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EDINBURGH

JOURNAL

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.

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A WORD ON THE ROADS. UNTIL about the year 1555, the highways and byways of England were under no law, and the making and maintaining of them was left to any parties who felt interested in preserving a communication between one place and another—a state of things not very creditable to the nation; for the Romans, fifteen hundred years before, had set an example of making and keeping up great leading thoroughfares from one end of the kingdom to the other. A law at length passed on the subject in the reign of Philip and Mary laid down no general principles for road-making, further than that each parish should maintain its own roads, by means of forced labour, at the order of surveyors annually chosen by the inhabitants. Till the present day, all the parish and cross-roads are made and supported in terms of this primitive code, the forced labour, however, being generally commuted for certain exactions in cash on the lands and houses in the parish. The road rates are a kind of taxes too well known to need any particular explanation of their character.

Half a century had not elapsed from the passing of the act in the reign of Philip and Mary, when the plan of supporting all the roads on the parish system was found to be inadequate for the general accommodation. Some parishes would have the road running this way, some that way; some did not care about having roads at all; a few kept the roads in good repair; and many let them remain in the worst possible condition. Instead of utterly overthrowing this complex and clumsy arrangement, a plan was introduced for maintaining, on something like a uniform and efficient principle, certain great roads through the country. The era of this improvement was the year 1641, when the notable expedient was adopted of throwing barriers across the roads at regulated distances. For the device of turnpike gates, as they are now termed, we have therefore to thank the parliamentary wisdom of the reign of Charles I. The English by no means relished this novel method of maintaining the chief thoroughfares: it was quite opposed to all their ideas of freedom, and was so very unpopular, that for more than a century it was not adopted for any other channel of communication than that called by travellers the Great North Road, which passed through Hertfordshire, Cambridgeshire, and Huntingdonshire. The roads, generally, remained in a disgracefully bad condition till past the middle of the eighteenth century. Even in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, they were at certain seasons scarcely passable. In 1703, when Prince George, husband of Queen Anne, went from Windsor to Petworth, to visit Charles III. of Spain, the distance being about forty miles, he required fourteen hours for the journey, the last nine taking six. The writer who re

PRICE 14d.

cords this fact says, with much simplicity, that the long time was the more surprising, as, except when overturned, or when sunk fast in the mire, his royal highness made no stop during the journey!

In 1763 turnpike gates were established in all parts of England, and since that period they have been the grand engine for supporting the principal thoroughfares, the parish and cross-roads remaining under their own local management. The history of the roads in Scotland is the same as that for England, only that the compulsory or statute labour, and also the toll system, were of later introduction. Turnpike gates did not make their ap pearance in Scotland for half a century after their general introduction into the neighbouring country. The first set up were also equally unpopular, and it required all the powers of the law to preserve them from destruction. By the united efforts of parish and other rates, commutation of statute labour, and revenue from tolls, the roads generally throughout Great Britain, from Cornwall to the furthest limits of Scotland, are now in excellent condition, though far from what they might be under a more rational process of management. According to returns to parliament, the length of the turnpike roads in England and Wales in 1829 was 19,798 miles, and in Scotland 3666; making a total of 23,464 miles. At the same period, the length of all the other roads was 116,000 miles; making the entire length of the public highways and byways at least 139,000 miles. In England and Wales, the number of turnpike gates was 4871; the debts on the roads amounted to L.7,304,803; and the current expenditure on all the roads for one year was L.1,455,291. In Scotland, the debts were L.1,495,082, and the expenditure L.181,028.

Such are a few of the more prominent statistics respecting the financial affairs of roads; but one still more worthy of note is the number of bodies who take on themselves the management of this vast machine. There are ten thousand parishes in England; but as many are small, and unite for road business with adjoining parishes, it is believed that there are not more than seven thousand boards of management, each with proper functionaries paid for attending to the condition of the highways. To this seven thousand are to be added the trusts appointed by the legislature to manage the turnpikes. Of this class, in 1829, there were 1119, and the number of the acts of parliament, which inspired them with life and vigour, was 3783. To keep the 19,798 miles of great roads in repair, required, we say, the apparatus of 1119 distinct trusts, 4871 toll-bars, and 3783 acts of parliament. According to this rate, a trust is required for every 17 miles, and an act of parliament for every 5 and a fraction miles. As an act of parliament generally costs L.500, the turnpike roads of England and Wales may be said to have cost L.100 per mile for legislation. The ratio is somewhat different in Scotland.

In that country, a trust seems to be required for every 94 miles, and an act of parliament for every 19 and a fraction miles; which is at the rate of little more than L.26 per mile for legislation. Not bad this, however, for Scotland, considering that a number of the Highland 'roads are supported by government, and do not require much doctoring in the way of special acts of parliament.

Placed in this broad and grotesque light, the whole road system of Great Britain, with its eight or nine thousand managements, its endless exactions, and its universal network of toll-bars, is, without exception, the most awkward and absurd institution on the face of the earth. Laying aside altogether the loss of time, and the personal trouble and expenses of the individuals composing the trusts, the cost incurred for making and maintaining the roads is enormously disproportionate to the ends attained. No plan could have been invented to act so ruinously on the funds, as that of levying money at turnpike-gates from travellers; for the cost of a turnpike-house and gate every five or six miles, and the cost of supporting a keeper, must all fall to be deducted from the proceeds. Were it possible to institute a rigorous examination, it would probably be found that, what with charges for acts of parliament, charges for toll-houses, gates, and tariff boards, profits of lessces of gates, and support of keepers, with heavy miscellaneous | charges, not more than from fifty to sixty per cent. of all the money collected is at the disposal of the trustees for behoof of the roads. In other words, from two to three pence, out of every sixpence handed to the turnpike-men, are absorbed by managerial expenses.

of maintaining the roads of Great Britain. But the direct pecuniary loss, bad as it is, is perhaps less grievous than the universal dissatisfaction which tolls create, their impediment to free intercourse, their injurious effects on manufactures and commerce, and their prevention of agricultural improvement. The whole working of turnpike tolls,' observes Mr Pagan, 'has been again and again condemned-we may almost say by the universal voice of the country-and a spirit of dissatisfaction has been roused against it, which, in South Wales particularly, very recently attempted to put down the system by physical force. In that part of the kingdom, as will be well remembered, multitudes of people met, night after night, under the leadership of Rebecca-sometimes at one point and sometimes at another-and, despite all the local authorities, straightway destroyed toll-gate after toll-gate, razing, at the same time, the toll-houses to their very foundations. In short, for a time the Rebeccaites held undoubted sway in South Wales, to the dismay of that portion of the empire, and, indeed, to the uneasiness of the government and the country at large. The military had to be called in from a distance; the London police had to locate themselves in the disturbed districts; a few, but very few, of the numerous persons concerned in the riots and in the bloodshed-for some unoffending toll-keepers suffered—were brought to justice; and it was only after measures of energy and conciliation on the part of the executive, that the disaffected were overcome and the districts restored to peace. These proceedings occasioned enormous expense.

'In South Wales, as elsewhere, turnpike gates had been oppressively numerous, and the rates correspondingly severe. Farmers were met by tolls in every movement of their produce; they could not drive any distance after paying a toll, till, at probably the next turn, they came upon what some act of parliament had constituted a separate trust, and where they found it necessary, before going farther, to pull up and pay a second toll. A little farther on, by some other legal arrangement, there would be another trust and another toll, and so on. And, while the farmers were in the first instance the sufferers, their customers-the public at large-had to share the cost with them, the price of their produce being necessarily increased to enable them to carry on their business. Their grievances were proved before a special commission, which was appointed with a view to discover the cause of the toll-bar riots, and the remedy, and their report (6th March, 1844) forms a thick folio volume of the parliamentary papers.' The result of the inquiry was a thorough reform of the South Wales toll system. Riot, it is sad to say, procured that which peaceful remonstrance failed to accomplish. By a consolidation of trusts, and a reduction of the number of turnpike-gates to one in every seven miles, her majesty's Welsh subjects have been happily pacified.

In a work recently published, to which we have pleasure in referring-Road Reform,' by Mr William Pagan, a Scotch country solicitor*-the ratio of managerial expenses for toll-bars is stated at nearly what we have here supposed it to be. Speaking of the counties of Fife and Kinross, the writer describes them as containing 394 miles of parish or statute-labour roads, and 461 of turnpike roads; total 855 miles. The annual average amount of all levies whatsoever for these roads is L.33,547, 7s. Of this sum, less than one-half, or only L.16,110, 178. 7d. is expended on the ordinary repair of roads and bridges; L.7061 is disposed of for management; and the remainder goes to pay the interest, and to reduce the principal of the road debts. But this, he says, does not include the cost of local road legislation, law expenses incurred between lessees and private parties in questions of tolls, and the loss arising from the unproductive nature of toll-houses and gardens. Nine acts of parliament are at present in operation on the roads of the two counties, and the cost of these has been L.3532, 10s. 94d. One of them, procured in 1842, cost as much as L.575, 7s. 3d. At the renewal of the acts, equally heavy expenses will have to be incurred. Mr Pagan calculates that the annual burden for local road acts on the two counties is L.207, 6s. 1d.-a large sum for a district of country not larger than Hertford-long-suffering character of our countrymen, and their shire. With respect to the loss incurred in erecting toll-houses, he tells us that there are within the district 78 of these establishments, independently of a large number of small lodges and collection boxes; the whole together, along with 69 steelyards, or cart-weighing machines, having cost the road funds not less than L.10,000.

Enough has now been said to show how ineconomical -or rather how positively wasteful-is the present mode

*Edinburgh: Blackwood and Sons. 1845.

That the Scotch have not broken out into such excesses as happened in Wales, is ascribable more to the

commendable respect for the law, than to the mildness or equity of their toll-bar system. Edinburgh is surrounded with a mesh of thirty-five toll-bars and checks, several indecently placed within the streets of the town, and the greater number in the immediate environs. Cupar, the county town of Fife, is surrounded by thirteen toll-bars within a circuit of three miles of the market-cross, and seven of them close to the town, preventing intercourse with the adjoining fields. The author before us, however, gives even a worse case than this. Speaking of a road between Leven and Kirkaldy, this

presents to the world the beau ideal of the toll-bar system, for there the trustees have done their work so well in the matter of toll-gates, that it is acknowledged to be quite impracticable to set foot upon the road at all without being caught by some one or other of their gates. The length of the road is just 73 miles, and we find upon it exactly 7 gates-that is, one for every mile -five of them upon the line of road, and two of them by way of supporters or check-bars. On entering this road from the east (after having paid at Lundinmill toll-gate, in the St Andrews district, only two miles back), we are taxed at Scoonie toll-gate, where we may be asked whether we are to stop at Leven, or how far we are going? and not being disposed to afford this information to our inquisitor, we ask him in turn what is the lowest sum at which he will permit us to pass his gate? He then explains that his is what is called a half toll, and, gig and all, we get through for threepence. Half a mile forward we are upon the lively town of Leven and its excellent new bridge, where we find a pontage-gate, and there both biped and quadruped must make their bow to Charon, and submit to his toll exaction. A short distance further we are upon Methil-hill toll-gate and its check, where we must pay sixpence, which clears the remaining bars on this road, as the toll-ticket thrust into our hand informs us. Armed with this passport, we get through the Percival and Bowhouse gates without further payment, and make our way to Kirkaldy-before entering which, however, we come upon the barrier of the trustees of that district—the East Bridge toll-gatewhere we have to pay our ninepence.'

The prevalence of so many barriers to free intercourse, as is well known, leads to evasion in every imaginable way, it being thought quite fair to trick the toll-keeper out of his dues. A knowledge of this proneness to deception of course renders the 'pikeman churlish, and he not infrequently goes beyond the bounds of his commission. The truth is, toll-keepers give a very wide interpretation to the statute; they do not readily observe that there are no rules without exceptions. Hence a world of small litigation. Mr Pagan relates a case of a 'pikeman attempting to take toll a second time in one day for the same cart, on the plea that it was a different loading. The carter having resisted, the 'pikeman seized his horse and cart; and thence a litigation ensued. After being battled through several courts, the case was quashed, each party paying his own expenses, which amounted to L.54, 17s. for the 'pikeman, and L.124, 18s. 10d. for the carter. Besides incurring this damage, the unfortunate recusant lost his horse, which, having been put to livery by the tollman, was sold, after incurring a bill of L.18 for his keep. Both parties appear to have been the victims of an ambiguity in the act of parliament. In the following case, embracing a mixture of the dolorous with the grotesque, we are reminded of the famous litigation of Bullum versus Boatum. A Dumbartonshire tollman brought a passenger before a justice of peace court for attempting to cheat him of ninepence, and the charge being substantiated the passenger was fined L.2, with L.3 of expenses. But the 'pikeman had better let the case drop; for the passenger prosecuted him for an assault, and showed that he had been beat and cut at the time he attempted the evasion. The sheriff before whom this grave charge came for trial, decreed for L.14 of damages and L.2 of fine; but this not satisfying the prosecutor, he carried the case to the court of Justiciary, which increased the damages to L.100, and L.5 of fine, with expenses. The 'pikeman was doubtless left L.200 out of pocket by the transaction.

When we speak of 'pikemen suffering such awful losses, we perhaps fall into an error; for in most instances they are only servants of tacksmen, or lessees. Anciently, it was customary for poor men with wooden legs, or some other infirmity, to take a toll-bar, and on the free proceeds they were able to rear a family in something Like respectability. Capital, which has spread its paws over everything, has not made an exception in favour

of this humble means of livelihood. The old woodenleg men are now generally driven far a-field. When the day for auctioning the toll-bars of a trust arrives, capitalists, who know all about the roads and their capabilities, attend and swamp the small bidders. One man will thus take a dozen bars all round a neighbourhood, and, by employing sharp and trustworthy keepers, on whom he keeps an eye, will contrive to make a little fortune in the course of a few years. If a wooden-leg man be now anywhere seen at a toll-bar, it is only as a servant to some great master 'pikeman, or on some remote and little-frequented road.

In this way the keeping of toll-bars has been pretty generally monopolised by clusters of capitalists. Any new capitalist, not of the 'pike corporation, is well known to have no chance as a competitor; because, if a toll be knocked down to him, the enemy will drive him from the road. We have heard it confidently asserted, that any new man taking a toll-bar near London, will be ruined by those who look upon him as an intruder. They will entice all kinds of public conveyances to come by other bars; so that in the end the luckless wight is glad to give up his bargain, and retire to some new field of enterprise. These monopolists of the road are, it seems, not less sensitive on the score of intrusion by the trustees. Occasionally, trustees feel aggrieved by perceiving how profitable the toll-bars are to their lessees, and they determine to take the gates into their own hands, only employing servants as collectors. In almost every instance this turns out a false move. No such toll-bar ever pays: it is impossible it should pay the employé, a very decent man, cannot tell how it is, but there is no money taking. Sixpence only passed yesterday, and eighteenpence the day before. The thing evidently wont do. Seeing that the world has resolved against travelling so long as they keep the toll-bar in their own hands, the trustees prudently put it up once more to auction, glad to rid themselves of the incumbrance.

We have said so much of road mismanagement under the barbarous toll-bar system, and of the loss it causes to the country, that what we have to offer by way of reform must be stated very briefly. The whole scheme, however, may be contained in a nut-shell. Abolish the parochial or cross-road managements; abolish every kind of road-rate and statute-labour assessment; and abolish the toll-bars as one of the greatest nuisances that ever afflicted a free country. In lieu of this complicated machinery, the author of 'Road Reform' proposes to consolidate the road trusts, each to embrace a whole county, or at least a considerable district; the trusts at the same time to be somewhat more popularly constituted than they are at present. His method of raising funds to maintain all the roads and bridges in the kingdom, to pay the interest and principal of the road debts, and to liquidate every necessary expense, consists in laying a tax of 30s. annually on every horse; and to prove how well this plan would work, he enters into a calculation of what would be produced in the counties of Fife and Kinross. In that district there are 12,000 horses, by which, at 30s. per head, the sum of L.18,000 would be raised; such, as already shown, being the amount required to maintain all roads and bridges in the two shires. According to this simple plan of operation, there would, in comparison with the present absurd process of exaction, be an annual saving of L.15,000, that being the sum at present thrown away on 'pikemen and other engines of collection. To be exact, the difference between the two plans is expressed by the comparison of L.18,055, 16s. 8d. with L.33,547, 7s. What would hold good for two agricultural and populous Scotch counties, may be supposed to be answerable for Great Britain at large; and if so, then is the problem of road reform at once settled; we need not say how much to the relief of travellers, coach proprietors, agriculturalists, and the public generally. Our own ideas of road reformation would have pointed to the public revenue for the means, and to government for the

management; but, on consideration, Mr Pagan's proposal is so simple, so likely to be generally popular, besides being efficient in minor details, that we give it the preference. At all events, throwing down the subject, we leave it to fructify in the minds of our readers.

BE JUST BEFORE YOU ARE GENEROUS. A TALE, BY MISS ANNA MARIA SARGEANT. 'HERE's a gentleman wants to know the rent of our first floor, mother,' cried little Frank Ashton, ruuning, as he spoke, into the back parlour, where a quiet-looking young woman sat engaged with her needle. Mrs Ashton arose in haste, that she might answer the interrogation of the stranger, wondering at the same time whether her son had dignified him by the appellation of gentleman from courtesy, and thinking that if such were not the case, her accommodations would not be sufficiently good.

The question put to the child was repeated to the mother by a tall middle-aged man, whose manner and bearing bespoke him to be something above the class of persons inhabiting the little street in which he was now seeking for a home; and Mrs Ashton having answered it, led the way up the narrow but clean staircase, to tempt the stranger by the sight of her plain neatly furnished apartments. A brief survey was sufficient; and the terms being agreed upon, he begged permission to take possession of them immediately, as all the luggage he had, he said, was a portmanteau, which was at a neighbouring inn. The hesitating manner with which this request was received caused a flush to mount to his before pale cheeks. You require a reference, ma'am,' he quickly said; and it is right perhaps that you should do so of a stranger; but I have none to give. I am unknown in London, having but recently arrived from America, in which country I have spent the principal part of my life. All I can do,' he added, 'is to offer a few weeks' rent in advance.'

This reasonable apology for the want of the usual credentials satisfied the unsuspecting mind of the worthy matron, and she readily acceded to the terms, at the same time politely offering that her little handmaid should fetch his luggage. He declined smilingly, replying that he was not above carrying it himself; and adding, that he would, with her permission, employ her during his absence in lighting him a fire, and preparing the comfortable beverage of tea. I shall soon be quite at home here, I see,' he pursued, looking at a group of lovely children who had stolen one by one up the stair, and were now clustered at the door to get a peep at the 'strange gentleman;' and he familiarly patted the cheek of one, and stroked the glossy curls of another, as he passed.

'Oh, father, we have got such a nice new lodger,' exclaimed the three younger children in a breath as they clung about Robert Ashton's knees, the envied kiss to share,' on his arrival at the wonted evening hour. 'A new lodger!' he repeated in some surprise, and he looked at his wife for an explanation.

Mrs Ashton in a few words related the circumstances under which she had taken in a fresh occupant for her floor, and concluded by saying that she hoped her husband would not think she had acted imprudently. 'You have acted just as I should have done had I been at home, my love,' was his reply.

But I am not quite certain that it was exactly prudent notwithstanding,' she gaily rejoined; we were so unfortunate with our last lodgers.'

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'And a happy world it is,' rejoined his friend. 'I never leave your fireside without a determination to marry, and have such a home of my own. But to proceed to the subject which brought us hither to-night: I am come to make an appeal to your benevolence.'

I am sorry for that, Morris,' cried Ashton, since my resources are pretty well exhausted. However, I am not so destitute as to be without a few shillings for a fellow-creature in need. Pray, tell me the case.'

My good friend here is raising a subscription for the widows of the poor men who were drowned last week,' Morris made answer.

And have you been at all successful in your errand of charity?' Ashton asked, addressing his visitor. 'Far from it,' was the reply; people cry out so much at the badness of the times: they have scarcely enough to enable them to be just, much less to be generous, they say.'

That is a paltry excuse,' cried Ashton contemptuously; an excuse made by the niggardly to apologise for their parsimony. Alice, my love,' he added, 'draw us a jug of ale, and let us drink success to this gentleman's undertaking; meanwhile, I will subscribe my mite;' and as he spoke he placed a piece of gold in the hand of the young man.

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Oh, sir, were all the world like you, there would be no misery arising from want,' was the exclamation of his visitor, as he gazed in surprise at the liberal donation from one whose apparent circumstances scarcely warranted the hope of a fourth of the sum. I assure you,' he added, that I have talked for half an hour to men who revel in riches, and, after all, could with difficulty wring from them a small piece of silver.'

'Alas! this is a selfish world,' responded Ashton with a sigh.

'I told you that I would answer for your success there,' exclaimed Morris, when he and his companion had left the door. There is not a more generous fellow breathing than Bob Ashton, and yet I am afraid he is but indifferently off. I hear he is much in debt.' 'In debt!' repeated his friend in astonishment and concern. 'I wish,' he added, that you had informed me of that circumstance before, for I certainly would not then have made the application.'

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'Why not?' interrogated Morris. 'Is a man never to give away a penny because he owes a pound?' 'His just debts have undoubtedly the first claim,' was the reply.

Whilst this conversation passed between the two friends without, a dialogue of a somewhat similar nature was carried on within. Mother,' cried little Frank, as with his brothers and sister he knelt at Mrs Ashton's feet to offer up their evening devotions; 'mother, tell me, if you please, which is the greatest virtue, generosity or justice.'

Justice, my child,' was the mother's unhesitating reply. 'I thought so,' pursued the little inquirer; but I was not quite sure.'

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'I am glad that you asked me, then, my dear boy, she tenderly returned, bending to kiss his glowing cheek as she spoke; I am very glad that you asked me, because I wish you to bear that in mind through life. Generosity,' she pursued, 'is a brilliant quality, which attracts general admiration; but it may be possessed by persons wanting in almost every other virtue. who have set at nought every moral, social, and divine law, have been frequently known to be eminent for generosity; whereas justice is of so solid a character, that it can scarcely dwell in a soil which has not some other excellences.'

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'But we may admire generosity if it be in a robber, may we not?' asked the child, looking earnestly in his mother's face.

Mrs Ashton smiled. 'We can scarcely do otherwise than admire that which is in itself lovely, be it found where it may,' she made answer; but we must never, my dear Frank, let our admiration get the better of our

judgment, or we may be led to imitate the vices and failings of an individual, because there is some shining quality about them. The generosity of some persons,' she pursued, 'is an impulse, producing that indiscrimi-keeper-quietness, and regularity in the payment of nating charity which frequently encourages vice, and does more evil than good; and that benevolence is only worthy of admiration which flows from a sense of duty to God and our fellow-creatures.'

'Dear mother,' resumed the child, encouraged by her gentle tones to proceed, I think it must have been a struggle between generosity and justice that I felt this morning, when I was coming back from the toy-shops after buying my humming-top. I met a poor blind man looking so hungry and cold, that I could not help wishing I had seen him in my way there, that I might have given him the money instead of laying it out for a toy ; and whilst I was thinking so, a gentleman near me dropped a shilling from his purse without noticing it. This shilling, thought I, would buy the poor beggar man two or three meals, and the gentleman looks as if it could be no object to him to lose it.'

'And what did you do, my dear?' Mrs Ashton with eagerness inquired, seeing the boy hesitate whether to proceed.

no cause to be dissatisfied with her new lodger, who was found to possess those two virtues which are of the highest esteem in the opinion of the lodging-house rent. Meanwhile, the strange gentleman (for such he was still denominated) made rapid progress in the favour of every member of the family. Frank was delighted with his glowing accounts of the wild scenery of America-the younger children with his willingness to share in their gambols. Ashton felt interested in him from the very fact of his being apparently friendless and unfortunate, and Alice from a combination of all. 'Oh, father, the strange gentleman is gone,' was the simultaneous exclamation of the little group one evening as Robert Ashton entered his home.

Gone!' he repeated in surprise. Is this information true, my love?' he interrogated, addressing his wife. 'Too true,' she returned, whilst a tear stole down her cheek in spite of her efforts to repress it. He is gone, my dear Robert, under circumstances of a most painful nature.'

'Yes, father, the men took him away; and mother says they will not let him come back again to play with us,' pursued the little prattlers.

Ashton turned to the mother for an explanation.

'Why, mother,' he returned, 'I must confess that I was strongly tempted to conceal the money, and after-The poor man was arrested this morning, and carried off wards give it to the beggar; but that little voice which you have told me was conscience, softly whispered that it would be a theft, as much as if I had taken it out of the gentleman's purse with my own hands, and that I had no right to be generous with that which was not my own; so I gave the gentleman his shilling, and left the poor blind man without. Did I do right, mother?'

Quite right, my dear boy,' Mrs Ashton exclaimed, folding him in her maternal embrace; we certainly ought never to do evil that good may come, and I trust this little incident will be a lesson to you through life, never to sacrifice what you know to be right to gratify even such an honourable feeling as benevolence, or in any way compromise justice for the sake of indulging in generosity."

'Alice, my love,' cried Ashton, when Bessie had taken the children to their chamber, and they were left alone, 'I thought you praised the probity of our dear little boy to the exclusión of his warmer feelings; surely some word of commendation was due to the kind wish which would have given up the humming-top he has so long been setting aside his pocket money to purchase, for the sake of affording a meal to a fellow-creature in want?' 'Your experience in the world must have led you to observe how often such impulses end where they began -in wishes,' she smilingly returned. The benevolence which I deem most worthy of commendation is active. In the case of our little Frank, however, I believe it to have been sincere,' she added; and the only fear is, of its becoming too exuberant.'

'Too exuberant! Do you deem it possible for it to be too exuberant? Can we be too self-sacrificing for the good of others, Alice?'

'Nay, my dear Robert,' she gently returned; 'we cannot, I think, be too self-sacrificing; but we may sacrifice one duty in order to practise another; and it was the triumph of right over false reasoning that I thought the most worthy of notice in the little transaction which our dear boy was relating.'

'We differ a little, Alice, in our ideas of generosity,' Ashton interposed; and yet,' he quickly added, it is only with your theory that I quarrel-with your practice, my love, I find no fault.'

'It were better to be defective in theory than in practice,' she gaily returned; but I only contend that, to be really valuable, generosity must be united with other moral virtues, and with justice in particular, otherwise its lustre fades into comparative nothingness.' Ashton sat musing, but did not reply; and the entrance of Bessie with the supper put a period to the conversation.

Week after week passed away, and Mrs Ashton had

to the Fleet prison,' she said; but I believe, from a few words which were dropped, that there is some injustice in the transaction. It appears to be for the expenses of a lawsuit which he has been urged to engage in on false grounds by the very person who has now arrested him.' Ashton uttered an ejaculation of indignant feeling, and was adding a somewhat illiberal and sweeping remark upon the legal profession, when his wife interrupted him by observing that the best way to show his sympathy would be for him to offer his services to the stranger in such a time of need, which, she doubted not, would be most acceptable, as he appeared not to have a friend in London.

'You are right, my love,' he returned; 'I may perhaps procure his enlargement by becoming bail for him.'

'Do nothing precipitately, dear Robert,' exclaimed his wife; you know nothing of his character, and his name has only this day become known to us.'

Yes, we found out his name, poor gentleman, through the bailiffs,' cried Bessie, who was in the parlour busily employed preparing tea. "They asked for Mr Paul Logan, and when I said I didn't know such a person, but that I would ask the gentleman on our first floor if that was his name, they followed me up the stairs.'

'Logan, did you say-Paul Logan?' Ashton exclaimed. 'Yes, sir, I know it was that, for I thought it a strange outlandish name.'

'Do you know the name, Robert?' Alice asked in surprise, for she could not but notice that it had awakened some unpleasant feelings in the breast of her husband.

'Yes-that is, I once knew a family of the name of Logan,' was his reply. 'But are you sure it was Paul Logan?' he further interrogated; and Bessie, nothing loath to be a speaker, proceeded to attest the truth of her assertion by saying that she heard the bailiffs call him by that name several times.

Are you ill, dear Robert?' cried Mrs Ashton in alarm, perceiving with the quick eye of love that a sudden paleness had overspread her husband's cheek.

'I am not quite well,' he faintly replied, leaning his head upon his arm as he spoke.

Alice flew to offer him a cup of the refreshing beverage she had just prepared. I shall not be able to go out to-night, my love,' he said; 'I will retire to bed; perhaps a night's rest may restore me to myself. Alice urged that medical advice should be procured; but he positively refused to permit it, requesting only her assistance in ascending the stairs to his chamber.

The duties of the mother called Mrs Ashton from the

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