observed: as certain portions of the labouring popula- | tion, not yet illumed by the new light, remain almost in their primitive rudeness; so a sacred few of the rich and influential, not necessarily coming, or refusing to be allured within the sphere of this luminary, maintain in all their integrity their provincial manners. The advanced state of society in Manchester, and the surrounding parts, is attributable to the peculiar circumstances attendant upon the introduction of manufactures into the country. Had this never happened, the people of Lancashire, far from serving as patterns to the whole kingdom, would now have been literally barbarous, and their habits and manners would have been such as to excite the astonishinent of their more civilized countrymen. Their brutality would have been of that description which characterized the middle ages, if, indeed, it would not have exceeded the rudeness of the Southerns at any distinguishable epoch in the history of man. THE MAIDEN AUNT.-No. IV.1 CHAP. V. SELF-CONCEIT is either intensely obstinate or servilely pliant, according to the breadth of the basis of self-confidence on which it rests. Mrs. Willoughby was so anxious to establish her claim to be considered an un taught genius, that she was afraid to oppose Mr. Thornton's opinion, and chimed in with it so readily that she hoped to throw her original view quite into the background. But she was really good-natured, and she therefore proceeded to claim his sympathy for her unfortunate protégée on other grounds. "They are so very poor," she said, " and such deserving people. Quite gentlewomen, too." Miss Brown rose abruptly. "I would rather go, if you please," she said, in a low tremulous voice, to Edith, her colour varying, and her hands shaking as she tried to fasten her bonnet. "Mamma is only waiting for me at the lodge. I" Edith cut short her distressing effort at composure by drawing her arm within hers, and leading her at once into the garden. colour, and who is trying to believe that the neutral "No; do not," interrupted she quickly, do not "You don't wish to see her again," cried Edith, eager to divine her meaning, and save her from the pain of expressing it. "I will take care that she does not follow you." "Thank you," said the other, half smiling, "but I did not mean that." "What then?" inquired Edith. "Why, she may probably-I am afraid-out of mistaken kindness-she might ask to have those drawings bought for charity-and, will you prevent this?" The last words were spoken with sudden vehemence, and she clasped her hands over her burning face. I will "Trust it to me," said Edith earnestly and kindly. "Don't let that idea trouble you for a moment. take care that it shall not be done. And now, before you go, have the kindness to give me your address, for assure you I am not inclined to let our acquaintance end here." Thank you, thank you," said the poor girl, once more uncovering her eyes. "Don't thank me," answered Edith, playfully, “but do as I ask, if you please." She drew forth pencil and paper, and wrote the words which her companion tremulously pronounced," Alice Brown, 5, West-street, Beechwood, Dorsetshire." 66 Beechwood!" cried Edith," why, that is the name of Mrs. Dalton's place, and that, too, is in Dorsetshire." is four miles from the town of Beechwood." "Yes," replied Alice, "that is Beechwood Park. It The air will do you good," said she, soothingly. "Then I shall see you before very long, for I am "Oh, pray excuse me-I have been very foolish," re- going to Beechwood in three weeks." And the two turned her companion, hurriedly," I could not help it. girls parted-with what different destinations! Edith's Indeed I have not intended to be conceited, I never heart sank as in the fulness of her bright and proswanted to be a genius-only we are poor, you see;" and perous beauty she stood watching the slow walk of the her cheek burned as she spoke the word with painful shabby and drooping figure which had just left her. emphasis, "and they all fancied I had talent; and I She involuntarily pictured the meeting at the lodgehave been thinking for a long time that I should be the watchful, anxious mother-the agonizing disap able to save mamma from having to work for her liveli-pointment-the loving attempts at unreal consolation hood-and she--" here her assumed strength gave way at once, and bursting into tears, she added, "Oh, how shall I tell her?" "I am better now," faltered she, struggling to repress her sobs. "I will go at once. Pray excuse me. I would rather go alone. You are very kind. I am extremely obliged to you, but I would rather go by myself." "I am You shall do exactly as you please," replied Edith, gently, and cordially shaking her young companion's hand, ere she dropped it. "But are you sure that you are able to walk so far as the lodge without assistance?" "O yes, quite, thank you," answered Miss Brown, with forced cheerfulness and a painful smile. well again, I assure you. It is much better as it is. shall never be so foolish again," she added, with a dreary, desolate resignation, like one whose life has been robbed of the single hope which gave it light and (1) Continued from page 391. I on either side-and the desolate return to the small, dingy, un-home-like room in the sombre street of a third-rate country town. Tear after tear of pure com passion did she wipe from her eyes; but, two little months afterwards she would have encountered all that gloom, and poured forth double those tears, for leave to change places with the poor, neglected, unattractive Alice Brown, if by so doing she could have undone her experience of life as Edith Kinnaird! She was roused from a reverie, in which such thoughts as this certainly had no part, by her brother's voice. Tears, Edith? I am glad you have some sympathy spare for any but the fictitious, sentimental sorrows of your German hero and heroine !" The taunt seemed peculiarly unkind and unde served, and Edith was turning resentfully away, bat Frank detained her. "Do not go, Edith, I want to talk to you about your friends. Even you must allow that they did not exhibit the fairest side of their characters this morning." " "You seem determined to provoke me, and I don't know what you mean," replied Edith, indignantly Mrs. Willoughby behaved with heartless vulgarity. but I do not see what fault could be found with any one else." "You think, then," answered Frank, "that it is perfectly consistent with courtesy, and sincerity, and christian charity, to ridicule an ignorant and conceited woman to her face; to assist in persuading her she is as clever as she believes herself to be; to act submission and obedience to her in such a manner as to make her absurdity more glaring for the enjoyment of the bystanders." "I think such self-sufficiency as Mrs. Willoughby's is fair game for anybody's wit," said Edith, somewhat embarrassed. 66 Yes, if you take a fair shot at it," replied Frank; "but this was laying a trap, which is never fair. And that Mrs. Dalton-I do not like her at all; and I wish with all my heart, Edith, that you wouldn't make a friend of her. I don't like all this German sentimentalism and unreal nonsense; making women discontented with their homes, and teaching them to think themselves unappreciated angels, whom nobody can understand, and whom nobody is worthy to sympathize with. All that is flimsy-so morbid-so thoroughly un-English." "You don't know Mrs. Dalton," exclaimed Edith; you were only introduced to her a fortnight ago, and you have never sought her society, so that you cannot know anything of her character. Where is the christian charity, pray, in deciding against her without reason in this manner?" "But I have reason," retorted Frank, "and I know her quite well enough-that is to say, I should be very sorry to know her better. I know that she is married to a most excellent man, who doats upon her, and that she does not make his home happy, and tries to make the world believe her to be an interesting victim." "It is not true," cried Edith, warmly. "I wonder, Frank, you can believe such stories. I wish you would have a little more consideration, and remember that you are speaking of my dear friend." "Your dear friend!" repeated Frank, with that sort of sneer which a woman finds harder to bear than the bitterest taunts-a sneer which seems to imply that her feelings are too worthless and unreal even to be discussed. "And as to the stories not being true, I will just ask you one question. Have you not heard her profess that she never was in love in her life?" "Well," answered Edith, reluctantly, "but you know that may be true—” "A pretty speech for a married woman to make, whether true or false," interrupted Frank, bluntly; "and to make to her husband's face, too, as I know she does! However, my dear Edith, don't let us talk about her. Seriously, it annoys me excessively to see the manner in which you are flirting-it is not what I like at all you are making poor Vaughan in love with you again, and you are positively coquetting with Thornton, and Delamaine, neither of whom, I do believe, care sixpence for you in their hearts. I am quite sure, to speak plainly, your behaviour is the very reverse of what Everard would like." There was a tone of authority in this unpleasant speech which rendered it peculiarly galling; moreover, after the unexpected and injudicious attack which Frank had just made on her particular friend, Edith felt less than ever inclined to submission. She replied with glowing cheeks and considerable temper, "I am not a child, Frank, and I assure you, I can judge better what I ought to do than any man-men are no judges of women. And if Captain Everard thinks ill of me, let him speak for himself he does not scem in a hurry to do so These last words were spoken in a low tone of voice and with face averted. They were awkwardly true, and Frank did not quite know how to answer them; he accordingly renewed his attack in another form. "I wonder you can tolerate the attentions of such a well-known butterfly as Thornton; he was desperately in love with Lady Emily Rivers two months ago, and to-morrow he will be at the feet of Miss Glamis, the Scotch beauty, who is to be the grand attraction at this ridiculous bazaar. Altogether, Edith, I do hope you will be on your guard at this bazaar, and not make yourself conspicuous." Edith had recovered her temper, though not her equanimity, and she answered with a laugh, "Oh, my dear foolish brother, please don't agitate yourself into a virtuous fever about poor innocent me, who never flirted in my life. I shall have to put you on a turban and introduce you everywhere as my chaperon." "Well, Edith," said Frank, sullenly, "a joke is not a reason." "No, nor a solemn speech either," retorted she; "at least I'm sure it is often the most unreasonable nonsense in the world. The truth is," added she, as if speaking gravely to herself, "he is getting very uncomfortable because he has got nobody to flirt with himself, and so he must needs try to find out flirtations in other people. Never mind, Frank, dear, I'll take good care to occupy Mr. Thornton to-morrow, and you shall have Miss Glamis all to yourself.” Frank would not smile. "You are trying to provoke me, Edith," said he, "but it won't do." "Now, do you "Won't it really?" replied Edith. know, I thought it was doing very well." The colour rushed into his face as he exclaimed with vehemence,— "I do believe there was never a woman in the world who was not a thorough coquette at heart, and who did not love teasing better than anything else." "And with that pretty sentiment, which must vindicate with every woman your claim to be judge and adviser general of the sex--I leave you," returned Edith, foreing a laugh as she ran into the house. Edith's pride was roused and her temper irritated. She felt all the injustice of her brother's remarks too keenly to feel the justice of them at all. If there was a latent spark of real coquetry in her heart it was roused by his most unwise and taunting assertion that "Mr. Thornton did not care sixpence for her." She felt, moreover, as she had said, that she was no longer a child, and that he was treating her as though she were one. She resolved to show her independence, and she felt secretly certain that Miss Glamis would not attract Mr. Thornton from her side at the bazaar on the following day. She told herself that she was not flirting-that she was only legitimately enjoying herself that Lord Vaughan was not in love with her, and that Mr. Thornton and she were only forming a friendship. When she thought of her brother's strictures on Amy Dalton, she could not contain her indignation. "It shows clearly," thought she, "how determined he is to find fault with everything that I do, and it would be quite weak to give way to it. But it is not like my own dear Frank-it is quite unkind. I know what I will do. I will tease him thoroughly to-morrow morning, by way of a little innocent revenge, and then I will talk to him afterwards and coax him, and make him see that he has been foolish, and that I don't deserve all these terrible denunciations." Such was the satisfactory result of Frank Kinnaird's judicious lecture; such the mood in which Edith went to her stall at the fancy Lazaar! And where was Philip Everard? And what was he thinking? It is time to inquire. THE fountain of content must spring up in the mind; and he who has so little knowledge of human nature as to seek happiness by changing any thing but his own disposition, will waste his life in fruitless efforts, and multiply the griefs which he purposes to remove.| Johnson. ""Tis not in mortals to command success: But we'll do more, Sempronius,-we'll deserve it." Ir is now two years since with timid step and down-cast eyes, we, like a bashful débutante, made our first appearance upon the stage of Literature, and appealed to the reading public for support and sympathy, animated by the hope that we should be found to have that within us which might eventually succeed in winning their approbation. Since that time we have appeared before them in many parts, which (our bashfulness having in great measure worn off) we venture to say must, when viewed collectively, speak volumes in our favour. We have carefully studied each of these parts, read and re-read them, corrected all faults that we were able to discern in them, added such illustrations as our taste might dictate, and on all occasions endeavoured so to act, as to do full justice to the language and sentiments of the various Authors who have composed our parts for us. Nor have we been disappointed in our expectation; even in the beginning of our career, ere our ingenuous timidity had departed, in the days when a frown would have chilled the life-blood in our veins, an indulgent Public received us with smiles of approbation, and the sunshine of their favour rapidly increased our circulation. But with our success our ambition has kept pace, our desire for approbation grows by what it feeds on, and we are determined if we are to be a star to become one of the first magnitude. Addressing ourselves to none of the minor sympathies of class, we act solely with a view to improve, while we endeavour to interest and amuse, the public generally; we would fain have all the world, not a stage, but an audience. To drop metaphor, however, and condescend to plain English, we must trespass on the reader's patience while we remind him of the principles with which we commenced our undertaking, and, pointing out to him how by a steady adherence to them we have attained the high position we now hold, call his attention to the exertions we are about to make, to carry out these principles still more fully, and explain to him our reasons for believing our efforts will be rewarded by a success more brilliant and complete than any we have yet achieved. The object which we originally proposed to ourselves, and which we have hitherto kept steadily in view, was to provide a work of sufficient intrinsic merit, alike in the literary matter with which its pages were furnished, as in the illustrations which embellished them, to ensure its popularity with the upper and middle classes of society at a price which should place it within the reach of the many whose store is to be reckoned by pence instead of pounds. The expenses attendant upon an attempt of this nature are of a magnitude scarcely to be conceived by any one not accustomed to the details of literary transactions, and our subscribers had to be counted by tens of thousands ere we could feel anything like a certainty of the success of our experiment: however, it might truly be said of us, "we lisped in numbers and the numbers came;" fortune usually smiles on those who court her favours boldly, or, to adopt the style of an illustrious Mosaic-Arabian Contemporary, "first-rate articles at reduced prices" will always meet with the patronage of an enlightened public. At the end of two years, however, with a circulation already surpassing our most sanguine expectations, and rapidly increasing, with favourable notices appearing in the columns of most of the leading journals throughout the kingdom, and with a staff of contributors combining an amount of talent not to be exceeded by that of any periodical of the day, the success of our undertaking is no longer problematical, and we gladly avail ourselves of this opportunity of expressing our gratitude to the public for the kind patronage they have bestowed upon us. Thus much for the past: we will now say a word or two of our arrangements for the future. In accordance with the wishes of a large majority of our subscribers we propose to discontinue the dark heading at the commencement of the weekly numbers; which will enable us to give the illustrations for the future the full size of the page, while it will add very materially to the effective appearance of the volume: moreover, in order to do thorough justice to the talents of the very eminent artists and engravers whose valuable assistance we have been fortunate enough to secure, we have determined no longer to print at the back of the engraving. Amongst these we are proud to reckon the names of,— A. ELMORE, Esq. A.R.A. ARTISTS. S. READ, ESQ. A. JOHNSON, Esq. J. J. JENKINS, ESQ. C. KEENE, ESQ. ENGRAVERS. These improvements will enable us to present our Subscribers with illustrations of a style and character hitherto unequalled, and which will set competition at defiance. When we add that our staff of contributors has received very valuable reinforcements; that we have made arrangements with the talented Authoress of the "Maiden Aunt," to continue the interesting sketches of domestic life which, under that title, have from time to time enriched our pages, and to contribute more largely than we have hitherto been able to prevail upon her to do; that we hope to present our readers with some curious and original matter relative to our possessions in India from the pen of a well-known popular writer on that remarkable country; that a marked improvement will be perceptible in the poetical department, as well as decided alterations for the better in the printing and general getting-up of the Magazine, and that the Author of "Frank Fairlegh" has consented to undertake the duties of Editor; we trust that we shall have established a claim on the public for support and encouragement, which we cannot for a moment doubt will be met with the same kind liberality with which our efforts in their service have always hitherto been received, and which will more than recompense the heavy calls on our exchequer which our determination to secure talent wherever it could be found has occasioned. And with a modest confidence that our forth-coming volume will more than realize the promises we have held forth, we make our bow, and take a very respectful farewell of our readers till the FIRST OF NOVEMBER. A PARABLE OF LIFE. S. M. seemed as though an invisible arm detained him, and though he felt that he could shake it off, an unheard pleading prevented him; as though by so doing, he would inflict some grievous wound. He turned and ¦ moved in another direction, but the same unseen obstacle checked his steps. Then he stood still and marvelled; and his eyes were opened, and he saw that around him there was a bright circle drawn, and within the circle stood an Angel with a sorrowful face and loving eyes. When he moved, the circle moved too; and when he touched the edge and strove to cross it, then came the invisible difficulty, and he kept He saw, moreover, that when he within the edge. A YOUTH had vowed to labour in unfruitful pastures. Heavy was the burthen, comfortless and well-nigh hopeless the toil; the cruel earth brought forth thorns and brambles under his diligent hands, and each seed that he dropped withered ere it had strength to grow up. There was no shelter from the burning noon-day sun; for it was a land without trees, and the few saplings which he had planted were sickly and miniature, and it seemed hard to wait till their puny shade should acquire breadth and richness, as most likely they too would die early. And as there were no trees, so like-moved, the Angel moved too, with averted face and wise were there no birds; for those sweet and gentle deprecating gesture, in an opposite direction, as though ones could not live without a nest and a covering; about, but unwilling, to leave him. But at the edge of neither was there any water to refresh the parched and the circle the Angel paused also, and seemed unable to cross it, and returned to him again. And a voice said splitting ground. So all the kindly melodies of Nature in his ears," In a far, quiet place, there is one praying were mute, and the low howl of the wandering wolf, as it came upon the midnight blast, seemed but the fit for thee, and that prayer is the bright circle. Thon canst cross it if thou wilt, but it is hard for thee to do utterance of the spirit of the place. The soul of the youth was very desolate, and he had no heart to work. And till thou cross it, not even thy sins can sepa He prayed for blindness and deafness, but the hateful rate thee from the Angel whom that prayer has entangle of poisonous herbs was still before his eyes, and circled in its silver line and so preserved for thee!" the voice of the prowling beast still rang in his ears. Then he prayed that his vow might be taken from him, but there was no answer. And the seeds were ready for sowing, and the plough was prepared for his hand, but how should the seeds develope in a soil which gave no nourishment, and of what avail was the plough save to show him that the depths were as unfruitful as the surface? And, behold, afar off there was a mountain, and the sides of it were steeped in sunlight. He could see that they were soft and green with abundance of verdure; a thousand colours danced in the sunbeams, as a thousand flowers shook their sweet bells in the morning air, and their fragrance reached even to him, and seemed to invite him to go among them. There was the grateful coolness of spreading trees and the soft hum of stealing waters; there the very winds became music, because they were full of the strains of the wood-choristers. There the grain seemed to spring up into waving corn, almost as it was committed to the earth, and if tares or thorns were among it they were not visible from so great a distance. While in the field where the hapless youth was set to labour, the good plants that were really struggling into life were so few and so scattered, that he could not discern them among the abundance of evil; or, if he did see them, they gave him little comfort, for he believed that they would perish ere they attained their full strength. Then he began to think that he would forsake the barren pastures and go to toil where he might find a reward. "Woe is me !" said he, "wherefore am I thus afflicted? I would give my life for the earth if I could make it fruitful; but it is waste to plough and sow where the soil has no capacity for giving nurture. Martyrdom is but another name for suicide, unless the cause sanctify the martyr. I will arise and depart." And he arose and would have moved away, but it 80. Then he felt greatly comforted, and took courage. And he went manfully to labour, under the eyes of that Angel, and by the soft light of that prayer, which seemed to grow brighter by night. And lo! when the morning arose he found a small stream, breaking with difficulty out of the bosom of the stony earth. And be hewed a basin for it, with pain and trouble, and gradually it became a fountain, softening the ground and feeding the weak and weary verdure. And who shall say, that in the end the barren valley shall not be fairer than the far-off mountain? For the labourer has not refused to see the growing beauty of the one, because he is too distant to discern the hidden evils of the other. He is working, in fear truly, but also in hope; and the tiny buds are beginning to pierce the soil, and the faded leaves are resuming their freshness: and there is even a solitary bird on the sapling which grows beside him, to cheer him by its notes of timid sympathy, and its whispered promise, that here it will build its nest; and as the grove arises, a nation of songsters shall arise to people it. He has not forsaken his work, therefore for him there shall be rest in the end. ON EQUALITY OF PUNISHMENTS. T. N. H. Puddledock, a very incarnation of justice, impartiality, Ir was not many months ago that his worship of and other legal qualifications, did sit upon his awful bench, where, for long time, he had been quite a terror admirable Constitution, and then and there did try, and to pickpockets, beggars, and other rebels against our condemn, and sentence a veritable nobleman. It was a decided occasion; in fact, an event. Justice had in old days gone by been represented with a bandage over but latterly it had been thought, whether rightly or her eyes, for fear, as it may be presumed, of accidents, wrongly it skilleth not to decide at this present, that, like the specimens of mesmeric clairvoyance, she had |