In our age of steam and machinery, we can but smile at the caution and timidity of the wise and practical men of that day, who were alarmed, almost out of their wits, by the erection of a saw-mill, or engine for sawing timber, on the river Thames, opposite to Durham Yard. So little was the advantage of a saving of labour understood then, that it was shortly after suppressed, "lest our labouring people should want employment.”

The next great improvement, carried cut vigorously by an order of Common Council, was the clearing the streets from the incumbrance of stalls and stands for bakers, butchers, poulterers, chandlers, fruiterers, sempsters, grocers, and venders of oysters, herbs, and tripe, which had become a perfect nuisance, in defiance of laws hitherto enacted. It was ordered "that no inhabitant whatever should presume to sell anything in the streets or lanes of the City, upon pain of forfeiting for the first offence twenty shillings, for the second offence forty shillings, for the third offence four pounds, and for each after offence the penalty to be doubled." And, in 1633, the enormities of engrossers, victuallers, bakers, &c., had risen to such a height, that the Court of Star Chamber issued a decree, "That no person whatsoever should presume to engross any sort of provision: and, particularly, that no chandler should buy corn, grain, meal, or flour, to sell again at market, or elsewhere. That no vintner should sell anything but bread and wine: that no baker should sell bread at any more than twelve, or, at most, thirteen loaves to the dozen. That keepers of victualling houses should not take more from each guest, for a meal, than two shillings, including wine and beer, and from a servant eightpence; that no innholder should take more than sixpence in twenty-four hours for hay for one horse, and no more than sixpence for a peck of oats. And finally, that neither victuallers nor vintners should suffer cards, dice, tables, or other unlawful games, in their houses, under the penalty of losing their licence." This was felt by the citizens as a great boon, and hailed with pleasure accordingly, being looked upon as a most favourable change from the extravagant licentiousness given countenance to by the late King's acts, which were bought privileges barefacedly for the encouragement of all kinds. of vice, debauchery, and Sabbath-breaking.

These kind of acts produced a warm and cordial feeling between the King and his citizen subjects; and although murmurs constantly arose against the oppressive acts of the ministers, the loyalty of the city remained unabated, the different influential bodies vieing with each other in acts of kindness and compliment to their new sovereign. On one occasion the Royal Family and Court were entertained, on their return from an excursion in Scotland, by the gentlemen of the Inns of Court, with a masque at Ely House, which, for "curiosity of fancy, excellence in the performance, and splendour, exceeded all former exhibitions of that nature," at the enormous expenditure of 20,000l., which seems almost incredible, considering the value of money in those days.

After the performance, which took place at Whitehall, the masquers passed in procession in front of the building, to bow their farewell to their Majesties, who looked upon them from the windows. Their appearance so delighted the Queen that she expressed a desire to have the masque repeated. This being intimated to the Lord Mayor, Sir Ralph Freeman, he was induced to give their Majesties an invitation

to dine at Merchant Taylors' Hall, where they were entertained with the utmost magnificence. The masques, much to their delight and approval, again made their appearance, "and the entertainment was repeated with equal dexterity, splendour, and applause, as at Whitehall."

"It is a lamentable reflexion," says Hugheson," that from the very window of the palace in which Charles placed himself to view these masquers, he was afterwards conducted to the masqued executioners, who bereft him of life on the scaffold."

The rapid increase of the population at this time, and their turbulent state, gave rise to much annoyance and fear. Bodies that had hitherto been unprovided against, on account of their insignificance, now showed a bold and alarming front, and clamoured for their rights and privileges. The census, taken only in the rough manner understood at that time, showed at the accession of James I. that London contained little more than 120,000 inhabitants. Six years afterwards, the Lord Mayor, on being questioned by the Privy Council as to "What number of mouths are esteemed to be in the City of London and the Liberty?" returned a written answer-" 130,280.”

MY WINTER ROOM.

BY ALFRED B. STREET,

AUTHOR OF "FRONTENAC," ETC.

THE WINTER wind is roaring in the air,
And crashing through the trees, upon the panes
A dull sound tells the beating of the snow,
And, now and then, a sharp quick tinkling where
The hail is smiting. Hark, how bitterly
The wild wind shrieks! and, as I glance from out
My casement, nothing but the black sky o'er,
And the pale ghastly snow beneath, I see.
Within, how warm and cosy is my room!

The broad bright blaze leaps, laughing, crackling up
The rumbling chimney, shedding round my walls
Its rosy radiance. Swarms of ruddy sparks,

Like dancing fire-flies, hover now below
The chimney's mouth, now stream up quietly
Its sable throat, and now right at my face
Dart swiftly, snapping out their testy lives.
The great swart andirons stand in sulky strength
Amidst the glowing redness. Now and then
A brand breaks up, and falls on either side,
Attended by a merrier dance of sparks.

And then the play of shadows. On the wall

The tongs has cast a straddling shape, with knob
Nodding so wisely, every chair has lined

Its giant frame-work all around. The tall

Quaint clock, which ticks with such industrious tongue,
Chiming harmonious with the silver chirp

Of the unceasing cricket, casts its high
And reaching figure up the wall, with breast
Bent to an angle, stretching half along
The ceiling, wavering to each mirthful fit
Of the glad firelight. How the cinder-blaze
Flashes upon the letters of my books,
Dances along the barrel of my gun
(Remainder of sweet Indian summer days
In the calm forest when the smoky air

Rang with its voice), and glittering on the joints

Of my long fishing-rod (awakener too

Of cool, dark forest streams, and leaping trout,

And dashing music, and of net-work gold
Dropped by low branches), glancing in the dark,
Smooth polish of my cane (that also tells
Of rambles in the fresh, green, pastoral hills
To view the summer sunset-through the glens

To while away the languid summer heat,
And by broad waters where the harvest-moon
Beheld its face reflected). Cheery nook,
Sweet cheery nook! how precious is thy peace
In my unquiet life! how gladly here
My heart expands in pure beatitude,
Feeling its storms all hushed in holy rest,

All tumults soothed-at sweet peace with itself—
In kindness with all kind. The mangling day,
Cares, disappointments, sorrows, may have brought,
But all have vanished. All the bitter things
Of being-unappreciated worth—

Wounded affection-barred ambition like
The Phoenix burning in the flames it fans

With its own pinions: hopes that, like old Rome,

Are strewed in wrecks, which tell how bright and grand
Their pristine shapes; all these roll off like mists,

And leave the crimsoned room a radiant shrine
Of blest contentment. Here the fancy, too,
Revels in its sweet dreaming, tracing things
Grotesque and beautiful from out the coals,
One glowing like a famished lion's eye,
One cracking open like a maiden's lips
(So soft and rich their velvet ruddiness),
And melting one in ashes soft and grey,
Like sunset's rim, what time the sun hath sunk
Beneath it; and not only this, but lapped
In poetry, which dances now in sweet

And fairy music, as of harp and flute,

And marching now in stately phalanx on

To drum and trumpet. Glows the happy soul
Responsive, till the hours on downy feet

Have brought the time for slumber-then with prayer
To God, my head upon its pillow sinks,

And hearing, in the slow delicious creep

Of slumber o'er the frame, the stormy wind
And beating snow, I slide within the land,
The dim, mysterious, unknown land of dreams.

WORKING OF THE POOR LAWS IN IRELAND.

Dublin, 20th Dec, 1849.

DEAR SIR,

My attention has been attracted by a review in the last Number of the "Miscellany," of a little work called "Paddy's Leisure Hours." I know the book, and have every reason to believe that it contains nothing but what is true. That the real state of things is quite the reverse of what the Reviewer supposes, I know for certain. If our poor dear friend, Dr. Taylor, had been alive he could have written a better review. For he knew the facts, and nothing would have induced him to disguise them. He could have told the writer that it is an utter mistake to suppose the poor laws have operated to lessen the distress in Ireland. On the contrary they have tended-especially the out-door relief bill-to aggravate and to perpetuate it. This was not only foretold by myself and many others, and has been but too strongly confirmed by experience, but moreover it was the conviction of the very persons who brought in the bill; as I have proved by citing their own words (to which I could have added more) in page 29 of the pamphlet I enclose. Doubtless they were driven by the clamour in England to act against their own better judgment. It must be painful to them to have their own words, which they cannot deny, cited against them. And I would never willingly give pain to any one, except when the public good requires the plain truth to be brought out. It is very well to talk about a law to make the Irish support their own poor. And we might pass a law to make "the sky rain potatoes," but the omnipotence of Parliament does not extend to physical impossibilities. Sometimes it is possible by legislation to mitigate physical evils; it is always very easy (as in this case) to aggravate them.

But probably the writer knows as little as people in England generally do, of the evil state of Ireland. It is possible that he does not know that there are whole districts lying waste, because the poor-rate swallows up more than the whole profit that could be made by cultivating them; and on which not even cattle can be turned out, because they would be seized for arrears of rate; that he does not know that large estates have been deserted by the tenants, who have fled to America without paying their rents; leaving the landlord penniless that in numerous instances the farmers' cattle, ploughs,