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be fewer, I have been more off my guard than usual, and have deteriorated instead of improving. The consequence is, I write with difficulty, and what would have been perfectly easy to me. if I had followed up my resolution, is now an irksome task; but I rejoice at it nevertheless, because it makes me feel more strongly the expediency of discipline, and I hope by this time next week to have made a regular progress. Self-discipline is the most important occupation of man, and ought to be the never-ceasing object of his attention. There can be no spectacle so noble as a human being under perfect self-control-self-control, not only in abstaining from what is wrong, but in pursuing what is right. In such a state alone is to be found perfect freedom. Every other is more or less a state of servitude to indolence or ill-directed energy. Till this morning, when necessity compelled me, I could not bring myself to put pen to paper for this week's number, and the consequence was, that during the previous days I was a slave to irresolution, which irresolution was produced by inattention to diet, and by too much sleep. Selfdiscipline is the regulation of the present with a view to the future; but unfortunately the temptations of the present generally prevail against advantages which are not present, and we content ourselves with deferring the execution of our resolves from occasion to occasion throughout our lives. It seems to me as if the first thing we ought to attend to, was our physical state, or bodily health, and that everything else would follow almost as a matter of course. I mean that sound state, which is equally removed from debility and feverish excitement, and the attainment of which implies the exercise of many virtues, whilst it is favourable to the development of many more. It is the character of the Christian religion to inculcate the practice of self-discipline to a much greater extent than was ever even thought of before, and the Christian religion is constantly represented by its earliest teachers as holding out perfect freedom to its disciples. It appears to me certain that the practice of its precepts is calculated to ensure the greatest quantity of happiness here, as well as hereafter, because, whilst it permits every rational enjoyment, it imposes restraint only in those things which are injurious. An individual who acted up to the rules of Christianity, could not but enjoy existence in the highest perfection of which it is capable. But a degree of perseverance is necessary, to which few can bring themselves. It is not by violent efforts that a proper state can be attained, for they are never lasting. It is not by plunging into extremes that we can ensure our well-being, for they defeat every object of living; but it is by a steady, temperate course, with a constant check upon ourselves even at the

thought of evil. When we have gone wrong, we must get right by degrees, so as to acquire a new habit as we reform. A violent resolution is only made to be broken. A sudden start from the wrong to the right road is followed by as sudden a start back again. It is necessary also in self-discipline, in order to make it effective and permanent, that it should be extended to all our actions and habits. It is the whole man that must be reformed, or there is no safety. There must be no reserves, no compromises, no granting ourselves, as it were, a lease of certain irregularities, with a determination to quit them at the expiration of a term. We must begin from the present, and go steadily on, watching ourselves unceasingly, making our aberrations daily less and less, and securing every advance by all the precautions in our power. We must never be too sure, which is the almost certain forerunner of a relapse, but must distrust our strength on every occasion of temptation, either of commission or omission. It shall be my endeavour to practise somewhat of all I preach; and, indeed, I feel to a certain extent the beneficial influence of turning my thoughts to the subjects I have treated of in these papers. I shall set to work in earnest in carrying that resolve into execution which I have mentioned at the beginning of this article.

IMPOSITION.

A short time since a boy about twelve years of age was brought before me by a journeyman shoemaker's wife, who said she had found him in a state of great destitution, and had taken him in for charity, but that her husband would not let him remain any longer, and the overseers of the parish, to whom she had represented the case, would not afford any relief. On being questioned, the boy said he was born and had lived in some out-ofthe-way place in Essex, which he described; that his father had died of cholera, and that his uncle, after keeping him some time, had brought him to London, and left him without a place to go to. Though I was convinced, from experience, that there was imposition on the part of the woman, or the boy, or both, I was unable to detect it, and I sent the boy to the workhouse of the parish where he was found, and, after my business was over, went there myself; but still, with the assistance of the parish-officers, I was baffled in endeavouring to get at the truth, and the woman was told to take the boy till inquiries could be made. From those inquiries enough was learned to refuse assistance: and the boy, having been turned out by the shoemaker, was again brought to my office for wandering about. A policeman was now sent with him to ascertain the truth, and by some means he discovered

that the boy was a runaway apprentice from a shoemaker at Bethnal Green, to whom he had been bound from a parish in London, in the workhouse of which he was born and brought up; and consequently his story about his father, his uncle, and Essex, was an entire fiction. It further appeared that on the complaint of his master for thieving and other misbehaviour, I had once committed him to the House of Correction for one month, though he was not recognised either by myself or by any one about the office; but I then recollected that I had received a communication from the governor of the prison, at the desire of the visiting magistrates, informing me that the boy had made a complaint of having been grievously starved by his master, and that there could be no doubt of the fact, as his appearance on his arrival quite corresponded with his account. In consequence, I sent an officer to inquire into the case, and he learnt that the statement was without foundation. I also ascertained that at the time I committed the boy, he made no complaint of being starved, nor presented any appearance of starvation, so that he had had the art to assume it within a few hours after I saw him. On his last appearance before me, his master again came, and declaring him incorrigible, I sent him once more to the House of Correction, where he now is. I see many instances of this consummate degree of imposition in men, women, and children, and I mention the above case by way of putting those on their guard who have not opportunities of detecting false statements, or experience in judging of the tales of applicants for assistance. I have taken great pains to sift a variety of cases of apparent destitution, and sometimes have been baffled for a considerable period; but it is singular, and at the same time consoling, that I have not met with one real instance—that is, an instance in which the party had not the means of more or less escaping from a state of want. There is a degree of debasement which creates an inveterate habit of delighting in a miserable life, and whatever means were furnished, they would effect no improvement. Wherever extreme misery is observed, it may be taken to be an incurable disease. I have known many cases of persons wandering in the streets in the most deplorable condition, who had homes to go to, or who would have been received into their respective workhouses; and the most wretched being I ever saw, and who fell a sacrifice to his morbid habits, had his choice of constant employment with a tradesman, or of the workhouse, but he preferred perishing in a vagabond state. Most of these cases originate, I apprehend, in a skill in imposition, which there is a pleasure in exercising; and the practice of feigning misery on the one hand, and the habits of indolence generated on the other, at last produce that debase

ment from which there is no return. Skill in imposition is a most dangerous quality, and a propensity to indulge in the exercise of it seems irresistible. The boy, whose case I have above mentioned, I have no doubt, will never be reclaimed. Such cases may be prevented, but can never be cured, and the thoughtless charity of the many holds out endless temptations to those who choose to prey upon it. The real remedy for this debasement consists in more efficient local government, which, by moral influence, would prevent the existence of such a refuse population as is now to be found in almost every parish.

No. XIX.-WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 1835.

ART OF DINING.

I was obliged to break off suddenly in my last article on the 'Art of Dining, for want of space.

Suppose a party of eight assembled in a room, and at a table arranged according to what I have said in this and the preceding number, to a dinner, either plain or costly, and, in the latter case, either of few dishes or of considerable variety; I would have every dish served in succession, with its proper accompaniments, and between each dish there should be a short interval, to be filled up with conversation and wine, so as to prolong the repast as much as possible, without inducing excess, and to give time to the digestive powers. By means of such intervals, time would be given to the cook, and to the attendants, so that nothing would have to wait for the guests, nor would the guests have to wait for anything, due preparation being made for each dish before its arrival, without bustle or omissions. In dinners of few dishes they ought to be of rather a substantial kind; but, when composed of variety, the dishes should be of a lighter nature, and in the French style. It must be confessed that a French dinner, when well dressed, is extremely attractive, and, from the lightness felt after a great variety of dishes, it cannot be unwholesome; though I do not think, from my own experience and observation, that the French mode of cookery is so favourable to physical power as the English. If I might have my choice, I should adopt the simple English style for my regular diet, diversifying it occasionally with the more complicated French style. Although I like, as a rule, to abstain from much variety at the same meal, I think it both wholesome and agreeable to vary the food on different days, both as to the materials and the mode of dressing them. The palate is better pleased, and the digestion more active, and the food, I believe, assimilates in a greater

degree with the system. The productions of the different seasons and of different climates point out to us unerringly that it is proper to vary our food; and one good general rule I take to be, to select those things which are most in season, and to abandon them as soon as they begin to deteriorate in quality. Most people mistake the doctrine of variety in their mode of living. They have great variety at the same meals, and great sameness at different meals. Let me here mention, what I forgot before, that after the dinner on Christmas-day, we drank mulled claret —an excellent thing, and very suitable to the season. These agreeable varieties are never met with, or even thought of, in the formal routine of society, though they contribute much, when appropriately devised, to the enjoyment of a party, and they admit scope for invention. I think, in general, there is far too little attention paid to varying the mode of dining according to the temperature of the seasons. Summer dinners are for the most part as heavy and as hot as those in winter, and the consequence is, they are frequently very oppressive, both in themselves, and from their effect on the room. In hot weather they ought to be light, and of a cooling nature, and accompanied with agreeable beverages well iced, rather than with pure wine, especially of the stronger kinds. I cannot think there is any danger from such diet to those who use it moderately. The danger, I apprehend, lies in excess from the pleasure felt in allaying thirst and heat. The season in which nature produces fruit and vegetables in the greatest perfection and abundance, is surely that in which they ought to be most used. During the summer that cholera was the most prevalent, I sometimes dined upon pickled salmon, salad, and cider, and nothing else; and I always found they agreed with me perfectly, besides being very agreeable. Probably, if I had taken them in addition to more substantial food, so as to overload my appetite, it might have been otherwise, and yet that course would have been adopted by many people by way of precaution. In hot weather the chief thing to be aimed at is, to produce a light and cool feeling, both by the management of the room, and the nature of the repast. In winter, warmth and substantial diet afford the most satisfaction. In damp weather, when the digestion is the weakest, the diet ought to be most moderate in quantity, but rather of a warm and stimulating nature; and, in bracing weather, I think plain substantial food the most appropriate. By studying to suit the repast to the temperature, the greatest satisfaction may be given at the cheapest rate. Iced water is often more coveted than the richest

wine.

One of the greatest luxuries, to my mind, in dining, is to be

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