here.'"-Prisoner. “Because I was not --"-Governor. "That will do. I don't like his style. Lock him up and stop his dinner."

"William Dermot."-" Yes, sir."-" So it seems you are determined not to do your work. Stop half his dinner, and let him be locked up for the rest of his time."

"Richard Miles."-" Sir."-" You are reported for not making your bed."—"I made it as well as I could, sir. It was folded up very neatly."-"Neatness has nothing to do with it. It was not made according to the prison regulations. Let him fold his bed up three times before he has his dinner."

"John Jones. You are reported for not half picking your work. It was only the day before yesterday that you asked me as a favour to be permitted to write to your father, and this is the way you turn round upon me. Stop his dinner."

"William Mitchell."-"Yes, sir."-" Perhaps you can account for this knife being broken."-" While I was cutting my meat the handle broke off, sir."-" We can't listen to such stuff here. Maybe you are not aware that when your time is expired, I can take you before a magistrate, and have you committed on the charge of destroying county property. Stop his supper, and let him eat his dinner without a knife for the remainder of his time."

Governor." Is Samuel Walker here?"-" Yes, sir."-" So it seems that you were not out a week before you were at your old tricks again, passing bad money. You would have looked very awkward yesterday when I was in court if I had been asked any questions. Depend upon it you had better alter your course."

Governor. "John Lyons, what do you want to say to me?"— "Please, sir, I want to write home."- "What do you want to write about?"-" I want to tell my mother I have moved from Coldbath Fields."-" Yes, you may write.”—“ Please, sir, I can't write myself."-" You may ask one of the officers to write for you."

"Richard Davis. What do you want to say to me?"-"I want to ask to write to my cousin, sir, if you please."-"Your cousin, I am sure he can't want to know anything about you. Is it a male cousin?"-"Yes, sir."-"Have you no nearer relation ?"—"None nearer than my uncle, sir, not in town. My father lives a long way in the country."—" I shall see how you behave."

After a few more requests of this nature the home business is concluded, and the governor takes his leave, or it may be, as he is passing along, something may call his attention, as in the following instance :- "What a head of hair that boy has got! What is your master, boy?"-"A patent wig-maker, sir."- "So I should think. Let his hair be cut immediately. I wonder the boy has not got a brain fever." To another prisoner: "Do you expect your fine will be paid?"-"I don't know, sir."-" Let his hair be cut to-morrow morning."-The man burst out crying. Each mandate is given and obeyed. We were left to our work till two o'clock, when rings that tocsin of the soul the dinner-bell. This is a meat day-a day most anxiously looked for.

The dinner regulations are meat twice a week, soup twice, and bread and gruel three times a week. The meat I had never sufficient appetite to eat. The soup has a reputation that has reached the antipodes, and is the envy of all epicurean paupers; the gruel is a tisane of most catholic lenten quality. The next bell that rings

is at five o'clock, when a general order is given to "put up your work." This is a dire charge to the incapables, who would gladly work another hour, but the stern prohibition of the officer soon dashes the incipient hope. "Do you hear, there? put up your work instantly, or I'll report you." Accordingly, each one takes his work up to be weighed, and if not all picked, or badly picked, he is reported.

After work a certain number at a time are let into the yard for exercise, which consists in walking at a quick pace in a row, about a yard distance from each other, but still under restriction and surveillance, for looking to the right or left subjects the offender to be reported. In about twenty minutes supper is served, consisting of a small loaf and gruel, and, immediately at its conclusion, all are locked up for the night. Atter the excruciating agony endured while sitting so many hours without being able to change position, it is a perfect luxury to lie down; and there is a solace even in the loneliness. Thus is concluded the diurnal routine of a modern bastile. My sojourn had not been of long duration before a change took place in our ménage, indicated by a certain stir and bustle, orders for additional forms, &c. The mystery was soon unfolded in the accession of about fifty new inmates, in consequence of the sessions having just concluded, besides numerous transfers from other prisons.

There are three things by which the Sunday is distinguished-a change of linen, our shoes oiled, and exemption from work; but punishment is amply dispensed as usual. On entering the workroom, having given up the week's clothes, you take your seat, and find the forms spread about with Bibles and religious tracts, which you are at liberty to read. I may notice here, that there is a schoolmaster to teach the juvenile prisoners. The detection of some prisoner that can't read, with a French Bible, and who excuses himself by saying he thought it was English, or of another with an English one upside down, turning over the leaves, forms an incident that breaks the monotony till prayers.

I shall never forget the first Sunday after the reception of the new arrivals. The chapel was full to the walls; after the exhortation scarcely was the first sentence of the Confession finished by the chaplain, when there arose such a power of lungs that the very wainscot trembled; it was like the opening of a field battery; it rose with each sentence until it reached its greatest volume in the enunciation of "the glory of Thy holy name," when there was a lull. "The Venite, exultemus Domino" was opened with the same heartiness and good-will; in fact, through the entire service there was a zeal manifested unusual in ordinary worship. It might have been by way of indemnifying their lungs for the week's imposition of silence. Our sermons were of about the average standard. When the service was finished, and the reports read, there was a general order given for the responses to be made in a much more subdued tone, and a penal promise added in case of non-compliance.

THE ANGEL'S MISSION.

A SUPERSTITION still exists in some remote parts of our dreamy and romantic country (Germany), that when a child dies, its guardian angel descends from heaven to receive the earth-emancipated soul from the grim hand of death—and thus sings. :

"I come, thou fair child, who in death trance art lying,—

I speed to the earth to receive thy soul dying,

And then will we fly o'er thy once cherished home,

O'er its flower-covered meads and bright gardens we'll roam :

"And we'll gather fresh flowers from the cold clime of earth,
Those destined, I ween, for a heavenly birth;

And there they will blossom with glory unknown
To the pale flowers of earth by mortal hand sown.

"And the flower that may find most grace in Heaven's sight
Will be given a voice of deep wond'rous delight,

And 'twill join with an earnest and soul-meaning voice
The bright chorus of angels to praise and rejoice."

Thus sang the angelic messenger, and soon was he on his way heavenward, transporting one of these little children of his especial care to its home of bliss, ere earth had blighted, with its discordant elements, the first unconscious innocence of childhood; and the soul of the child was in a blissful trance of joy, as they passed together over the village in which it had lived joyous and happy, and hovered over beautiful gardens, filled with the loveliest flowers.

"Which," said the angel, in a voice soft as the zephyr of early summer morn, "which of all these shall we take to plant among the flowers of heaven?" As he spoke, his glance fell upon a rose-tree which had been broken by some ruthless hand, and the branches of which, covered with buds and flowers, hung round the parent stem, as if in fond affection even in death.

"Oh, my beloved rose-tree," said the child, "let us take that with us to heaven, that it may take root and flower again."

The angel took up the beautiful rose-tree, and the child surrounded it with his little arms as if to defend it from further harm. They then gathered the rarest and most beautiful flowers, but they forgot not the daisy, and the timid violet of the fields.

"We have now gathered sufficient for heaven's garden,” said the child, let us depart."

The angel looked into his dark blue eyes, and smiled approvingly, but he appeared not yet disposed to wing his flight heavenward; there remained still something for him to accomplish upon earth.

It was night; and silence and stillness reigned in the great streets and thoroughfares of the town they were passing over, when the angel and child at length alighted in a small and dirty street in which, before one of the houses deserted by its inmates, was heaped a pile of dust and rubbish. In the midst of this the child perceived a broken flower-pot, in which was a field-flower withering on its stem, and left, like many a fairer of Nature's children, to expire in want, and breathe out its unheard, unheeded sighs,to the spirits of air. "We will take this poor flower with us," said the angel, "and as we wing our flight heavenwards, I will tell thee why."

Embracing the child, who had fixed his wondering gaze upon the flower, the angel took him in his arms, and winged his flight once

more to heaven, and on their way thither he related to the child as follows:

"There below," said the angel, as he pointed to the spot they had just quitted, "there below lived a poor sick child. From his earliest infancy his young limbs had been extended on a bed of sickness, unable to move into the fresh air, and enjoy the pure sunshine. His abode was a small cellar, into which, sordid and narrow as it was, the sun would still send a few hopeful rays, as if to remind the poor inmate that a brighter world lived and breathed without, and whispering to his soul that, far, far beyond his prison-walls, far too beyond the bright world of nature, there existed something brighter still for him, a sunshine more beautiful, a clime more glowing far: and thoughts of the ineffable bliss of this eternal sunshine, were sent to cheer his heart; and sometimes-but these indeed were rare intervals of the child's life-he would be able to crawl painfully along his narrow chamber, and move into the fresh air, and enjoy and bask in the sunshine; and the child would hold up its shadowy hand before its eyes, and smile to see the blood circulate through the blue veins, and the sunlight shine through the slender fingers. These were the happiest days of the child's life; and the neighbours would smile, and say to one another-the sick boy has been out today. Unknown to him were walks through shady woods, the song of birds, the perfume of flowers, blessings given to the poorest of God's creatures. One spring morning a neighbour's son brought him a branch of holly, and the child, holding it over his head, fancied himself in the forest, under the branches of the trees, lighted up by the morning sun, and he imaged to himself every leaf trembling with delight, and innumerable birds pouring forth in delicious melodies their morning orisons of praise. On another occasion, one bright summer eve, the light footstep of the neighbour's son was again heard. He had returned from his wanderings in the green meadows, and he had thought of the sick boy in his loneliness, and he had brought him some sweet field-flowers, to gladden him with their perfume, and to fright away sick fancies, with their bright and innocent looks.

"Joy lighted up the dark eyes of the sick boy, when he discovered that one of these flowers retained its roots. He placed it in a flower-pot, and put it in the grated window near his bed; and shortly the plant took root again, and grew strong, and tall, and repaid his care, by giving him every year new and more beautiful flowers. No brilliant parterre of the most beautiful garden could have given him more pleasure; his plant was his thought by night, and his joy by day; and he placed it in a position to receive all the wandering rays of sunshine that visited his sick chamber, and the flower became a part of the sick child's life, every thought became identified with his beloved flower-for him only it lived-for him it grew and shed its delicious perfume, and spread forth its leavesand upon his beloved flower, the last dying, loving look of the sick child was fixed. It is now nearly a year," said the angel," since the child has been in heaven, and the poor flower, left upon the window uncared for and unwatched, has withered, and been thrown out into the street. And this is the flower we are taking with us to heaven, and it is of more value than any of these we before found, because it has been the cause of greater happiness than the richest of them all."

224 NOTE ON THE PICTURE GALLERIES OF ENGLAND.

" And how knowest thou these things?" said the child. "Because," said the angel, “I myself was the poor child, and this my flower. Deemest thou not, therefore, that I must know it well?" The child looked wonderingly upon the radiant and angelic countenance of his companion, and would have farther questioned him, but already had they arrived in heaven, and the little child's soul was filled wth angelic joy and peace, and to him were given wings like those of the angel who had brought him thither, and he too had his task assigned to him, and was blessed in labours of joy and love. And of all the flowers they had brought with them, the field flower alone had a voice given it, to sing the praise of the Eternal; and joy, peace, and the fulness of love was its song, and every angel in heaven joined the chorus, and their joyous hymn of praise resounded through the realms of bliss.

NOTE ON THE PICTURE GALLERIES OF ENGLAND.

Lord Ellesmere's Collection.

We have received a communication on the subject of the above article (which appeared in our July number) from Mr. Mathews, the Keeper of Lord Ward's Picture Gallery. Our correspondent notices as erroneous a passage in which the writer of the article gives Lord Ellesmere the credit of having been the first to set the example of opening Private Picture Galleries to the public; and informs us that the honour should be transferred to Lord Ward, because that nobleman's pictures were exhibited a little earlier in point of time than those of Lord Ellesmere. We beg to remind Mr. Mathews, that when Lord Ellesmere's new gallery was in process of construction, it was perfectly notorious that his lordship intended it, as soon as completed, to be opened to the public on certain days. Thus, before the present year-and some considerable time before itLord Ellesmere, by building his own Gallery with a view to public accommodation, had, as a principle, at least, set the example of opening Private Picture Galleries to the public. Circumstances (to be easily comprehended, if it be remembered that Lord Ellesmere had to make arrangements for receiving the public in his own house, while Lord Ward was simply sending his pictures to be exhibited in a public room) retarded the opening of the Bridgewater Gallery. But these circumstances were beside the real question. Although priority of time might have been gained by Lord Ward, priority of idea and intention belonged to Lord Ellesmere. As a matter of principle and justice, therefore, credit has been given in the article, where credit was fairly, and not accidentally, due; and there, with all respect for Lord Ward and Mr. Mathews, we consider it must remain.

Want of space compels the Editor to omit an article on the newest works of fiction, in which the following Works, among others, were noticed: "Arthur Conway," "The English in America," "Clare Abbey, "Stuart of Dunleath,” "The Lady and the Priest," "Percy Hamilton," " Clara Cameron," &c., also a notice of the History of the Dukes of Urbino. They will appear in our next.

66