• - AUG. 12, 1843. No. XXXYIII. Price One Penny, And now the time in special is, by privilege, to write and speak what may help to the further discussing of matters in agitation. The Temple of Janus, with his two controvcrsal faces, might now not unsignificantly be set open : and though all the ivinds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, tee do injuriously, by licensing and prohibiting, to misdoubt her strength. Let her and falsehood grapple. Who ever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter Her confuting is the best and surest suppressing.— MILTON'S AREOPAGITICA. LOCAL STATISTICS. MORTALITY. NO. I. Last year the Registrar- General commenced the publication of a quarterly table of the mortality in 114 of the principal districts, ( including nearly all the large towns,) of England and Wales ; showing tbe average quarterly deaths and the number of deaths registered. From these documents we shall select such portions as relate to our own vicinity ; and also such of the Registrar- General's remarks and notes as may appear to be of sufficient general interest. The districts are those of the Superintendent- Registrars, and are generally more extensive than the towns of the same names. Of the 114 districts included in these tables, 33 are in the metropolis, and 81 in the other divisions of the country. They are sub- divided into 571 Registrars' districts. At the census taken in June, 1841, the population of England and Wales was 15,1) 06,829 ; and that of the 114 districts was 6,534,535, or four- tenths ( 0.41) of the entire population of England and Wales. The annual number of deaths registered in the 114 districts was 164,772 in 1838- 40, or little short of a half of the total deaths in tbe country. In these 114 densely peopled districts, the mortality ( 1838- 40) was at the rate of 2.6 per cent, annually; and it was less than 2 per cent, in tbe rest of the kingdom. Hence these districts will be the first to indicate the rise of an epedemic, or any deterioration of tbe public health. Tbe population in these 114 districts increased, from 1831 lo 1841, about 1.8 per cent, annually, or nearly one fifth part in ten years. The number of deaths registered in these districts, in the quarter ending March 31, 1842, was 44,479. The average quarterly deaths for tbe three years 1838 39- 40, were 41,193 ; and the average quarterly deaths for the winters of the same years, were 44,889. The number of deaths for tbe winter quarter ending March 31, 1842, was, therefore, 410 less than the average of the three preceding winters. It was 666 less than tbe average, in tbe metropolis ; and 256 more than tbe average in the other districts of the country. The average, however, was derived from a period of three years, during which the population liad increased at the late of about 5 § percent. Hence, if the mortality had been tbe same, in tbe winter quarter ending March 31, 1842, as in the three previous winters, the deaths would have amounted to 47,433 : but they amounted only to 44,479, or 2 954 less than would have occurred if the rale of mortality had been uniform. In tbe winter ending March 31, 1842, the rate of mortality was 6 § per cent, less than in the three pre- vious winters. At the census of 1841, the population of tbe four- districts with which we are more immediately con- cerned, was Halifax 109,175 Bradford 132,164 Huddersfield 107,140 Leeds, 168,667 Ir. the quarter ending March 31, 1842, tbe deaths registered in these districts were Halifax 614 I Bradford 885 Huddersfield 561 1 Leeds 1,335. The average quarterly deaths in 1838— 39— 40, were Halifax 571 I Bradford 794 Huddersfield .... 514 | Leeds 1,097. The average quarterly deaths in the three winters of tbe same years,* were Halifax 646 I Bradford 839 Huddersfield 589 | Leeds 1,089. The Huddersfield return, in this last table, is an average of two years only. It will be observed that, in tbe Leeds district, the number of deaths was greater than the average of the three preceding winter quarters; but in the other three districts there was no material difference. The increase in the Leeds district is noticed by two of the Registrars,— those for Hunslet and Hal- beck. Tbe former says,—" Tbe account is above an average number of deaths. The measles have been very fatal during this quarter." I'be latter observes, —" Exceeds the average by more than 80 deaths. The increase is attributable to measles, to the want of tbe means to obtain proper medical advice, aud distress among tbe labouring population." The Registrar for North Bierly, in tbe Bradford district, says—" In tbe five quarters ended the 31st March 1842, the deaths are as follows :— 1st 55 4th 57 2nd 60 5th 66 3rd 61 " A slight increase of typhus and phthisis in the factory weavers accounts for the increase." * It is evident that the Registrar General means, by the winters of 1838, 1839, and 1840, the quarters ending respectively the 31st of March 1839, 1840, and 1841. ANECDOTES. MICHAEL KELLY AND THE INCOME- TAX.— The following dialogue tool: place between Kelly and tbe Commissioners of Pitt's Income- tax, and is given in his Reminiscences :—" Sir," said I, " I am free to confess that I have erred in my return ; but vanity was the cause, aud vanity is tbe badge of all my tribe. I have returned myself as having £ 500 per annum, when, in fact, I have not 500 pence of certain income." " Pray, Sir," said the Commis- sioner, " are jou not stage manager of the Opera- house ?" " Yes, Sir," said I, " but there is not even a nominal salary attached to that office. I perform its duties to gratify my love of music." " Well, but, Mr. Kelly," continued my examiner, " you teach I" " I do, Sir," answered I, " but I have no pupils." " I think," observed another gentleman, who had not spoken before, " that you are an oratorio and concert singer ?" " You are quite right," said I to mv new antagonist, " but I have no engagement." " Well, but at all events," observed my first inquisi- tor, " you have a very good salary at Drury Lane." " A very good one, indeed, Sir," was my replv ; " but then it is never paid." " But you have always a fine benefit, Sir," said the other, who seemed to know something of theatricals. " Always, Sir," was uiy reply, " but tbe expenses attending it are very great ; and whatever profit remains after defraying them is mortgaged to liquidate debts incurred by building my saloon. Tbe fact is, Sir, I am at pre- sent very like St. George's Hospital, supported by voluntary contributions, and have even less certain income than I felt sufficiently vain to return." A HINT TO PHRENOLOGISTS.— During bis visit at Derby, Dr. Spurzheiin was requested to examine the head of a little boy about seven years of age. Ob- serving the organ of order largely developed, he mentioned it in the presence of the child. A few days afterwards, having finished his lessons, the boy was leaving tbe room without putting away his books, & c, his governess reminded him of his neglect, and expressed her surprise that he should do so, as Dr. Spurzheim had pronounced tbat he. had tbe organ of order. " I know it," said the little fellow, " and I was going to order William ( his younger brother) to put my things straight." In Connecticut, a certain Justice was called to a gaol to liberate a worthless debtor, by receiving bis oath that he was not worth five pounds.—" Well Johnny," said the Justice, as he entered, " can you swear you are not worth five pounds, and never will be ?"—" Why," answered tbe other, rather chagrined at the question, " I can swear I'm not worth that sum at present."—" Well, well," resumed the Justice, " I can swear to the rest— so step forward, Johnny." GEORGE III.— Many years since the Royal Artillery changed the cocked bats which they had been long in the habit of wearing, for caps, which were remark- ably ugly and unbecoming. Soon afterwards, the King was present at a grand review, at which an artillery company or two assisted, and he was ob- served to look vVitli some surprise at tbe men. At the conclusion of tbe review, tbe King sent for one of the officers in command of these companies, and in his quick manner, asked, ' What are those— what are those— those things on the men's heads?' ' Caps, Sire,' replied the officer ; ' Please vour Majesty, tbe new caps.' ' Bad, bad.' said tbe King, ' don't like them at all— ugly, ugly, very ugly.' ' But,' continued the officer, not a little chagrined, ' permit me to as- sure your Majesty that they like them much ; they find them very comfortable,' ' What ? what ?— com- fortable, eh >' retorted tbe good humoured Monarch with a smile,' ay, ay— very comfortable, no doubt; so are night caps, so are night caps.' SCIENTIFIC SOCIETIES' ACT. A bill entitled " A bill to exempt from county, borough, poor, and other local rates, land and buildings occupied by scientific or literary societies," was recently introduced into tbe house of commons by Mr. G. W. Wood ; and as it has now received the royal assent, some notice of its provisions may not be uninteresting to our readers. The preamble sets forth the expediency of exempt- ing from the charge of county, borough, parochial, and other local rates, all land and buildings occupied by societies established exclusively for purposes of science, literature, or the fine arts. The first clause enacts, that such exemption shall be made from and after the 1st day of October, 1843, and extends it to all such rates " in respect of any land, houses, or buildings, or parts of houses or buildings, belonging to any society instituted for purposes of science, literature, or the fine arts exclusively, either as tenant or as owner, and occupied by it for the tran- saction of its business, and for carrying into effect its purposes, provided that such society shall be sup- ported wholly or in part by annual voluntary con- tributions, and shall not, and by its laws may not, make any dividend, gift, division, or bonus in money into or between any of its members, and provided also that such society shall obtain the certificate of tbe barrister- at- law or lord advocate." The second clause enacts, that before any society shall be entitled to the benefit of this act, it shall cause three copies of its rules and regulations of management, signed by tbe president or other chief officer, and countersigned by the clerk or secretary, to be submitted, in England and Wales, to tbe barrister appointed to certify tbe rules of friendly societies ; in Scotland, lo the lord advocate, or to the certifying barrister there ; and in Ireland to the cerifying barrister there ; such barrister or lord advo- cate to certify on each copy that such society is entitled to the benefit of tbe act, or to state the grounds on which such certificate is withheld ; one copy to be retained by such barrister, another to be returned to tbe society, and tbe third to tbe clerk of the peace of the borough or county where the laud or buildings of such society are situated, to be laid before the recorder or justices of ilie borough or county, at tbe next general quarter sessions ; who are required without motion to allow and confirm the same ; such copy to be filed by tbe clerk of the peace with the rolls of sessions, without fee or leward. Clause 3 enacts, that alterations made in the rules of management are to be deposited aud certified iu like manner. A proviso ill this clause provides that the fee to such barrister or lord advocate shall not at any one time exceed a guinea, which, together wall the expense of transmitting the rules to and from tbe said barrister and lord advocate, shall be defrayed by each society respectively. Clause 4 provides that in case the barrister or lord advocate refuses to certify, the society may then submit its rules to the borough or county cuurt of ( juarter sessions, together with the reasons assigned for withholding tbe certificate ; and tbe recorder or justices shall and may, if be or they think fit, order tbe rules to be filed, which shall have tbe same eifect as if the barrister or lord advocate had certified. Clause 5 gives a power of appeal to any ratepayer assessed to a rate from which any society is exempted by tbe act; such appeal to the quarter sessions to be made within four months after the first assessment made after the filing of the certificate or exemption claimed by tbe society ; the appellant first giving twenty- one days' notice of appeal, in writing, to tiie clerk or secretary of the society, together with a written statement of the grounds thereof, i. nd within four days after such notice entering into tbe usual recognizance to try such appeal, and abide the order of, and pay such costs as shall be awarded by, the recorder or justices at such quarter sessions. On the trial of such appeal, if the certificate shall appear to them to have been granted contrary to the provisions of this act, such recorder or justices may annul the same, and at discretion award costs to tbe parly appealing or appealed against. Such decision at quarter sessions to be conclusive and binding on all parties to all intents and purposes whatsoever. Such is an outline of the provisions of this bill. It will doubtless be a boon to the literary aud scientific societies of the kingdom ; and there can be no doubt that several of our local institutions will benefit by its enactment. 2 THE HALIFAX FREE PRESS. THE MISERIES, MISFORTUNES, MISHAPS, AND MISADVENTURES, OF A SHORT- SIGHTED MAN. COMMUNICATED BY HIMSELF. I do believe I am the most unfortunate man alive. 1 am aslnmed of my name, and dare rot use it. I liave lost my fortune, my friends my honour, and tny wife. I am reviled as a spendthrift, pointed at as a pick- purse, and shunned as a libertine; and yet I nm as guiltless of waste, of theft, and of profligacy, ns the babe that has never seen this wasteful, thieving, and profligate world. Neither can I justly blame others for any of my misfortunes, excepting in one instance, and that tbe one t;> which I am the least sensible,— the loss of fortune. I once even attributed that iu part, and all tbe rest wholly, to my miserable luck in having been born extremely short- sighted. Unless I relate the principal adventures of my lit, I cannot expect that any one should take my word for what sounds so improbable I shall, therefore, write my story. It may reach the eyes or ears of some of my early friends, who may thus be induced to attend to an explanation of farts, and to do me a tardy justice. It may chance to c iuse some slight interest or amusement to tbe public. At all events, the recital will beguile a few hours of my tedious and solitary existence; and- procure me once again before I die, a feeling of my own importance, wlii. e I make myself the sad hero of tbe following sheets Reader, have I not said that 1 am ashamed of my own name ? Then, do not expect me to divulge it. Thus much will I confess, — it begins with a li ; and, courteously allowing the confidence between us to be limited in this single respect, suffer me to be known to you only as Mr. B., of London ; for I was bom and bred in London, was apprenticed to a tea- merchant in that city, went into business myself in the same place, lived and married there, ( only going to Islington for a very short honeymoon,) and in London I probably shall die, shrouded in that obscurity in which 1 am now carefully bid, and where 1 am, by this time, ( I almost hope,) forgotten. My father was a man well to do in the tea trade. I was his only child ; and, although he could have afforded to make a gentleman of me much better than probably be could have done had he been himself a gentleman, still his pride was not of that sort. It was to be respectable and respected in that walk of life in which his birth had cast hiui. Hejconsidered Trade and Wealth as elder and younger sisters ; and would always represent them as going hand in hand ; — Industry and Content, as brothers in tbe same relation to each other, and as little caring to be divided. That all the forms of trade might be observed,' my father made me serve my apprenticeship with an excellent man, likewise a topping tea- merchant, who treated u: e like a son, but in whose bouse 1 lived less than in my father's ; for some of luy mornings, most of my evenings, and all my SundaySjand holidays, were spent under the paternal roof. There I never failed to criticize, as I sipped it, my mother's lea to question her Congou,— and to insinuate that her Souchong had not the true 1' ekoe flavour. This I did for the double purpose of courting my father, by showing him the insight I was gaining in his favourite trade, and stimulating my mother, who was a very saving woman, to put another pinch into the pot. Quiet, happy days I I look back to you with a painful affection. At twer. ty- one my time was out, and my father made me his journeyman. For fifteen years IJserved him with fidelity. At tbe end of that period, and when I was thirty- six years of age, I fell in love,— not unconsciously, nor romantically, nor violently ; but intentionally, considerately, and sufficiently. My father chose the lady. She was the daughter of his best friend. He thought her full young ; but then he was auxions to see me settled ; and, as we were to live with him ana my mother, he persuaded himself that that defect might prove a blessing, as a young mind is so easily trained to habits of industry and obedience. The two fathers and one lawer setlledjevery thing before I or the young lady even guessed at their intentions ; aud we should have been married without any previous courtship, had not my mother desired a delay of only half a year, th. it the ceremony might take place on my father's seventieth birth day, in which very natural lancy, we, not being- of impatient dispositions, were, of course, both willing aud happy to indulge her. My wife was but just turned eighteen, and she looked even younger. There was nothing predominant iu her appearance. She was of utiddie stature and middle size ; her features were small, and she had a pretty fair complexion; her hair was neither dark nor bright. In short, she was so very like every third young woman that one passes in the parks, on a fine Sunday, that 1 am at a loss how to describe her iu any more particular manner. Oh! that she had been more remarkable in her person, or even in her voice ! As to the character of her mind, I do suppose she was as much like every third young woman one meets with in that respect also, as she was iu her outward form. She was good nalured and kind hearted; and very good- tempered whenever she was pleased. She Lad tier virtues, and was obedient and economical ; and she was a pattern of modesty and decorum. Her fault,— and who is faultless ? — was obstinacy. It was but one fault; but it clouded all her virtues. Through it, her obedience was, if I may say it, too literal- For instance, if I lequested her todo a thing, no accidental change of circumstances, nor'probable change iu my wishes, could induce her to relax in her install I execu- tion of the original mandate, unless I were of myself pompously to issue a counter order. Iler economy was of tbe sauie rigid nature. No unlooked- for arrival of an old friend,— no sudden good news, either public or private,— no entreaty, could m^ ke her forego her accustomed routi- ie of prudent and economical arrangements. My father had chosen her for her obedient disposition ; my mother bad praised her for her knowledge in the saving art; her pride was concerned, and she was determined to justify their good opinions. Nothing short of a call from me upon her obedience, could relax her unaccommodating prudence ; but this, by giving me so much of the trouble, took from me half the pleasure of our little festivities, whenever ( and it was but seldom) such things did happen. I have described my wife. Here, then, let me insert a few particulars concerning myself. I have already said I was short- sighted; lint to what a degree short sighted it is difficult indeed to expiess. It was most inconvenient in my business, and dis- tressing upon all occasions ; but, Oh ! bow peculiarly unfortunate in my domestic transactions ! As a child, my nurse had to lead me longer than ever other child was led, lest I should be drowned in tbe putters ; and to feed me longer than ever other child was fed, lest I should poke out with my spoon the scanty portion of sight I h » d. As a boy, at day- school, various and cruel were the tricks my school- fellows used to play me. With how many pieces of alum, carved into a clumsy imitation of white sugar- candy, have I poisoned my mouth! How often bave I presented to our master, who was of a serious turn, some forbidden and ungodly book, which tbe sly urchins had substituted for my English grammar ! As a lover, the scrapes I used to get into may be better conceived than described ; they were endless. How often have I bought for my mistress some token of true love, and presented her by mistake with n sample of tea; whilst the symbol of my passion was inclosed and forwarded to some matronly customer, as per order. As a man and a tradesman, what I suffered from the untoward accidents that befel me, all owing to tbe patne unfortunate cause, is hardly to be credited. I was for ever mistaking Congou for Souchong, young Hyson for old, or both for Gunpowder. But I am digressing. Let me return to my narrative. Soon enough for my reader's impatience, and too soon, alas! for my own tranquillity, I shall arrive at the sequel of the events occasioned by my unfortunate defect. To proceed. My outward appearance,— even in- dependent of the Considerable stoop inseparable from this calamity,— is somewhat remarkable, inasmuch as it was always very old and formal for my years. At thirty- six,— when, as I have said I married,— I might have passed for fifty. In short, to describe myself in a few words, let those of my readers who have had the good fortune to see Terry in his inimitable part of " Mr. Simpson," just add to that delineation a pair of spectacles and a short- sighted stoop, and they have before them their humble servant. Just such a neat, precise, formal personage did I appear, one morning, before the altar in Bow Church ; leading a bride who was only remarkable for her look of extreme youth and simplicity, Within a few years after my marriage, my father died, and I entered upon his business on my own account. My mother had become childish. We took every possible care of her ; but she was in- capable of deriving any gratification from our society. She did not know us from the servants who attended her. In about a year after my father's death, she too was called away. I remember, the last evening before her decease, she surprized me greatly by bowing signs of intelligence. I asked her, as usual, if 1 could do any thing to serve her. She smiled, and said, " Son, get me a small dish of Souchong tea : and mind, with tbe true Pekoe flivour !" My poor mother! How little did you think that you would ever appear before tbe public ! An author, when be writes his own memoirs, deals like peerage with his relatives. He ennobles them all,— tea- merchants, and what not ?— for many generations back. He redeems great- grandfathers and great grandmothers from the obscurity of their graves He exhumes not only their persons, but their acts. He obtrudes upon the public notice all the defunct fruitage of his family tree; and betrays tbe ages of all bis extant maiden aunts! My business employed much of my time. My wife was always too much occupied by her domestic concerns to be much of a companion ; and, although not a great many years married to a still young aud certainly pretty woman, I was as complete an old bachelor iu my habits as I could have been hud I never taken a helpmate. l\, y lite was industrious, monotonous, innocent, and happy. I used to rise early, and attend in the shop till ten. Then I would go to Leadenhall- street or visit the ships from India, or sec to matters in my warehouses. 1 would step into Garraway's for sandwich at lioon, run home for a chop at dinner time, and then return to business. When the day's work was concluded, I would accompany a friend to his house, and take a cheerful glass and a biscuit; or, he would go with me to mine, for a comfortable dish of tea. Then we would play at cribbage together ; or with uiy wife's help and Dumby's, make out a rubber of whist. Then followed a temperate supper ; and by half- past ten or eleven every ligh was out. In such an industrious course of life, business was sure to thrive. Mine increased rapidly. The concern grew too ronsiderable for one head to manage; and was obliged to look about for a partner. As I shall have frequent occasion to mention the defect in my sight, 1 will in future call it, simply and concisely, " my calamity ;"— it being the parent of all the others that have surrounded me through life, The indulgent reader will, therefore, be pleased to understand me, when in future I may use that term My calamity, then, was my chief inducement ir taking this important step ; for, iu so large a concer as mine was LOW become, an Argus would not have had eyes enough, nor a lynx more piercing ones, than were Wanted to keep all things in their proper plac. s. I had little, or rather no, knowledge in tbe science of phrenology ; but what did that signify ? Had I been ever so conversant with all the indications which, in choosing a partner, one ought to desiderate or avoid, how was I, with my calamity, to steal a sly look at tbe shape of a man's bead, when it was as much as I could do, with double spectacles, to see if he hud a head at all ? I have been since informed that, bad I not been blind as ignorant and ignorant as blind, 1 never could have chosen a partner with such a diabolical amount of secretiveness and appro- priation on bis shoulders, without one redeeming- protrusion, as was possessed by my most confidential agent. I found out, but too late, that be had every possible organ that he ought to have been without, and not a single one to compensate with a tolerable counteracting propensity. All I know is, that he wrs a very tall man ; that to rr, e his head was always in a mist; and that, even had I been able to make head or tail of the science, I never could have caught a sufficiently defined outline of form to apply it to any practical use. But I am becoming prolix. He was a rogue. He wormed himself into my confidence. He encouraged me to " rest my eyes," ( as he hypocritically phrased it,} and to give over books, consignments, documents, every thing, to his keeping. At the end of two years, I was no longer master in my own shop. Every thing was managed without my direction being even asked for. 1 was a cypher. Blind as I was, I could perceive that my clerk and my sh" p- boys laughed at me. I demanded an ex- planation, and was answered with insolence. I required a dissolution of partnership, and it was agreed to; but I had given up all my papers. Another had acted for me, and had risen at my expense. He refused to account for many hundreds of pounds that I bad given, in the way of business, into bis power. He knew that my unfortunate blindness bad once caused me to mistake one bundle of papers for another; and that thus I had burned, by accident, several receipts and securities which would have hound him to repay me. He took advantage of the circumstance. In short, I bad nursed a serpent in my bosom, arid now it was that he turned round and stung me. 1 was more than half ruined. I retired from busi- ness, or, to describe it more truly, I was turned out of it by my wicked partner : but I tried to make the best of a bad job ; and my wife behaved like an angel. She seemed to feel our losses much less severely than I could have expected from so thrifty a woman. Far be it from me to wish to take from any merit of her's ; and yet I do believe that, her thriftiness delighting itself with small matters rather than with large,— more with pence than pounds, she was happier, and more completely in her element, as sole manager of a small house at Mile End, where her eye could be upon every out going and in coming, than in our large concern, where, as I have often beard her remark, in her own quiet way, she never knew what was behind her. But I soon got tired of this, to me idle and un- profitable, way of life. I was disgusted with the world in general; and I resolved to turn every thing that remained into money, and eo for some years to America, where I might carry on some little traffic, and be busy, at least, while I waited for better times, my wile's father was rich ; and, as she was his only child, I might reasonably expect to inherit his fortune, at his death; but he was in a great way of business, and could spare us nothing at present. He was hale and hearty ; and my temper would not brook watching for dead men's shoes. My losses bad increased my natural reserve ; and had made me so suspicious that I felt unwilling to confide in any one. Therefore, when I had settled every thing in my own mind, i bade my wife ask no questions, but prepare, with as little ostentation as possible, for a voyage over the seas. She, good soul! was ail obedience, as usual, arid was soon ready. I took a passage secretly for her and for myself on board a ship bound for Philadelphia, and which was expected to sail in a short time. This ship bad already dropped down the river as far as Gravesend ; and to tiiat pleasant sea- port I went with my wife and our luggage. I put her on board, and saw every thing carefully stowed ; but, having still a little business to transact in the city, and some dividends to receive at the bank, 1 returned by myself to London, intending to be back long before the ship would sail. In three days' time I had completed my final arrangements. I took, as I thought, a long leav of my native city ; and went once again to Gravesend, to join my wife and embark for Philadelphia. Judge, reader ;— hut no ! How can you,— how can any one, judge of my feelings at this most strange adventure ? The captain bad never seen my wife ! I had never left her on board that ship ! The light broke in suddenly upon my comprehen- sion. There bad been another ship, but bound, alas ! for India, lying alongside of the one in which I bad taken our passage for America; and that ship had sailed the very evening I had returned to London. Blind, blind idiot! I had mistaken the ships ! flow could I read the name upon her stern ? It was as much as I could do to see if she had a stern at all I I had sent the wife of my bosom a long solitary voyage t tbe Eastern Indies I She was with strangers, — without a due provision tor her communist necessities ; and, worse than all, without the slightest knowledge of my real intentions, by which she could understand that this was not a deliberate act of base unil cruel desertion. Unlucky iu every thing ! My trade had made me so well known on board every East Indiaman iu the River, tiiat tbe captain, ( who knew me, although I could not see him,) expecting farther explanation, had not hesitated to receive my wife on board ; and she, poor soul I would not have asked a question, after tbe order I bad given her, had it been to wive her own lite, and mine into tbe bargain. What W. 1S to be done ? My first thought was, of course, to follow her immediately. I fluttered myself I might overtake her at Madeira, or catcb her at 3 THE HALIFAX FREE PRESS. the Cape ; and I instantly returned to London, to make eager inquiries concerning the first ship that would sail for Calcutta : but disappointments came thick upon me. This had been the last ship of the Company's fleet, for the season ; and all the private ships had sailed before. I was obliged to resign myself to my fate, with whatever patience I could call to my aid. I waited upon my father- in- law, as I thought I owed him some explanation. It might h ive been merely acci dental, or my own fancy, but I thought he received and spoke to me coldly. Considering I was the hus- band of his only Child, I certainly was surprized, and felt somewhat hurt; but I said nothing :— and all f know is, the unfortunate have few friends ! [ led a most uncomfortable life for many weeks. At length I heard of a ship going direct to Bombay from Portsmouth. My wife was gone to Calcutta ; but, as rny first object was to be in the same quarter of the globe with her, I secured a passage on board this ship, and, turning my back once more upon the glories of my dear native city, I started for the coast. I rode on the outside of the Portsmouth coach, tliat I might get a view of London, from the country. I remember my sensations were of a very mixed de scription, as I sat upon the coach, looking back from time to time, upon the dense cloud ofsmoke in which London was lost. My sensations were painful, inas- much as I was quitting. I knew not for bow Ions, the only scene of life which custom had endeared to me,—• the only spot in the world in which I had felt, till now, an interest. They were pleasing, inasmuch as, although every ten minutes took me another lomr lone: mile from London, stiil every ten minutes plared me, by another mile, nearer to my poor wife ; arid I felt it lighten the weight at my heart, to keep an account of the milestones, as my fellow travellers told me that we passed them. At last, aftei a long stage, we stopped at K . Here we changed horses; and here I would that I had died I for, miserable being that I am I here I met with one of my worst misfortunes,— like all the rest, a consequence of that dire calamity which has robbed me of repose, and of every thing that I ever held dear and valuable,— even as I premised at the commence- ment of these sheets. We stopped at K to breakfast, as well as to change horses. I was so little accustomed to travel in this manner, and I was so much discomposed by the heat, fatigue, and dust, that I asked for a chamber in which I might wash and refresh, and make u. yself. neat and more fit to lie seen ; intending, as I did, to go the rest of the way inside the coach. I changed my suit, and shaved. All this I did very hastily, fearing that I should be too late ; for the people of the inn were calling for me, and hurrying me, till I hardly knew if I stood on my head or my heels. When I reached the inn- door, by good luck, ( as I then thought,) I felt for my purse. I searched in vain in my pocket. The coach waited for me. A young gentleman driver on the coach- box swore with a terrible oath, that he would go without me. I had but a moment. I rushed back to the room in which I had changed my dress. The purse was lying on the table, full and heavy, welt prepared as it was for the expenses of my journey. I seized it,— put it in my pocket,— ran down stairs and got into the coach, which instantly drove off. All this was done in con- siderably less time than I have employed iri writing it. I fell asleep soon after we left the inn- door. I dreamed I was on the wide sea, which I had never before seen, and that it was lull of wonders ; but still it was more like a great river than an open sea I thought that I soon arrived at a place full of buildings and shipping, and not very unlike tbe Custom- house in my own city. I thought this place was Calcutta, and that it was very hot. The first person I saw there was my wife, in her neat travelling dress as when we parted ; but she turned her back upon me. I told her I was her own husband, come all the way from London to comfort her. She said she bad no husband ; and, looking reproachfully at me, she was just leaving me, and mixing in a crowd of persons that now surrounded us, when I thought that I raised my arm to stop her, and immediately it was seized and grasped by the strong hand of a tall man, whom I had not observed till now, and who was 110 other than my wicked partner. I waked in a state of alarm and anxiety that I can never forget. My arm was grasped, in reality, by tbe strong hand of a tall man, as I waked in a cold sweat from lhy horrible dream : but lie was a stranger to me ; and, as soon as I could recollect my scattered senses, I asked him his business, and tbe reason of his violence, lie was a stuut hireling, sent after me from EC , and who accused me, with very little ceremony, of having stolen a purse from a gentleman at the inn. I was too much astounded to answer or to resist; so he did with me as he liked, and gave me in charge to the constable of the village where he had stopped the cuach. This man searched me, and soon produced a purse, certainly not my own, but very like it, and quite full of Inoiiev. ( To be continued.) SONNE T FRO M T HE SPAMS [- 1. TRANSLATED BY DR. BOWIUNG. " Tell me, thou common Father, tell me why ( Since Thou art just and good,) dost Thou permit Successful Fraud securely throned to sit, While Innocence, oppressed, stands weeping by ? Why hast Thou nerved that strong arm to oppose Thy righteous mandates with impunity; While the meek man v. ho served arid reverenced Thee, Lies at the feet of Thine and Virtue's foes ? Why," sa'. d I, in despair, " should Vice confound All nature's harmony, and tower above, In all the pomp, and pride, aud power of state ?" Then I looked upwards, and I heard a sound. As from an angel smiling through heaven's gate: — • la earth a spot for l. cavcnb. rn s-' Uls to Jove i" spirit of the journals. SIR ROBERT PEEL'S DO- NOTHING POLICY.— Le Sage, in one of his novels, humorously contends that we ought not to say that this or that person died of fever, gout, or palsy, but that he " died of tbe doctor ;" it being his profound conviction that, if nature were left to fight her own battle, the patient would have a much better chance than he has under the hands of the physician. Sir Robert Peel, in sober sadness, looking at the countless difficulties by which lie is surrounded, appears to have arrived at a similar conclusion with regard to the virtue of absti- nence from all interference on the part of a premier. When the right lion, baronet was waiting in daily expectation of being called in to prescribe for the state of the nation, he spoke in very mysterious terms of what he would do after he had " touched the fee;" lint, now that he has been for nearly two years receiving the regular perquisites of office, it turns out that his wonderful panacea consists merely in doing nothing, and in trusting that nature will perform a cure. Thomas Carlyle was considered rather sarcastic when he described government, in these modern days, as simply " the art of taxing and keeping quiet;" but, simple as the definition was, Sir Robert Peel seems bent on improving it. " Taxing" is t. ie only department of the art of governing which he deems necessary; the other branch, that of " keeping quiet," being one evidently beyond his powers. When the deputation from the ironmasters waited on the premier, we are told that lie allowed them all to make their statements in the most ample manner. This was, no doui't, in order that he might, after his usual fashion, point out any differences of opinion which existed between them. Having listened to them, however, he next, in his customary bland anil imposing manner, plainly ad- mitted that he could do nothing for them ; but at the same time, expressed his complete confidence that " trade would right itself if let alone." The great evil in the iron, as in the cotton trade, bad been " over- production;" and therefore the only remedy for them would be to produce less for some time. With regard to Ireland, the premier's policy is of the same character. Some people are alarmed at the hostile position which Mr. O'Connell has taken up, and especially at the threat held out of a passive resistance, on the part of the Irish people, to the payment of rents, should all other means fail of making the agitation sufficiently formidable. The right lion, baronet is also half inclined to believe that there are some grounds for alarm ; but still be cannot make up his mind as to wh'itcomse he should pui sne; and therefore he does nothing, flattering himself all the while, however, that doing nothing is the most effectual mode not only of tranquillizing, but of keeping tranquil, a country convulsed as Ireland now is. How all this is to end would puzzle the wisest head to foretell. In most national crises, there have been generally some points so closelv re- sembling some previous epoch, that we are enabled to form a notion more or less correct of what is likely to happen. But in vain do we look into the history of the past for any data which may assist us in predicting the future. At no period, within our remembrance, has this country been placed in more perilous circumstances than it is in at present; and never has any government appointed to rule over its destinies exhibited such a total want of capacity to meet a political crisis, as that which now sits, in helpless bewilderment, at the helm of affairs.— Manchester Guardian. IMPROVEMENT IN SIR ROBERT PEEL, AND ROOM FOR MORE.— It must be confessed that Sir Robert Peel has verv much improved in manners and demea- nour. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; and, since every thing has gone wrong with him, a great change for the better has been observable in his behaviour. He is no longer the egoist he formerly was. Since the failure of all his schemes, he has admitted his colleagues to their full share in thein. It is not now as it was two years ago. "/ resolved on this, and / proposed that, arid / framed such and such measures upon my own views, and guided by my own opinions only, and uninfluenced by any other." There is an end of all this egoistical language; and Sir Robert Peel modestly admits all his colleagues to a full share in the miscarriages of the ministry. He hardly ever uses the first person singular now. It is always we 1 and sometimes he almost insinuates that it should be they, when the reference is to something particu- larly unfortunate in the counsels of the ministry. There is nothing new under the sun ; anil the illustra- tion of this sort of change in the language of our premier has been given by tbe old fabulist. A'purse lies in the path of two travellers. " How fortunate !" cries one, picking it up, " I have found a purse." " Say we," replies the other. " We have found a purse. We were fellow- travellers, sharing alike ; and it lay in our path, and belongs to both jointly.'" The fir- t insists on his prior tight, and makes it alt his own Presently, the hue and cry is raised after the thief who had stolen the purse. " What a calamity!. We are pursued," says the man with the purse; " and we shall be hanged if we are caught with the money in our possession." " Say nut we are pur- sued," answers the other; " for as you would have it just now that you had found the purse arid had the sole right to it, so now say that yon are pursued, and shall he hanged for having it in your sole posses- sion." When Sir Robert Peel took the govern- ment, he held the language of the fellow who picked up the treasure, and acknowledged no participation in the prize ; but now that the hue and cry n raised, lie is generously for sharing consequences with his fellows. And so the modesties come upon him by degrees and with other painful necessities. When it was remarked to an Irishman that he ate nothing though he drank much, the answer was, " The truth is that I have a very small appetite, and what little i have I keep for my drink. Sir Robert Peel is ob- served to be civil to his adversaries, though superci- lious and over- bearing to his followers ; for his insolence hps a reservation, like the Irishman's appetite, and what he has left he keeps for his friends. To his opponents he is as meek and civil as a beaten spaniel. Like certain quadrupeds, when he kicks it is behind hitn that he throws up his heels. Mr. Cochrane has expostulated with spirit against this treatment :— " Whilst I am on the subject of' expressions,' I wish to take an opportunity of remarking on some of rather a singular nature, to which I myself unfortunately gave rise. On the occasion of the late debate I said, what 1 have this night repeated, that I believed Ireland to be suffering under many evils, arising in a great measure from the trifling, harassing, ineffectual policy of a Government which appears to possess no power of adopting a decisive course, { hear, hear.) It was because I so believed, that I voted against the Govern- ment, in the division ; and although, after so speaking and so voting, I know that I inve no right to claim any unusual courtesy from the ministers, yet I do elaim, not only for myself but for others here, courteous and becoming conduct from the right hon. baronet at the head of the Government, towards those of his own party who have the misfortune to differ from his views. { A marked cry of ' hear, hear,' from members on the back ministerial benches.) I do think ( said the hon. gentleman, with rather passionate energy.) I do think that it is unbecoming the dignity of this house,— that it is inconsistent with the independence with which members enter upon the consideration of any question that may be brought under discussio'i, for the Prime Minister of the Crown to get up in his place, and say,—' you differ from me,— you wiil not divide with me,— non tail auxilio,— get over to the other side.' ( hear, and a laugh ) For my part, ( he pursued) I admit party; no one wi. t sacrifice more for that party, when he sees fit; but I wilt admit no party feeling which entails upon me either a sacrifice of my principle or of my independence, ( cheers) The right hon. baronet formerly held this opinion himself. He expressed it in 1828; but he appears to have a very different notion of the duties of a party man now. What- ever may be his opinion, however, the course which I shall continue to adopt will be that of giving my opinion inde- pendently upon all questions brought under our considera- tion, even although by the expression of that opinion I may be so unfortunate as to incur the anger of the right hon. baronet, ( hear) And I will say this, thit, highly as I value my seat in this house; if it is only tube held by blindly following one man or one set of opinions, I should more gladly hail the hour of my resignation then I hailed the day which saw me chosen as a representative of the people.'' Sir Robert Peel will get 011 by degrees. He cannot learn all the decorums and proprieties at once. He was the egoist till the disasters and blunders of bis administration made him feel the prudence of having copartners in responsibility and disgrace. He took the lion's share of the honour, till he found that there was a corresponding share of discredit, when he instantly allowed the ass his just dividend. Hera is one fault got over by virtue of adversity. And if he now plays the martinet at the head of his party, and treats its members as if they had no higher duties than blindly to follow his lead, and as if in any case of difference it were his part to turn them off as if they were lackeys unworthy of his service, and to be stripped of their liviries arid turned adrift to find other places ; this, too, is au insolence which will he cured as supporters become fewer, arid dependence teaches what is due to others. Sir Robert's in- solences have been in direct proportion with his power ; and the latter dwindles the former will disappear, anil he will come to the the modesties and proprieties as he comes to other wants.— Examiner. WESLEYAN ELECTORS AT DURHAM — So far as Durham is concerned, it is evident that the great majority of the Wesleyan church are Liberal in their political sentiments. Of 23 Wesleyans who voted at the last election, 21 polled for the Liberal Candidate. This fact is of great importance in several points of view. In the first place, it is, so far as it goes, * triumphant refutation of the charge sometimes made against the Wt- slevans, that they are favourable to Toryism. In the second place, it favours tbe opinion that the generality of the Wesleyans are something more than mere Whigs. In the third place, it illus- trates the influence which the Wesleyan church, or any other body of Dissenters, might exercise upon elections, if they always acted in concert. In the last place, it shows how limited the Reform Act has left the elective franchise. Of the twenty- three VStsley- ans who, possessing votes, took a sufficiently decided interest in public affairs to use them, twenty- one voted for Mr. Bright, and only two for Mr. Purvis. Of the twenty- one who voted fur tbe former, ei « ht are office- bearers, eight private members, and five hearers only. For the latter, the Tory Candidate, no officer in the Wesleyan Church could he prevailed upon to vote, while but one private member and but one hearer were witling to support him. These facts are very instructive ; and, as there is no lea- s'o. i to suppose that the Wesleyans 111 Durham aj e more Liberal than their brethren in any other part of the kingdom, they warrant the inference, that iu the Wesleyan church the friends of Liberal measures are to those of the opposite school, as ten to one. It is important to note the nature of the alterna- tive bv which the political temper of the Wes'leyans in Durham was tried. The choice lay between .1 Ministerialist and a CandiuUe of extremely Liberal opinions Had it lain between an Ultra- Tory and an Ultra- Liberal, there would htvve been nothing verv remarkable in a majority of the Wesleyans preferring the latter to the former ; or they might have supported a Whig rather than a Ministerialist, without astonishing anybody ; but, when we firul them, in the ratio of ten to one, preferring a gent e- man who is at once a tree trader, an uncompromising dissenter, and a pledged advocate of Complete Suff- rage, to one who avows himself a Conservative of tne Peel class, we are forced to the comli. siou,— a con- clusion which wiil be very startling to some person*, — that the bulk of the Weslevans are perfectly dis- gusted. with Toryism in its moit specious and 4 are thoroughly convinced of the absolute necessity of great organic changes in our institutions. The result of the Durham Election may serve to teach Nonconformists of every sect the importanceof organization and concert in reference to public affairs. We have not observed any statement relative to the votes of other bodies of Dis- enters similar to that with which we have been favoured ; but we should not he surprised to learn that Mr Bright was indebted for the whole " f his majority to the combined sup,' pi t of the various Dissenting denominations. It is certain that 21 votes out ot the 78 were those of Wesleyans hlone,— a number often sufficient of itself to turn the scale at an election. The influence which Christian men, equally beyond the reach of bribery and of in- timidation, uiighlexert upon the destinies of the nation by a discreet employment of their resources, is incalculable. We confess we are surprised at the small number of the \ S esleyans who voted at Durham. Our correspondent does not afford any clue to the number ot the neutrals, of those who had neglected to register, end of those who would have been entitled to a vote, provided they had resided long enough ; but, in the fare of the data he has furnished, we dare not estimate the number of Wesleyans in the city of Durham who might qualify themselves to vote at any future election, higher than 50. Now, the Wesleyan church in Durham circuit numbeis 1,062 members, besides perhaps twice as many hearers. But the circuit includes villages beyond the city boundaries. Kay, then, that the members and hearers in the city amount to 1,000, a very moderate supposition, and that one half of these are females, or young men under age ; and we have 500 Wesleyan members and hearers, of whom but one in ten are entitled to the elective franchise. And will any man affirm that the adult male members " f the Wesleyan Church, or the adult male attendants on the ministry of that Church, are unworthy of a vote ? No Wesleyan, at least, will think of answering this question in the affirmative, let us suppose that the whole of the five, hundred had voted at the recent election. Mr. Bright would then have had 456 Wesleyan votes, and Mr. Purvis, 44 ! It is by this legitimate extension that we perceive the magnitude of the proportion. We cannot omit this opportunity of calling the attention of our Wesleyan brethren to the gross inequalities of the present system of representation, us they affect them. One example will suffice for illustration. In Manningtree circuit, the Wesleyan Church numbers 955 members, while the Manchester circuits contain 5,597 members. Of Manningtree circuit, the borough of Harwich forms only a part, probably comprising not more than 200 members. Now strike off 1 597 for the raral members of the Manchester circuits, aud what is the resuli of the comparison ? Why, that, under the Reform Act, no more influence is awarded to the 4,000 Wesleyans in Manchester than to the 200 in Harwich ; for that paltry fishing village is allowed to send as many Members to Parliament as the second city in the United Kingdom. Much might be said, on general grounds, in condemnation of so flagrant an anomaly ; but we confine our view, for the present, to the manner in which it affects the Wesleyans. Let the Wesleyans of Harwich have a voice in the election of Members of Parliament, by all means ; but let it not be said thai their brethren in Manchester, who out liuuiber them in the proportion of 20 to 1, are to have no more voice than they. The brethren at Harwich will not mistake our drift. They are well aware of the vast comparative importance of Manchester in Wesleyan affairs, and will not only readily admit, but will also, be prepared lo urge, that their numerous and influential brethren in that iin luense town ought to have a much more effective voice in the Legislature than they now possess Nothing affords so striking an illustration of the inadequate manner in which the Wesleyans and their brother Nonconformists are represented in Parliament as the recent discussions on the Factories Bill. That Bill was welcomed in the House of Commons almost unanimously ; it was reprobated out of Ihe House with as near an approach to unanimity. What could make it more clear that the Nonconformists ( in- cluding the Wesleyan Church) are not represented in that House? Now, is this fitting ? Is it right, for instance, that a body of Christians which has existed for more than a hundred years, which comprehends ( including both members and bearers) more than a million of the inhabitants ot Great Britain, which possesses a large amount of property in every part of Hie kingdom, which essentially contributes to uphold ] ublic order both by pecuniary contribution and by moral influence, and wnich has ils stations in all our colonies and dependencies ; is it right, we ask, that such a bodv as this should be so little considered in the distribution of Ihe elective franchise ? Lei us not be mistaken. We plead for no exclusive privileges We put in for Wesleyans no claim which we disallow in the case of others. We select, them, because their high character makes the case strong, and because it is manifest, from the tendency of recent legislation lo interfere with the sacred rights of conscience, that, if we would preserve any reuinaut of Religious Liberty, the Wesleyans and olher Nonconformists must vindicate their claims lo a more effective voice i„ the Imperial Legislature—! J ' esleyan Chronicle. THE '' PEGASUS" CATASTROPHE.— We call upon the public to lay to heart the disgraceful fact, that, with all the improvements in our navigation, in speed, cou fort, and elegance, the item of safety, in the event of shipwleck, is not one step advanced troui what it was vvl. en Julius Caesar landed in Britain Now, as then, what ate called the ship's boa sale a mockery ; they cannot contain half the numbers generally on board, aud are, of course, invariably over- crowded and swamped ; and now, as then, there exisls nol, on board of vessels, every day crowded with confiding passengers, one contrivance, which, thrown into the water, would float so much as a kitten ! The passengers " go down with tue ship," rise lo struggle, aud endeavour to float by grasping attach other, aud then " disappear " for ever 1 This is a loud reproach to the arts and to the age; and we turn our longing eyes to the committee of parliament at this moment, • by awful coincidence, sitting, to see it blotted out. The instructions of that committee include inquiry into the means of preventing the sweeping loss of life with which wrecks, even in Stillwater, and near ihe shore, as in the cases of the Solway and Pegasus, are always attended. We trust that the committee will report, for after stringent legislation, that all ships' boats should he life- louts, and be regulated in number and accommodation by the regulated number of souls on board. Expense spared in ornament would meet their cost; and the seamen should be exercised in the use of them, and generally, fur presence of mind in managing the saving of life in wrecks. We further hope, that every ship shall be obliged to provide air floats, to be thrown, in danger, into the waier. Long cushions of Macintosh cloth, of a light colour, to be seen in the night, say six feet by two, covered with nets to be laid hold of, would each sustain as many persons as could get hold of them : and should be always ready', stowed round the nettings or rails of the quarter deck. Lastly, we trust that ihe com- mittee will give the whole weight of their sanction to the practice of adopting a life- preserver as apiece of dress— as a recognised and necessary part of equipment for a voyage. When the unhappy victims were beseeching the captain of the Pegasus to tell them what lo do, his best advice would have been, had their dresses included a float, " Trust to your- selves in the water, and hold by the ropes at the boat's stern." One boat which could not hold ten, will tow a hundred to the shore in a few minutes. Although it would be better that each person should possess a life preserver, it might be enacted that some sufficient float, however rude, to be attachable to the person, shall be provided in a vessel for every person taken on board. Till these things, or equivalents, are done, under stringent laws and rigorous inspection, catas- trophes like that of the Pegasus— we may make up our minds lo the expectation— will happen again, and again, aud again.— Scotsman. POETRY. ABSENCE. BY JOSIAH CONDER. Do I not love thee ? Yes; how well Thou best, thou only, Love, canst tellj For other eyes have never seen How much a look of mine can mean; Nor other lips than thine can guess How deep the feeling mine express. But thee both eyes and lips have told, Most truly, that I am not cold. Yet now, in absence, all thou art, Rushes afresh upon my heart, And makes me feel that heart not yet Has ever half discharged its debt. For memory, as to mock me, brings A erowd of half- forgotten things That love before had scarcely leisure To think upon, for present pleasure; Reproaching me with virtues slighted, And deeds of kindness unrequited : While shadowy, awful, undefined, The future rises to my mind, And as its depths my thoughts explore, I seem to feel thine absence more. Shuddering I strive to pierce its shade, By Love a very coward made; Then turn to meet thy smile. But thou Art distant,— future,— shadowy now. Oh ! art thou still a breathing form, Lovely, and tangible, and warm f So parted utterly we seem, As though the past were all a dream; And thou, as if unearthly, Dearest, A hallow'd, saintly thing appearest: So long from sight and touch estranged, I almost dread to meet thee changed. Oh ! say, do wayward thoughts like these, Tender regrets, wild phantasies, And vague misgivings, ever hnd Unbidden entrance to thy mind ? Oh! it would absence half repay, To know my spirit held such sway O'er thine, as that thou couldst not be, Nor feel thyself, apart from me. But absence cannot be repaid: Fast, fast, the fleeting moments fade, That make up life's allotted sum; Brief and uncertain all to come. Then let us not consume apart The youth and spring- time of the heart. Enough has absence proved thy power: Return, and 1 will bless the hour That tells me all my fears were vain, vAud gives me back my home again. SONNET TO A LADY. 11Y THE LATE C. JOHNSTON, THE FREE PRESS. THE CLOSING SESSION. This is the twelfth of August. This is the day on which a large number of the senators of Great Britain are accustomed to quit the toils and responsibilities of legislatorial duty,— to abandon all attention to Ihe just and legitimate claims of the " featherless bipeds" that call themselves their fellow- creatures, and to prefer the more honourable and intellectual employ- ment of shooting the feathered bipeds of the heath and the moor. The session is nearly at an end. Noble lords, right honourable baronets, and honourable gentlemen, have spent some five or six months in useless, or worse than useless, talk ; and are now leaving the actual business of the country principally to the small number of their fellow senators whom official occupation prevents from indulging in a similar abandon- ment of their posts. Were not this so very common and regular an occurrence, the people would cry shame upon such conduct ; but it has become " a reg'lar thing," and little or no notice is now taken of it. It is, however, one of those painful symp- toms which indicate that our legislative system is very much out of order. The men who thus waste the time of the public, night after night and week after week, in the wordy war of fac- tious conflict ; and then, when the realities of busiuessb ecome pressing, are off to pursue their sports and enjoy their recreations;— these are not the men that should be chosen to represent the interests of a great nation. The fault, how- ever, is in those that elect them. If the people will select such careless representatives, they must take the consequences of their careless- ness. The session is nearly at an end ; and what has been done? What has the legislature done for the real good of the country,— for the actual benefit of the people,— for the interests of that community whose interests it is the especial duty of the government and the legislature to promote and defend ? The legislature has done nothing, — absolutely nothing, for obtaining these im- portant and salutary objects. Nor has it at- tempted any thing in a right spirit and with uprightness of intention. When the people's money has to be voted away, there is no want of alacrity amongst the so- called " honourable" members. When it is proposed to continue to the daughter of a roval duke, a portion of her father's share of the pub- lic money, in order to help her husband to maintain the dignity of a German principality, there is no want of sympathy or of readiness on the part of the representatives of the people; but when a starving population is crying aloud for permission to buy food in the cheapest market that can be found, and to dispose of their labour to the best advantage, then these same representatives, who can feel so keenly for the sufferings of the great, have no kind of sympathy whelever for the far more severe aud far more extensive sufferings of an unemployed and destitute population. The people ask for bread ; and their rulers, with the hardness of Egyptian taskmasters, taunt them with the offer of additional tax- ation to erect schools for that ecclesiastical establishment which is already the richest iu the world. The educational clauses of the factory bill were as gioss an insult as ever the governing few offered to the oppressed and in- jured many. ' I he insult will nut be f rgotlen. The blow aimed by it at the civil and religious liberty of the people, was not so trivial a matter as to be easily passed by or speedily allowed to sink into oblivion ; and when the day of reck- oning comes, it will be brought to the remem- brance of those by whom it was projected and supported. Besides ihe factory bill, there are other ses- sional delinquencies, and to l hem we shall pay our respects in a future article. Lady, on whom boon nature has bestowed iter gifts profuse of person and of mind, Tis well that, not like others of thy bind, Who shun, perverse, their best and noblest good, ( Wearing their lives in lonely maidenhood,) ' Tis well that thou hast not refused to find A fitting mate, and wisely hast combined With his those virtues which alone had stood Helpless and useless, but henceforth shall be Fruitful as lovely. Like a blushing vine Clasping the arms of some wide- spreading tree; Thus shall thy softness round his strength combine; And heaven shall bless the unioii, which to see It lbve « , and has continued by law divine. THE FINK ARTS.— The Manchaicr Gnarri- m, in its notices of the " Mancheslei Koy.-. i luslitutu n Exhibition," ( second notice; second rc. oir.'; thus speaks of a painting from the easel of < i r fellow tow asinan, Mr. Joshua Horner :—" L\< » , Knlian Mendicants asking alms of Monks, ( J, Horner, i is the work of another young and promising artist. There is great merit in it; but it is uioieasa pledge and promise of future excellence that we regard it. The delineation of churacter, figures, and features, is correct; but the heads of the adult mendicants and the two monks are ably executed/ HALIFAX:— Printed and Sold, at the Geueiul Printing Office of H. Martin, Upper George Yard