are soon chased away by the bright skies, the beautiful moonlight nights, and the enchanting aspect of the country; by the newness of everything, and by the strange intoxicating effect of the exhilarating air, which seems to make all who breathe it forget home, country, friends, troubles, and annoyances for a time, and give themselves up to the pure enjoyment of living.

"The wild joys of living! The leaping

From rock up to rock

The rending their boughs from the palm-trees,
The cool silver shock

Of a plunge in the pool's living water.

The haunt of the bear,

And the sultriness showing the lion

Is couched in his lair.

Whisper softly-gently tread;

Hush thy chidings near the dead:
Death is holy-

Let thy tears drop still more slowly.
Thou art weary-she at rest,
Free from earthly strife or pain;
Thou hast sorrows-she has joy;
Wouldst thou wish her here again?

She is God's-more softly tread,
Hush thy envy for the dead:

Death is holy

Let thy dropping tears cease wholly.

E. G. H.

V.-NOTES OF BYWAYS.

а

Ir has been remarked that, in some respects, London resembles ⚫ dwelling which, "though it presents a general appearance of order, contains closets and other receptacles of miscellaneous lumber that might astonish any one curious enough to pry into them." There is some truth in this simile. In our business thoroughfares everything is arranged to meet the public view, and our attention falls generally where it is invited. But there are places not on the map, callings which are not advertised, and "passing events" which are not noted. We observe, it may be cursorily, the endless variety of objects which are everywhere submitted to our consideration. The draper exhibits his tempting fabrics, the tailor's figure block presents its back to you displaying triumphs of workmanship, and the hairdresser's dummy turns slowly and dizzily round that you may note the latest style of coiffure. The artist, the antiquary, and the housewife are appealed to; and if all these displays fail to attract some disdainful passenger, he will probably halt before a sheep, "small and prime," that may be hanging head downward with sides wondrously tattooed, or before some other article of food which the fishmonger or dealer in game has to offer.

But who, among all the hurrying throng, has observed that narrow entry there, next to the unpretending window, behind which gems of purest water lie silently twinkling? It is not intended that you should observe it, and if your eye should glance in that direction it is probable that you will judge it to be merely a convenience for the wealthy Israelite's shutters. But such is not the fact. That entry is a hiding-place for all manner of rubbish in the shape of sinning, suffering, human beings: society sweeps them far down its mysterious windings, and respectfully solicits attention elsewhere. But, assuming the "proper study of mankind" to include some

VOL. VI.

D

thing else besides dressed up blocks and dummies, or the question of what we shall eat or what we shall drink, it might not be uninteresting or unprofitable to contemplate wrecked human nature as it is presented in some of these unnoted byways. Not that we should deem it quite prudent to pry too closely into the mysteries of Farnell's Rents. Few except those for whom the arm of the law forces an entrance will venture there. The dreamy policeman comes to himself as he turns up the passage, and the city missionary proceeds cautiously so far, but no farther. Now and then as evening draws in, some tradesman may be seen fearlessly disappearing under the archway with a tiny coffin on his shoulder, and if you wish to consult the woman who cuts the cards you may go in the daytime, for bad people are generally superstitious, and the woman is regarded as a dangerous being whom it is best to let alone.

Still this region has its attractions. Nearing the entry, the blind man's dog tugs at his string with joyous impatience, and is perhaps the happiest denizen of the place. The pale Italian with his hurdygurdy follows wearily by and by, then succeed at irregular intervals boys with peaked hats bearing treasures, such as an owl, or a "happy family;" stout faced girls with baskets of oranges; vendors of nostrums, hoarse with declaiming against the medical profession and explaining their own gigantic diagrams "representing the 'natomy of the human frame," and other "tomical illustrations." And indeed there might be healing in the very atmosphere, notwithstanding the assertion that disease is accustomed to have much of its way in Farnell's Rents. Once in the entry, the limping ballad-singer draws herself erect, and hastens forward with rapid and equal steps; the cripple, pocketing his lucifers, finds an arm lashed to his side which he has but to release. The palsied recover as by miracle, and the vacant idiotic countenance is lighted or darkened by a living soul. Possibly, but not frequently, as night comes on you may see a little child peering anxiously down the street seeking an object, to her the most welcome in creation, though that object be only a ragged, roughheaded boy with a besom. Perhaps her brother's calling is less honest than that of crossing-sweeper, and perhaps he has been inexpert-so while she waits wistfully for his coming, he is sobbing in his cell. We" see these things, but do not perceive them." The little child excites no attention: how should it in the neighborhood of the jeweller's window? But what if the koh-i-noor were there? It is a dumb dead thing, of no value in comparison with a creature endued with immortality and created in the image of God.

But we have intimated that it might not be prudent to explore this region minutely, and our errand demands that we hasten to the next turning, which is very similar at first sight, but assumes a totally different aspect as we proceed. We are agreeably surprised on emerging from the narrow passage to find ourselves in a square of buildings comparatively roomy and pleasant. It is a relief to escape the din and turmoil of the street and still be able to breathe.

It would perhaps be best not to note matters too particularly, for some of the blinds look rather dingy, nor can we think a mignonette box quite appropriate for the bleaching of nightcaps. Still, the flowers which are ranged on the sooty sills appear in the best spirits, and give evidence that whatever else is neglected, they are not.

Various sorts and conditions of men have agreed to live in Salter's Buildings-laborers, mechanics, clerks, petty tradesmen, &c.; and there are also gentlewomen, ladies, persons and women who have consented to reside among them. Our business leads us into one of the most uninviting of these dwellings, for scrupulous cleanliness is not necessary to Mrs. Joslyn's happiness. She has lived more than fifty years in the midst of confusion, and will so go on no doubt to the end of the chapter. Yet we must do the good woman justice. A more active being never existed; nor are her energies employed on unworthy objects. Her husband is a costermonger, who has worked himself to the top of the wheel, and seldom earns less than two pounds per week. This worthy man possesses a kindly heart, which rather unfortunately is overlaid with an extraordinary quantity of flesh. He owns a large head crowned with strong grey hair, which prefers to grow in tufts on the top, leaving the hinder part bald. His features are peculiar, he is slightly awry, and has altogether the appearance of having been done up in a hurry. He appears to have dropped asleep to-day unawares, ere he was quite ready, for his glass is undrained, and his pipe has fallen from his grasp. A garland of stockings on which the dust has accumulated adorns the ceiling. There is dust everywhere. It rests on the chimney-piece, it settles on Mr. Joslyn's winglike ears, it winks in the sunbeam, and mischievously collects on the good man's spectacles. It is a pity to see that large tallow candle, leaning like the tower of Pisa, in the candlestick, which had evidently accorded to it a very warm reception. And why on earth such an immense fire in the middle of the afternoon, and on a sunny spring day?

I am inclined to think that Solomon never met with a woman like Mrs. Joslyn. He has much to say about woman, but nothing which seems to imply such an acquaintance. She talked incessantly, yet did not distract you, it was a sort of agreeable murmur, not seeming to demand any attention, so that you might engage in another conversation as comfortably as if in the neighborhood of some garrulous brook.

These people had one daughter, an only child. Jemima worked at the banding of cap fronts, and had her machine in a small back parlor, where she also slept. She worked ten or twelve hours daily, and earned about ten or twelve shillings per week, which, as her parents were well to do, was all absorbed in dress and amusements. Young people must enjoy themselves," and Jemima enjoyed herself accordingly. But she was delicate; the doctor said it was gas; and as the machine could not be worked without, the fond parents were in great perplexity.

the

The tinkle of the muffin man's bell brought the young lady out of the parlor, it being her pleasure to have muffins for tea; as it seemed also to be the pleasure of most of the inhabitants of Salter's Buildings to enjoy that luxury. She was arrayed in a flounced silk dress, not old, not worn, but totally unfit for other than indoor wear. Her hair was confined in a net, which was decked with large blue beads, and she wore eardrops of gold, and an immense brooch exhibiting the photograph of a rather confident and defiant looking gentleman. Had the nature of Jemima's employment admitted of crinoline, and had her slippers been respectable, she would have looked even more splendid than she actually appeared. The mother glanced proudly at her daughter and then at my humbler self, as if hoping that I might take a lesson not to think of myself more highly than I ought to think from that time forward.

Desiring to see the banding process, I adjourned to the little parlor with the lady. I ceased to wonder at her pale face: there was death in the room. In the iron, which was three-quarters of a yard in length, were fourteen burners, and the blended flame looked like a serpent of fire. It was worked by a mechanical contrivance, and hard work it was. I waited till Jemima banded a single front. I had imagined the needle to be necessary, and did not understand what seemed to be a conjuring process with long tins and goffered strips. She said she could do about ten in an hour, and as she had to rise to the press twice in the banding of each, it appeared to me that it must be as she admitted, warm work. Yet breathing such an atmosphere all day, and the atmosphere of the theatre or casino in the evening, was what her parents understood as "enjoying life."

The reflection occurred to me, "What would life be to Jemima, should the hale costermonger be smitten by death?”`

He was awake when I returned, and was contradicting the parrot, which looked very wise and positive. But Jemima, and her parents, and the parrot, faded suddenly as objects of interest, when, after a timid knock, a little girl appeared with a plate of fishbones for the cat. She looked about eight years of age, and seemed exceedingly delicate and fragile. She was dressed simply, but very neatly, and there was that in her aspect which told that she had not been born in Salter's Buildings or any such locality.

“My sister has enjoyed the fish; she is very much obliged to you," said the child.

"Oh, I'm glad o' that," replied Mrs. Joslyn, who looked as though she spoke the truth. “Maybe,” she continued, “yer sister would fancy a muffin to her tea,” and she handed one to the child, adding with some hesitation, “Maybe yer sister's short o' butter; don't think I brought ye any in lately; I'll send her a bit, an' its beautiful an' sweet; muffins isn't anything without plenty of butter."

The child received a large slice upon her muffin, thanked Mrs. Joslyn, and withdrew.