The condition of the English women, of the lowest class, attracts particular observation. They are habitually occupied in the most laborious offices. I have seen a few making bricks, others, chiefly Welsh women, carry yokes fastened to their shoulders, suspending two pails of milk. Others act as porters, and not a few follow wheelbarrows, while the more hardy, sometimes, lade and unlade vessels, or work in the coal mines. Sad offspring of the woman, of whom it is said,

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,

In every gesture, dignity and love.

All this, for aught I know, may be worse in other parts of Europe; but nothing of this was ever seen in New England. Do you think it strange that women, in such circumstances, should wish to unsex themselves?

None in England, who are sufficiently honest to labour for their daily bread, anticipate a comfortable old age, or even look forward to the time when their daily bread will not be the price of daily labour. They forever tarry on the wrong side of Jordan. If they are sick, and the laborious poor are most subject to sickness, in one tide of adversity they become retrogade to society. They are so sensible of this, that many reason too justly on their situation, and with a determined, abandoned sort of prin

ciple, consecrate themselves to resolute debauches. In passing through the suburbs of London, I had frequently observed a very industrious man and woman making bricks. I had given them sixpence,* and sometimes I stopped to talk with them. I knew their constant labour, and the amount of their daily pay. Yet I never heard them complain. Surely, thought I, people who are thus contented to work all the year and lay up nothing, are valuable subjects, and very honest folks. Not long since, as I was passing by a publican's, on a Sunday morning, I observed both this man and his wife laying along the floor, buried in forgetfulness. As I returned in the evening, I called on the publican, to inquire if that was their usual Sunday frolic. The man and his wife were still there, senseless. I asked the publican, if they had not come to their senses, since morning? "Not quite," said he, "that is the least of their concern: they have two or three times recovered themselves just enough to call for more liquor." In the course of the week, I observed these people at work, as usual, and undertook to remonstrate. Far from being abashed, they hazarded a justification: and how do you think they reasoned? They had long endeavoured, they said, to better their circumstances, but found it altogether in

* Labourers expect a small compliment if you shew them the least attention.

vain, for some unforeseen accident had always deprived them, in a moment, of the acquirement of weeks: that the surgeon* would have their money, if the publican did not, and of the two, they rather give it to the publican. "But in case of sickness what would you do?”. “ O,” said the woman, repeating the first couplet of an old song,

"Hang sorrow, and cast away care,

The parish are bound to find us."

Another occurrence is not less to the purpose, which made a similar impression on me. It was at Bristol, where I lately spent a few days. I was purchasing a pair of boots of a woman whose husband kept a shoe store. She appeared to be a notable sort of a woman, and I congratulated her on her seeming flourishing circumstances: "Ah, sir," said

she, we should do very well, if the price of labour was not so high. Indeed, sir, we are obliged to give our journeyman so much money, that it ruins them, and they are drunk one half of their time, and not fit to work the other half."-This was after I had purchased the boots-I have forgotten how much she told me their weekly pay amounted to, but I endeavoured to convince her, that it was impossible for them with double the wages to maintain a small

* The physicians are not answerable for the death of the poor: that is the concern of the surgeon and apothecary.

"what

family. "Ah," replied the good woman, would they do with a family? They cannot take care of themselves." But if they had less wages, do you think they would do better? "Certainly," she replied, "they would then mind their business, and not get drunk." I said no more, and she thought she had the best of the argument.

Now, ought we to wonder, if most of the labourers and manufacturers are drunkards? Those, who drink most, eat least; and it costs them less to get drunk, than it does to fill their bellies with wholesome provision.

Another instance is not less illustrative. I attended the trials at the Old Bailey. A prisoner was tried on a capital indictment and acquitted. My own heart bounded with joy; but he heard the verdict Not Guilty pronounced with as much indifference, as I have seen others receive the sentence of death. This surprised me, for his acquittal was unexpected, and ought to have excited his happiest feelings. He was immediately discharged, and I followed him out of court, questioning the cause of his apparent unconcern. He replied with contemptuous apathy, "How do I know how soon it may be that I shall have to go through this disagreeable business again?" This explained the secret why so many criminals, in England, die so heroically-They forsee their fate, and die their natural death.

Perhaps I have descended, in these notices, too frequently to low life; but the circles in which the great and little move are of very different circumference. Should one frequent the company of the great, only, and bound his views within the purlieus of St. James', he would, doubtless, describe England a paradise: but he would know no more of the people, than he would of the Romans from reading the lives of Cæsar, Cato and Pompey.* But should he travel in the Pythagorean style, conversing with every man he met, and comparing the generality of Englishman with their race of horses, he would pronounce the condition of the latter preferable to that of the former. I speak this with guarded caution, conscious of its wanton illiberality if not correct. But I believe no one, who has ever made the comparison, will hesitate to pronounce the English horses to be better fed than the English subjects.† A writer, Colquhoun, whom I have quoted before, says, "The commutation of perpetual labour for the price of life is thought too severe by the legislature. A moment's reflection, however, will shew that, in point of manual labour, the hardship to

* No one from reading the history of these men, would suppose Rome contained five hundred inhabitants: so easy is it to overlook a million of people!

+ Doctor Buchan, in a late treatise, has thought bread too good for the poor and has offered a cheaper substitute. I wonder why the Doctor did not propose saw dust: it makes an excellent pudding when well boiled.