with years, had regained for the time a lustrous expression, but it was that of agony. His looks were rivetted on his son, who seemed to shrink from his gaze, as if his father's sufferings added tenfold bitterness to his own, When the young man's name was called, a shudder seemed to pass over his frame, but he stepped forward to the bar with a firm step, and a countenance sufficiently composed. His case proved to be one by no means uncommon, but always most distressing. He had early shewn talents superior to his station, and his parents had pinched themselves to give education to their favourite boy. A few years back they had with difficulty procured him a situation in a merchant's counting-house in London. And here, he yielded to those temptations under which so many have sunk. He passed from expense to extravagance, and from extravagance to dishonesty-and he was at last discovered to have forged a bill to a considerable amount, on which charge he was being now examined. As the examination proceeded, and the proofs against him became full and decisive, the sorrow of the father's countenance darkened into utter hopelessness; and when the Magistrate signed the committal, the unfortunate old man fell back senseless into the arms of a by-stander. The Magistrate was visibly affected, and even the officers were not unmoved. Nature, though hardened and deadened, is Nature still; and the heart must indeed be closed, which has no touch of softness at an appeal like this to her first and purest feelings.

The next prisoner who was brought up was a man who had been caught in the act of breaking into a jeweller's shop. The tools of his trade were produced; for with him theft was a regular calling. He was well known

by the officers, and appeared to belong to that class, alas! but too numerous in London, who, born in its sinks of misery and vice, pass their lives in violence and crime, and end them, probably, at the gallows. To these wretched beings ill name is the sole inheritance; dishonesty the only birthright. The prisoner seemed the very epitome of the race. His coarse straight hair-his small deep-seated pig-like eyes-his cheek bones prominent, and distant from each other—his wide thick-lipped mouth-all combined to give his countenance every expression of brutality and degradation. His situation appeared by no means new to him, and he shewed total unconcern for the danger in which he stood. He seemed to understand all the forms of the examination, and he went to gaol with the air of a man to whom it is a place of usual abode.

After him were brought up three young sparks for a street-row. They had been enacting the parts of Tom, Jerry, and Logic, and the scene had ended, as usual, in the watch-house. One of them exhibited the marks of the prowess of the "Charlies" in an eye portentously swollen and blackened; the two others seemed to have undergone complete immersion in the kennel; the mud of which, being now dried on their clothes, gave their evening finery a most dilapidated aspect. It appeared that these young men had been vastly taken with the refined humour, brilliant wit, and gentlemanly knowledge of the world of the production called "Life in London;" and that they had determined to emulate the deeds of its triumvirate of worthies as soon as opportunity served. In pursuance of this exalted ambition, they had sallied forth the night before with the determination of having "a Spree." Accordingly, in the Strand, they had overtaken a watchman, a feeble old man, who was instantly,

in the most manly manner, floored by a broad-shouldered young fellow of six feet high. The prostrate Charley, however, incontinently sprang his rattle, which brought to his assistance a sufficient number of his brethren to lodge, after a desperate resistance, the Corinthian and his friends in the watch-house. And here it appeared that their behaviour was by no means peaceable or resigned; indeed, the constable averred, that he was finally necessitated to consign them to the strong-room for safety.

"At length the morn and cool reflection came,"

and found our heroes "fully sated" with their manly and gentlemanly exploit, and still more so with its consequences. These, however, terminated only at Bow-street, for, besides having large pecuniary remuneration to make to the persons whom they had assaulted, they underwent a most severe and well-deserved rebuke from the magistrate for their folly, brutality, and blackguardism.

When these sapient and polished personages had been discharged, a woman was placed at the bar, accused of having been drunk and riotous in the streets at two o'clock in the morning. This unhappy creature could not be above nineteen. She had strong traces-for already they were only traces-of loveliness. Her form, wasted as it was, still retained that beauty of outline which can never be entirely lost to a finely-moulded figure; and her face, in despite of its hollow eye, shrunk cheek, and shrivelled lip, shewed that it was once possessed of eminent beauty. This wretched woman was in the lowest state of degradation; her dress was ragged and filthy, and her looks were those of seared and desperate unconcern. Her eye had still the glassiness of inebriety, or, it might be, of habitual drunkenness ; and when she spoke in answer to the magistrate, her

language was mingled with obscenity and oaths! Oh! if there be a spectacle revolting to humanity, it is the degradation of woman! To see her soft frame consumed by debauchery-by drunkenness!-to behold her delicate mind brutified into habitual indecency, and to hear her tongue-the tongue of woman!-profaned with oaths and beastliness! These are, indeed, things to make the flesh creep, and the blood run cold.-I shuddered and turned away.

We were called on next: and the business, as far as regarded my friend, was soon settled. Those who were proved to have been only players, were considered to have suffered punishment enough, and were let off lightly. I did not wait to see what became of the bankers and owners of the house. I left the office, thankful for the opportunity of having seen it, but fully resolved never to go thither again. I am one who wishes to see human nature in all shapes, in all conditions; but I do not take pleasure in dwelling on the bad, in returning often to the degraded. Those who desire philosophical knowledge of their fellows, must witness much which is painful and revolting; but there is no need to look to the dark side alone-to describe only the erring and the evil. In what I saw in a place to which people come but for their follies and their crimes, it is natural, indeed inevitable, that I should experience only different degrees of pity and of pain; but he who wishes to see nothing but what is pleasing, let him take care never to go to Bow-Street.

15

ON THE TASTE FOR THE PICTURESQUE.

THERE is nothing, which, at a first view, seems more strongly to mark the distinction between nations, to show them to be of separate origin, to establish a difference of national character, than the variety of their tastes, or rather the different manner in which the principle of taste appears to display itself in each.

The Italian sets up, as it were, an hereditary claim to be an exquisite judge of whatever is connected with the fine arts. A knowledge of music, of painting, of sculpture seems to be born with him. All other nations yield at once to his judgment. His certificate of birth is conclusive evidence that he cannot be wrong.

The pretensions of the Frenchman seem much more universal. He discusses every thing: there is no object which does not furnish him a topic of conversation. Yet it is not on his knowledge of arts or sciences that he builds the foundation of his superiority. It is only to dramatic poetry he lays an exclusive claim. This is his peculiar province; here he will admit of no rival. The drama of other nations cannot, in his idea, be put in competition with that of France. They are only deserving of censure or of praise, inasmuch as they have deviated from, or have conformed to, the models set before them by Racine and Voltaire. The greatest merit they can hope to attain is that of successful imitation. Originality with them must be barbarism.

But, except in the drama, which is to him a part of life, the pretensions of the Frenchman to knowledge are by no means arrogant. As far as the fine arts contribute to the enjoyment of existence, he is willing to cultivate them; but he speaks of them without rapture, he feels