor wretches are Howard left England for ever. He landed in Holland, confined twenty feet below ground, in places just fitted and proceeded through Germany to St Petersburgh and to receive their bodies, and some of them are kept there Moscow. Everywhere he found the prisons and hospitals for eighteen months. Others are in dungeons, chained thrown open to him, and immense was the good to their so closely to the wall that they can scarcely move. All unhappy inmates that resulted from his visits. He next of them are deprived of proper consolation and religious proceeded to the new Russian settlements on the Black support.' The Emperor, forgetting the principle involved | Sea, and stationed himself at the town of Cherson, where

While he was in England the statue affair was again revived, though, in deference to his urgent solicitations, it was abandoned. After another inspection of various places of confinement and asylums for the destitute, and after publishing his account of the principal lazarettos in Europe, he resolved again to leave England. The state of his son perhaps, as much as the desire to do still more good to his fellow-creatures, made him take this resolution. His household gods lay shivered on his hearth. He had given himself to the service of mankind, and he would not put off the harness till called to his rest. His impression was fixed that he was about to leave his native shores never to return to them again. When his aged friend and pastor at Stoke-Newington was expressing his grief at parting with him, as they probably would never meet again, the good man replied, "We shall meet in heaven. The way to heaven from Grand Cairo is as near as from London.' He visited, and bade an affectionate farewell to, all his poor neighbours at Cardington. He gave to each some fitting token of his regard. To his faithful steward, John Prole, he gave the lease, as long as he should choose to occupy it, of one of his farms. He conferred a like boon on his trusty gardener, Joshua Crockford. And the writer of this sketch has few wishes on this side the grave stronger than to see that spot where, on the occasion of his last visit, the venerable Howard and Joshua walked till midnight-that fir-walk, as it was called, whose trees were planted by his own hands, and those of his beloved Henrietta-and to saunter there for a while, and think on what the good man then felt about his labours of love, her now in the dust, and that maniac son of his !

sails swelling before the wind, it sailed into the harbour, where, grouped on the shore, were crowds of anxious faces, mothers, sisters, wives, and sweethearts, each eagerly straining her eyes to ascertain if the well-beloved of her heart was there, for whose dear safety she had adjured the storm, and put up many a nightly prayer. Jessie expected no one; but she had been out to return some work that had been intrusted to her, when she met several of her friends hurrying towards the pier, who, seizing her by the arm, bade her come along and see the Adventure. Jessie said she was busy, and had no time; but they were too elated with joy to listen to her excuse; so they dragged her on; and there she stood on the shore with the rest, watching the glad greetings in which she had no share, and thinking that the pleasure of such a return must be an ample compensation for all the pains of absence and separation.

a most malignant fever was raging. Among its victims was a young lady who resided about twenty miles from Cherson. Howard, at her earnest request, visited her, and from her, it is believed, caught the malady which terminated fatally. John Howard did not fear to die; he had no reason. Reader, remember the motto he prescribed for his tomb: 'My hope is in Christ.' He could talk of the coming event and its consequences with perfect composure. Death has no terrors for me,' said he to Admiral Priest man; it is an event I always look to with cheerfulness, if not with pleasure, and be assured the subject is more grateful to me than any other.' And again: There is a spot near the village of Dauphigny; this would suit me nicely; you know it well, for I have often said that I should like to be buried there: and let me beg of you, as you value your old friend, not to suffer any pomp to be used at my funeral; nor any monument, nor any monumental inscription whatever, to mark where I am As the ship had been manned from that port, every laid; but lay me quietly in the earth, place a sun- sailor as he came ashore found the open arms of some redial over my grave, and let me be forgotten.' A gleam|lative or friend ready to receive him-every sailor but of joy, from a quarter whence he could expect none, one, and he was a stranger; and as he stept from the deck was shed around his dying hour. A letter reached of the vessel to the pier, and looked around him, Jessie him from a friend in England, in which it was stated thought what a pity it was that there were no glad smiles that the writer had lately seen his son, and that his or fond embraces to welcome him home, as well as the health was much improved. He handed this letter to others, and she fancied, by his countenance, that he thought Admiral Priestman, as he stood by his bedside, and when so too; and perhaps she did not pity him the less, that he the latter had read it, he falteringly said, 'Is not this was one of the handsomest, smartest young sailors she comfort for a dying father? To a favourite servant, had seen for many a day. Poor fellow!' said she to herwhom he had on this occasion brought with him from Eng- self, and her eyes were unconsciously fixed upon his face, land, he gave in charge a message to his prodigal child; poor fellow! I wonder where he belongs to, and who his he bade him tell him, should he ever be restored to rea- friends are!' and just as she was saying this, and while son, how frequently and fervently he had prayed for his pity was looking out of her soft blue eyes, and giving them welfare. Admiral Priestman secured the spot of ground the prettiest expression imaginable, Harry Malcolm's near the village of Dauphigny in which he wished his bright black ones happened to turn in that direction; and bones to be laid, and all of the good Howard that earth as the four eyes met, an influence, rapid as lightning, and now holds reposes there. as fatal, darted to each heart, and imprinted there the fiat of their destiny. Pretty Jessie blushed as the young stranger looked at her with undisguised admiration; and when he drew to her side, and said, half shyly and half boldly, 'My girl, can you tell me where to seek a lodging in this town? her voice faltered with emotion, as she answered, that she believed the widow Harris, in Argyle Street, had a comfortable room to let.' But the sailor was a stranger, and did not know in which direction Argyle Street lay; so, as Jessie's home was there, what could she do but offer to show him the way? So they walked on side by side, the sailor asking such questions about the place and the people as curiosity prompted, and Jessie hiding her blushing cheeks as well as she could under her bonnet, and answering his queries, sometimes she scarcely knew how, so very odd and confused, and at the same time pleased and elated, she felt.

When the news of his death reached England, all men felt they had lost a friend. His praises were heard in the pulpits of the land; statesmen and orators spoke to his honour; poets eulogized his worth; and, reader, when you next visit London, don't forget to look for a little on his marble statue in St Paul's Cathedral, which his modesty prevented being erected while he was in life, but which his countrymen felt bound to do when he was no more. To look on that statue will do your heart good. And yet, after all, his deeds of benevolence are his best monument: it is praise enough merely to name John Howard, to those at least who have a taste for the beautiful and good in human conduct. He sleeps in a foreign land. Sweetly has the poet sung it :

"By foreign hands thy dying eves were closed;
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed;
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned;
By strangers honoured and by strangers mourned.'

THE SAILOR'S WIFE; OR, THE TRIUMPH OF HONESTY. By Mrs CROWE, Authoress of Susan Hopley,' &c. THERE was not a prettier girl in the little seaport town of M than Jessie Duncan-no, nor a cleverer girl either. Whatever was given to Jessie to do, she did well. She could not only wash, and work at the mills, and do any sort of common labour, but she could get up fine linen, and do fine needlework. Jessie, in short, would have made a capital servant-she would have been a perfect treasure to any lady that had had the good fortune to discover her merits, before she fell in with Harry Malcolm, the handsome sailor, the day he stept ashore from his ship, the Adventure, which had just returned from China. Little did Jessie dream of the freight of sorrows that beautiful ship was bearing for her, as, with its white

And where do you live, my lass?' said the sailor, as they were about to part at the widow Harris's door.

That's mother's house,' answered Jessie, pointing to one not far off, on the opposite side of the way.

'I'm glad of it,' said he, 'for then, if widow Harris can accommodate me, we shall be within hail of each other. My name is Harry Malcolm, and I belong to a place far away from this. The Plover, that I went out in, was lost on a coral reef off the coast of China, and, by good luck, I got a passage home in the Adventure, as she was short of hands, and I shall have to stay here till I find an opportunity of getting home; but, from what I hear, that mayn't be for some time.'

Jessie said she was afraid not. Perhaps, if she had said she hoped not, she would have spoken more correctly; for Jessie was but seventeen, and certain it is, that short as the walk was from the pier to Argyle Street, she had contrived to lose her heart by the way. Hearts are very impressionable at seventeen; and since it could not be denied that Harry Malcolm, both in appearance and manners, was the very beau ideal of a young sailor, the thing was not to be wondered at ; nor was anybody surprised, when, about two months afterwards, Jessie gave her hand where she had given her heart, and, to the envy of many a pretty girl in M- became the wife of Harry Malcolm. Her

father and mother, too, who were decent people, and had brought her up with the greatest care, were pleased to see her so well disposed of, for they had several other children to provide for; and, when Jessie sailed away for her husband's home, they parted from her without fear or misgiving; and the few natural tears they shed, were soon dried by the glad certainty that she was perfectly happy, and, as far as they could foresee, had every prospect of continuing so.

length she fell asleep, and slept the calm sleep of innocence and health till morning; but when she awoke, Harry was not beside her. Could they be drinking yet? She jumped out of bed and peeped into the next roomit was empty. There was a strong effluvia of liquor-the candles had never been put out, but had burned down to the socket-the table was covered with bottles and glasses, and the contents of one that was broken was oozing out on the floor; in short, the room presented a picture Harry's first care, when he reached his own home, was of disorder-but Harry and his friends were not there. to establish his wife in a nice cottage; for, said he, 'I may Jessie fancied her husband must be gone to take a walk, be off to sea again directly, and I shouldn't like to leave in order to shake off the effects of his night's excess; so my little Jessie till she was comfortably settled.' So no she dressed herself hastily, that she might clean up the time was lost; and a proud day it was for Jessie when she room and prepare his breakfast against his return. Then took possession of her tidily furnished house, and gave she took up her baby, washed it and dressed it; but still notice to the neighbourhood, by a board over the door, that Harry did not appear. She stood at the door for some she took in fine work, and got up fine linen. As her abi- time, looking first one way and then the other; then she lities quickly became known, she was soon employed, and ran down to the beach to see if he was there-but no sign nothing could go on more prosperously than Jessie's little of Harry. Where could he be? Alas! Harry was at the ménage, and nothing could be more pleasant than her pros-public-house! He had drank so much the night before, pects, except for one drawback-and that was, that now and that his excitable temperament was on fire, and there was then-not often, but now and then-Harry Malcolm was no stopping the conflagration. He stayed there for three enticed to the public-house by some of his jolly compa- days; no persuasions could induce him to quit the den nions; and, whenever that happened, he was sure to stay of vice and dissipation in which he had buried himself, away, drinking, all night; for Harry was of that peculiar till his money was all spent; and then the wary publican, temperament that is apt to run into extremes. He could, virtuously refusing to supply him with more liquor, gravely without effort, be as sober as a judge, till some too power-advised him to return home to his wife and child. Three ful temptation fell in his way; but, when once he had over- miserable days these were to Jessie! By the time her stepped the bounds of temperance, he never knew when to husband came back, she had almost cried her eyes out with stop; and, besides all the money he spent on these occa- grief, shame, and mortification. However, she prudently sions, it was a grievous thing to Jessie to see her hand-refrained from scolding him; she knew that would only some Harry reeling home in the bright sunshine of the make matters worse; and, indeed, there was no need; early morning, disfigured by drink, and sometimes by for Harry was as much ashamed of himself as she could blows for out of drink grew quarrelling and fighting; desire. He was quite low-spirited and melancholy, and and Harry was ashamed, too, when it was all over; and he said that he should look out for a berth, and go to sea always said it should never happen again; but still it did again directly, for it was plain he was not fit to live ashore. happen again, though not very often. However, at length Jessie tried to cheer him, and to coax him into self-comHarry got a berth on board the Vesta, bound for the placence again; but the effects of his excess had told on Brazils; and when Jessie clung round his neck, and with his constitution, and had produced a despondency that she passionate fondness wept her adieus, she forgot all his faults could not overcome. One evening, after he had passed in the pain of parting, and declared she should never have an unusually wretched day, he asked her for some money, a happy moment till her dear Harry returned. And for which she gave him, and presently afterwards he went several days she mourned, and would take no comfort, and out. It was to the public-house he went. He had battled ļ she cried so, that her pretty eyes became quite inflamed, with the temptation till he could battle no longer; and he and she could not see to do her work; and then she began flew from his present pain to worse perdition, and sought to reflect that it would never do to go on in that manner, to drown the memory of his shame in deeper guilt. and that it was not what Harry would approve, if he knew it; and, after a little effort, the elastic spirits of youth rose again, hope took the place of grief, her mind turned from the present to the future, and Harry's return, which, from the hour he departed, every sun that went down brought nearer, became the bright star in the distance on which she fixed her eyes, and which led her on, through her toils and her troubles, from day to day, in cheerfulness and contentment.

Thus time crept on, and at length Harry returned; and, oh, with what pride did his pretty blushing wife meet him on the beach, and place in his arms the first tender pledge of their love, a fine little boy of nine months old, that had been born during his absence! And how delighted Harry was! How he hugged his Jessie, and how he tossed the baby in his vigorous arms, till it crowed with delight, whilst tears of joy ran down the cheeks of the happy wife and mother! I wouldn't have him christened till you came home,' said Jessie; and I mean to have him called Harry.'

Poor Jessie's grief was inexpressible; but seeing the dire grasp the terrible vice had taken of him, she made up her mind that it was better he should go to sea at once; so, with a heavy heart, she urged him to do so. She trusted that absence and change of scene might break the wicked charm that held him, and that he might return to her an altered man.

So Harry went. This parting was not like the first; there were tears too-but there was a bitterness in these there had not been before; and Harry hung his head, ashamed to hold out the flag of hope, that had then been her best consolation- Never pipe your eye, my girl. I shall soon be home again, with plenty of pay in my pocket, and fonder of my little Jessie than ever!

But now the pay was all gone, and most of Jessie's earnings too; and, though she had no doubt of his love, if he could not be weaned from the dreadful vice that had entangled him, the love of a drunkard could afford her little happiness, and she had no prospect before her but poverty and ruin. However, after he had been some time To be sure he shall,' said the husband; and a jolly gone, her affection began, as affection always does in abchristening we'll have of it.' So the friends and neigh-sence, to drop a veil over his faults. She fancied all the bours were invited to the jolly christening, and very merry and very happy they all were; but, at night, when the steady members of the party took their leave, some of Harry's friends stayed behind to drink another glass to the health of the infant. Jessie would much rather they had gone away, but it was not a case for a wife to interfere in; so she went to bed and left them to their potations. For some time she lay awake, with the baby in her arms, listening to their noisy merriment; but at

mischief had arisen out of his extravagant delight at the christening of little Hal; and as she had now another baby to present to him-a girl this time-she took care to have the christening quietly over before he returned; and when she heard the ship was coming in, she went down to the beach, once more in a flutter of joy, with little Hal running beside her, and the infant Agnes in her arms.

But the very first glance she caught of Harry, as he stood upon the deck, gave her heart a chill. What a

lines, which I always carry with me, that people may see that I'm a douce, decent body; and I'm sure I may say with truth, that I never did a thing to disgrace my husband's name, nor my father's either; and if I could only get work, I'd be the last person to throw myself upon any body's charity, as long as I'd health and strength to do it.'

Upon this announcement, the clerk shook his head, in a manner that made poor Jessie's blood run cold; and then, after clearing his throat two or three times, and turning his face away from her, whilst he stirred the fire, he told her, with all the gentleness and consideration he could, that the Betsey had been wrecked on a lee shore during a dreadful gale, that all on board had perished, and that there was therefore no pay forthcom- My good woman,' said the matron, sorrowfully shaking. At this dire intelligence, poor Jessie, overwhelmeding her head, 'I'm grieved for you—but this place is not by such an accumulation of misfortunes, fell to the for you, or such as you. None can be admitted here, but ground in a state of insensibility, from which the efforts the poor misguided creatures who have forsaken the paths of the clerk, and a maid-servant whom he called to his of virtue, and have sunk into vice and infamy.' aid, could not recover her. Seeing the mother in this condition, with a sick child by her side, and one in her arms that she was incapable of taking care of, and rightly judging, from what she had said, that she was utterly penniless, the clerk, who was too poor to assist them himself, thought it would be a charitable act to get them into the infirmary; so he stepped up stairs to his master, who was one of the governors of that institution, and, having represented the case, requested an order of admission for the unhappy family. This he obtained, and thither Jessie and her poor children were conveyed; where she and Agnes and Johnny were put into one bed, at the foot of which sat the affectionate Hal, crying as if his little heart would burst in twain.

'What!' cried Jessie, clasping her hands in the agony of disappointment, must I perish because I'm honest ? Must I see my children starve, because I never wronged their father P

'I hope not,' replied the matron; 'that would be hard measure indeed. But here I have no power to receive you. Nevertheless, as I am really interested for you, if you will remain in G-, I will see if I can procure you any sort of situation or employment. But I cannot promise that I shall succeed, for the distress is very general; and many there are, belonging to the place, who cannot earn their bread!'

'Wont they take us in, mother?' said little Hal, as the door of the House of Refuge closed on these poor wanderers.

'No, my child,' said Jessie, in the bitterness of her heart, they wont take me in, because I'm an honest woman; if I was wicked, they'd give me shelter.'

'Do they like wicked people best, mother?' said Hal.

I suppose they think it their duty to snatch them from their wickedness,' replied Jessie. But if they wont help us because we're honest, it's the way to make us wicked too.'

'But we wont be wicked, mother,' said Hal, 'for then you know God wouldn't love us; and perhaps if he sees we're good, he'll help us himself, if the people wont; besides, if we do die of hunger, we shall go to father, in heaven; and there'll be no want of food there.'

'No, Hal, no,' said Jessie, kissing the child's honest face; we wont be wicked; but oh, dear, it's a hard thing to be in a strange place, without a friend, or a home, or a bit or a sup to put into our mouths.'

It was some time before all the means that were administered could recall poor Jessie to a consciousness of her woes; and when at length she did recover, she found more sorrows awaiting her. Agnes and Johnny were both exceedingly ill, and Hal had the measles. She felt, however, grateful to God that they had a roof over their heads, and the benefit of medical attendance; and rousing herself from her despondency, she arose from her bed, and set herself to nurse her children. Hal got through his illness pretty well; and although Johnny was once nearly gone, he finally recovered, and was considerably benefited by receiving better nourishment than he had been used to; but poor little Agnes sunk under her malady, which settled on her lungs; and after much suffering, she expired in her mother's arms. When Agnes was buried, and Hal was sufficiently recovered to leave the infirmary, of course they had no longer any claim to its shelter; and, with an aching heart, homeless and penniless, Jessie found herself, with her two children, in the busy, crowded streets of G- -; busy and crowded, but yet a desert to her, whose anxious eye met no familiar face, nor cheering smile, nor friendly hand-a stranger, unpitied, uncared for, and unknown. For some minutes she stood bewildered, looking first in one direction and then in another, actually not knowing whither to direct her steps; she was ashamed to beg, and yet, without a farthing to purchase food or shelter, what other resource had she? Suddenly it occurred to her that she had formerly heard how a young woman who was born in the same place as herself, and who had gone to G to seek service, having got into trouble, had been received into the House of Refuge. The House of Refuge! What a blessed thought! Who could need a refuge more than herself? She looked around for some one of whom she might inquire the way; and seeing the door of a shop open, she entered, and asked the question. "The House of Refuge!' said a woman with a harsh and unpleasant expression of countenance, who was standing behind the counter; 'you might learn that, I should think, of some of your own companions, without coming into a respectable shop to ask it; and having gratified her ill-nature by this remark, she proceeded to give the desired information; and humbly thanking her, Jessie set off with eager steps to seek its shelter. With a beating heart she rang at the bell, and having request-have a better prospect of getting employment there, where ed admission, was conducted to the matron, a kind, she was known, than elsewhere. It was a long and weary benevolent looking person, who listened to her sad tale journey; and no possible means had she of getting through with great interest and patience. And indeed, ma'am,' it, but by begging on the road; and this, repugnant as it added Jessie, when she had narrated the circumstances was to her feelings, she resolved to do. So without linthat had reduced her to her present condition—' indeed, gering in the still empty streets, where no one was yet about ma'am, all I tell you is true. Here are my marriage-likely to give her alms, she turned her steps southward, and

'Mother,' said Hal, look here! Wouldn't they give you some money for my shirt? It isn't ragged; and I could do very well in my jacket and trousers without it; and as poor Hal's shirt was the only article of their scanty wardrobe that they could dispense with, his generous offer was per force accepted; and its produce sufficed to procure them an humble lodging for the night; the only food they had tasted being some bread given to them by the matron of the House of Refuge. Poverty makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows; and it may be easily imagined, that the inmates of such a lodging as Jessie could afford to pay for, were not very desirable companions; and as she lay in a corner, with her innocent children asleep on her bosom, she shuddered with disgust at the depravity that surrounded her. Awake she lay; for weary as she was, no sleep visited her heavy eyelids; her heart was too full of misery, and her brain too busy with thinking of to-morrow's woes and wants, to let her rest. So with the early dawn she arose, and glad to get out of a place so odious, into the open air, she found herself once more with her children upon the streets. But the result of her night's reflections was a resolution not to stay longer in G, but to make her way, as well as she could, to her own birth-place, where her father and mother still lived, who, poor as they were, she was sure would share the little they had with her children; whilst she might