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required. These were matters wholly unrevealed to the world until the - Owen made his debût. She was proud to be one of his most zealous disciples, and was ready, as far as she was concerned, to carry all his principles into practice. To her incentive genius the patriarch is indebted for the establishment of what are called social festivals, at which the mechanics, their wives, their sons and daughters, together with a galaxy of beauties from the virtuous precincts of Shire-lane, assemble periodically, and sing, and dance, and take tea, and enter into those temporary engagements which are to form the principal felicity of the new system,

So much for the instruction and amusement of the disciples—and thus far they go in common with the St. Simonians of France, who have recently despatched missionaries to this country, in order to assist in the propagation of the doctrine. But the practical remedy for the real evil of society,—that is to say, for the poverty of the lower orders, the secret hitherto unknown to all men save Robert Owen,--stands disclosed in the most admirable invention of modern times, the “ Equitable Labour Exchange.” Through the instrumentality of this institution, the labour of the industrious is instantly converted into gold. Knowledge is power. Give the ignorant education, and they will therefore be the rulers of the country. Labour is wealth. Let the poor labour, and they must in consequence become the proprietors of all the land and money in the empire. This is the logic of these grand reformers. But how are syllogisms to be transformed into loaves of bread and roast beef? That is the question. We shall see.

There was an abundance of room to spare, as we have already mentioned, in the bazaar in Gray's Inn Road. Thither the distressed shoemaker was invited by the patriarch to send such part of his stock as lay upon his hands. To the same receptacle the cabinet-maker was advised to commit his tables and chairs, the hatter his hats, the cooper his tubs, the nạiler his nails, the tinman his pans, the musical instrument-maker his fiddles, and flutes, and tambourines, the toyman his dolls, the milliner her caps, the baker his bread, the butcher his meat, the market gardener his vegetables. Upon such of these articles as were transmitted to the bazaar, a certain valuation was fixed, according to the proportion of labour supposed to have been bestowed upon the production of them; and that labour was estimated, in every case, at sixpence per hour. Thus a table or a dog-collar, for instance, was valued at twenty hours; and to the owner thereof, a nicely printed slip of paper, resembling a country bank-note, was given, stating the number of hours at which his deposit was estimated. This note he had then an opportunity of presenting to one of the attendants behind the counter of the bazaar, and from that officer he was entitled to receive any other article then in store, which was valued at the same amount. Unfortunately, however, nobody could get exactly the thing he wanted. The nailer presented his note for some coals; but there were none, as yet, in the bazaar. An umbrella or a fife was very much at his service; but he needed not the one, and bad neither time nor disposition to play on the other. The weaver who had deposited a piece of cloth, the labour of a whole week, required some bread. But the bakers were not yet disciples of the new system, -- would he have any objection to a tambourine ? The cabinet-maker, who had placed in the store a capi

tal chest of drawers, looked forward with considerable glee to a series of legs of mutton. But when he was told that the butchers had not yet become Owenites, and that the market-gardeners continued incredulous,—when he looked around and discovered that he could only obtain in exchange for his said chest, a flute or an old coat, or some dozens of list shoes, or half a ton of dog-collars, or a case of dried beetles, or a picture of a shipwreck, or coral necklaces, or merry-andrews, or some piles of Miss Macauley's pamphlets,—he naturally enough kicked up a row. Complaint became contagious among the disciples, riot the order of the day, and the Bazaar the scene of tumult which demanded the interposition of the police. The plain sense of Clerkenwell revolted at the gross imposture of the new Messiah, the Bazaar was shut up once more, and the precious institution was transferred to the West End. Thus the rogue, who is detected in the city, puts on a new coat and renews his enterprizes in Portman-square. The “Crisis” is still the organ of the gang, assisted by “The Destructive," " The Pioneer,” and several other periodical publications, which, though unstamped, comprize all the ordinary topics of newspapers, and are attaining a wide circulation amongst the industrious orders of our population. There is a rude energy in their style, added to a profligate dereliction of morality in their principles, which renders them acceptable to all the discontented men in the country—a numerous as well as an active race of idle libertines, who, having neither character nor property to lose, are fervently looking forward to new revolutions, by which they hope, if they cannot ameliorate their condition, to reduce the happier orders of society to the level of their own wretchedness.

C. H.

ELEGY.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “ CORN-LAW RHYMES.”
Thou art not dead, my son! my son !

But God hath hence removed thee :
Thou canst not die, my buried boy,

While lives the sire who loved thee.
How canst thou die, while weeps for thee.

The broken heart that bore thee,
And e'en the thought that thou art not

Can to her soul restore thee?
Will grief forget thy willingness

To run before thy duty ?
The love of all, the good and true,

That filld thine eyes with beauty ?
Thy pitying grace, thy dear request,

When others had offended,
That made thee look as angels look,

When yreat good deeds are ended ?
The strength with which thy soul sustain'd

Thy woes, and daily wasting?
Thy prayer to stay with us, when sure

That from us thou wert hasting ?
And that last smile, which seem'd to say,

“ Why cannot ye restore me?"
Thy look'd farewell is in my heart,

And brings thee still before me.

What, though the change, the fearful change,

From thought, which left thee never,
To unremembering ice and clay,

Proclaim thee gone for ever
Thy half-closed lids, thy upturn'd eyes,

Thy still and lifeless tresses;
Thy marble lip, which moves no more,

Yet more than grief expresses;
The silence of thy coffin'd snow,

By awed remembrance cherish d;
These dwell with me, like gather'd flowers,

That in their April perish'd.
Thou art not gone, thou canst not go,

My bud, my blasted blossom !
The pale rose of thy faded face

Still withers in my bosom.
Oh, Mystery of Mysteries,

That took'st my poor boy from me!
What art thou, Death? all-dreaded Death!

If weakness can o'ercome thee?
We hear thee not! we see thee not,

Even when thy arrows wound us ;
But viewless, printless, echoless,

Thy steps are ever round us.
Though more than life a mystery

Art thou, the undeceiver,
Amid thy trembling worshippers

Thou seest no true believer.
No!- but for life, and more than life,

No fearful search could find thee:
Tremendow shadow! who is He

That ever stands behind thee?
The power who bids the worm deny

The beam that o'er her blazes,
And veils from us the holier light

On which the seraph gazes,
Where burns the throne of Him, whose name

The sunbeams here write faintly;
And where my child, a stranger stands,

Amid the blest and saintly,
And sobs aloud,—while in his eyes

The tears, o'erflowing, gather,
“ They come not yet ! until they come,

Heav'n is not heav'n, my Father !
Why come they not? why comes not she

From whom thy will removes me ?
Oh, does she love me, love me still ?

I know my mother loves me !
Then, send her soon, and with her send

The brethren of my bosom!
My sisters, too! Lord, let them all

Bloom round the parted blossom !
The only pang I could not bear,

Was leaving them behind me;
I cannot bear it. Even in heaven

The tears of parting blind me !"
Sheffield, 9th November, 1833.

MRS. JOHN JONES'S PIC-NIC.

I LIKE a pic-nic. I don't care what anybody says, but I like a picnic. It is the only remnant of pastoral life as it was practised in the ancient Arcadia—it is the poetry of dinner-parties—it is Mr. Owen's system of reciprocal supply set to music, if I may be allowed to speak so poetically. Whenever I hear of a pic-nic going forward, I always make a point of calling on some of the parties a day or two previously, in hope of being invited ; and in most cases I am successful; for I believe I may say without vanity-mind! I don't wish to set up for a wit, or a genius, or a scholar, or a man of fashion-but I do say that I consider myself a very nice sort of young man for a pic-nic party.

Every man has his hobby, and a pic-nic is mine. I have pic-uicked all over England. There is scarcely a park, forest, ruined abbey, or heaven-kissing hill in the kingdom that I have not visited à la Boccaccio. I have been splashed by the fountains at Chatsworth ; I have taken tea al fresco in Windsor Park; I have lunched off the cromlech at the summit of Snowdon. But of all the pic-nics—and of all the pic-nics it has ever been my lot to participate in-nothing for originality of design and felicity of execution ever came up to that I had the honour to attend in June last, under the auspices of my excellent friend, Mrs. John Jones of Wood-street, Cheapside.

I'll tell you all about it. But before I begin, I must let you know that Mrs. John Jones is a bit of a relation of mine, having been grafted into the family-tree through the medium of a certain great (ass of an) uncle of mine, who ran away with his servant-maid. Somehow or other I had gained intelligence that Mrs. John Jones had " issued circulars," as they say in the city, for a pic-nic, which was to be conducted on a plan entirely novel and very striking. All that was known about it was that it was fixed for St. Paul's day, (June the thirtieth,) but why for St. Paul's day more than any other day, no one could guess. Her husband was not a Paul, and she had no son of that name : there was a John, a Thomas, a William, a James, a Robert, an Augustus, and a Decimus—but no Paul. Perhaps it was her birth-day: what if it were ? it was no concern of mine; and without bothering my brains any more about the matter, I bent my steps to Wood-street forthwith, in order to give myself an opportunity of being invited to the fête.

I knocked in the quickest manner possible, and stood close up against the door, lest the lady should get a peep through the parlour window, and be frightened by the gentility of my appearance into a “not at home.” The maid appeared in due time, and, as usual, wanted to swear an alibi, but I knew too much of such matters to be bamboozled by a foolish kitchen-wench, and at length obtained a promise from her that she would go and see, “ though really she didn't believe missis was anywhere about.” Meantime I insinuated mnyself into the snug little parlour on the left hand, (Mr. John Jones's office is on the right,) where I had often been before; and there I found pins and scissors, and balls of cotton, and little three-cornered bits of muslin, and a pair of spectacles lying on the floor, and a footstool turned topsy-turvy by its Dec.-VOL. XXXIX. NO. CLVI.

2 F

side--all sufficiently indicative of a sudden retreat; and at a little distance from the table, in the direction of a side-door which stood half open, lay a pocket-handkerchief, thereby showing pretty clearly which way the lady had effected her escape. As I stood here, gathering up the spectacles, and setting the footstool on its legs again, I could plainly hear my friend, the servant-maid, giving a description of my person and appointments with an exactness that would not have disgraced a modern novel. Modesty forbids me to repeat the terms of this description; but I hope I shall not be considered as indulging in unjustifiable egotism when I say that Mrs. John Jones recognized me instantly from her maiden's sketches.

« Dear Mr. Swanquill,” said she, entering by the side-door, and picking up her pocket-handkerchief, “ I don't care for you."

“ Madam,” said I, “ you flatter me.”

“I know you're used to seeing ladies in their dishabille,” shaking me by the hand," and will excuse it-pray set down—though to say the truth I am a sad figure, to be sure.”

“Madam,” said I, “ you're very nice,”—what can one say on such an occasion ?" and you know I'm always of the poet's opinion-when "unadorned, adorned the most.'»

“ Pho! pho! stuff and nonsense! you know better. But come, I wanted to speak to you-you're the very person I wanted to see. You like a pic-nic, I know, for I've heard you say so, and—but are you engaged for next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday! let me see-what is next Saturday ?" and I pretended to cogitate upon it, though I knew well enough I had no engagement on Saturday-nor Sunday nor Monday neither—but it wouldn't do to make oneself too cheap, and I at length replied that I had a little affair on Saturday, but it was of no great consequence, and if I could be of any service to Mrs. John Jones in conducting a party of the nature she mentioned, I should be most happy.”

“Oh! everything's arranged, thank’ee,” said she,“ much obliged, and we want nothing now but a fine day. Mr. Jones says the glass is getting up, and the almanack talks of fine weather, so we've every prospect. There will be twelve 'of us, six ladies and six gents.--for my plan will only admit of a limited number, and all the arrangements have been made under my directions. · Nobody knows where we're going only myself—and I mean to keep everybody in the dark till the time of starting. We are all to meet here-at ten o'clock precizely--and then our destiny will be declared. Now you musn't say you'll come, and then send an excuse just at the last moment; because, if you do, we shall have a lady over and above, and that would put us all out.”

6 My dear madam

And with regard to bringing your share, we don't expect you young bachelors to find anything but a few bottles of wine, and any little matters in the way of dessert that you may think proper.”

“My dear madam "

“ There's one thing I think it right to mention-cigars won't be allowed: not that I've any objections to the smell of tobacco, but they do spoil one's dresses so.”

“Why, ma'am "? And I've determined to allow no servants but my own, for they only

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