proaching to comfort, scarcely sufficient for mere health.. Just conceive the pinched, shrunken, shivering, little figures which crowd around such a hearth as this, and the piteous glance which they cast up into their parents' faces!-in what touching contrast to the group we have sketched above!-This is no fancy-picture. We are convinced that cold ranks among the foremost of the sufferings of our poor in winter. What must they have endured in the frost of last January.

But how have we all of a sudden discovered that the price of coals is so much more than it ought to be? Simply from what has just passed in the House of Lords. Lord Londonderry and Lord Durham are both great owners of coal-mines; and the Duke of Wellington, in his visit last autumn to the north, seems to have looked into the subject of the coal-trade with great minute ness. Lord Londonderry states, that coals cost at the mouth of the pit from sixteen to eighteen shillings per chaldron, and that the cost of bringing them to London is ten shillings more; and that thus the difference between the price paid by the consumer, which is at the least fifty shillings, and that at which the coals arrive at London is, at the lowest computation, twenty-two shillings. The difference, he says, arises from the government duties, and the city dues of various kinds. The Duke of Wellington says he considers the difference greater than Lord Londonderry. We do not understand the calculation of his Grace, as stated in figures in the report (we have looked into two or three papers); there must be a mistake somewhere, for they make him attribute statements to Lord Londonderry which vary from those given to his lordship by the same reports. However, the duke says, in plain words, that he thinks the difference even greater than that named by Lord Londonderry. He adds, the government duty is six shillings a chaldron, having been reduced from nine a few years back. The city dues, he states, to be one of sixpence and one of four-pence*-these cannot make the difference; therefore, as the duke undeniably says, there must be something in the trade besides the duties and dues to ac

These dues, which by some strange misnomer, seem to be talked of as "the Orphan's Fund, inasmuch as they are applied to constructing and repairing the communications of the "City of London," are, as the law now stands, to expire in the year 1837. Both Loid Londonderry and Lord Durham speak with indignation of an attempt now in progress to smuggle the perpetuity of these rates through Parliament, in a clause of a bill brought in as a private one, on the subject of the approaches to the new London Bridge. Such proceedings are, indeed, most paltry;-for whose attention would be drawn to rates ou coals by the title of a bill about the approaches to London Bridge? But such things are done, now and then, without any one but the perpetiatois knowing any thing about it.

count for it. Now, what is that something? Nobody seems to know very accurately; but there are broad hints given, that the mischief lies in the City of London ;-that the monopoly they possess by all sorts of bye-laws gives rise to jobs, patronage of petty offices, and thence, of course, to the fleecing of the public to the decent extent we have had revealed to us by their lordships. This may be true, or it may be false; but we shall soon know, for a Committee of the Lords is to be appointed forthwith-and the dirty doings, which must exist somewhere, will be brought to light. It is quite clear that the difference cannot arise from a confederation in the retail-trade-for if that were so, some one not in the trade would have started long ago selling coals at a fair profit-and thence have either ruined all the coal-merchants, or brought them down to his prices. The duke has willingly granted the Committee; but, he says he will not reduce the duties. We regret this; for we think coals a very unfit article to be heavily taxed, and a tax (in round numbers) about two-and-twenty per cent. is a heavy one. We think that taxes ought to be laid as lightly upon the absolute necessaries of life, as is financially possible. Let people pay for their luxuries. The duke also, rather defends the city dues (the regular ones) on the score of the necessity of preserving and improving the communications from the water. That is quite true; but there is no reason why coals should pay more than any thing else. If every thing pays, very well; but we still would carry the principle of necessaries and luxuries into operation here. We shall look anxiously to the revelations of the Committee, as we doubt not many others will likewise. There must be something very much awry somewhere.

THE DRUGGIST OF FIFE.+

WHETHER, in consequence of an epidemic prevailing, or of the season, which was Christmas, and the consequent repletion attendant on it, had caused such an unusual influx of customers to the shop of Andrew, chemist and druggist in the town of Fife, or no, certain it is he and his boy had been more than usually employed in compounding aperients and emetics for the inhabitants of the good city; never before had such a demand on his gallipots and bottles been made-never before had blue pill and jalap been used in such profusion, and never before had Andrew felt more sincere pleasure than he derived that evening, from the market-house clock striking eleven, his signal for closing; with alacrity

+ From the Monthly Magazine.-No XL.

his boy obeyed, and in a few minutes departed, leaving him to enjoy solitude for the first time during the day, and to calculate the quantity of drugs made use of during it; this was not small-144 oz. blue pill, 4b jalap, besides colecynth, senna, and rhubarb, at the lowest computation, had he prepared for the good townfolk of Fife; innumerable had been the cases of cholera morbus, and plum-pudding surfeits, he had relieved that day, and the recollection of the proportion of evil he had been the means of alleviating, gave him the most pleasing sensations; the profit also accruing from his day's labour, contributed no small share of pleasing thoughts, and one half hour more had passed, ere it entered his mind the time for closing had more than arrived; he had, however, just arisen for the purpose, when a stranger entered. Now Andrew, though an industrious man, would willingly have dispensed with any other call for his services for that evening, and not altogether so obligingly as usual did he welcome his customer, but awaited his commands without deigning a question. The stranger was not, however, long in opening his commission, neither did he appear to take Andrew's inattention at all amiss; he seemed one of those happy beings upon whom outward circumstances make little or no impression, who could be either civil or otherwise, as should happen to suit his humour, and who cared little for any opinion but his own; his broad and ample shoulders, over which was cast a large coachman's coat, with its innumerable capes, with his hands thrust into the pockets, and his round, ruddy, good-humoured face showed the cares and troubles of the world had made little impression on him. Andrew had seen many a wild Highlander in his time; but either there was something peculiar in his customer, or his nerves were a little deranged by his exertions during the day, but an undefinable sensation of fear came over him, for which he could not account, and his first impulse was to run to the door for assistance; but then he bethought himself he may, perchance, fall into the hands of some of those night prowlers, who, reports say, make no scruple of supplying students with the living subject if they cannot procure dead ones. I cannot state this as a fact, but it occurred to Andrew he had heard so, and more, did he leave his shop, his till would be left to the tender mercies of the stranger; he was, there fore, compelled to summon courage, and demand the stranger's business. This was not so difficult to him, perhaps, as we may imagine, Andrew having formerly served in the militia; but it appeared his fears had alarmed him far more than there was any occasion, for, on asking the stranger's business, he in the most polite manner only requested him to prepare a box of moderately strong aperient pills; this at once relieved his fears,

though it did not entirely remove them, and Andrew quickly set about the necessary preliminaries. Blue pill and jalap once more were in request, but so much had the stranger's sudden appearance agitated him, he could not recollect their places so readily as usual, and he was more than once on the point of mixing quite the reverse of what he intended; the stranger observed to him he appeared agitated, but politely begged he would wait a little and compose himself, as he was in no hurry; here all Andrew's fears returned, and in spite of all his efforts his hand shook as though he had the palsy, and never had the preparation of a box of pills appeared so irksome to him; it seemed as though the very medicine itself had this evening conspired to torment him-three times longer than it usually took him had he now been, and though the town clock had already told the hour of midnight, still Andrew was at his post, grinding and pounding, and often, as he delayed for a moment from mere inability to proceed, the stranger politely besought him to rest a few minutes and compose himself, and Andrew, for very shame, was compelled to resume his occupation. At length his labours drew to an end, and he prepared the label, pasted it on, neatly covered the box with blue paper, and presented it to the stranger.

"I will thank you for a glass of water," said he, as he bowed to Andrew, on receiving it, "and I see, Sir, you have given me a smartish dose. All these pills to be taken at bed time,' but so much the better, they will perform their required duty sooner. I have, ere now, mastered a leg of mutton: and some writers affirm the human stomach can digest a tenpenny nail, so here goes."

It was in vain Andrew assured him he had made a mistake in the directions, that one pill was sufficient; in vain he remonstrated with him on the danger of taking a larger dose; pill after pill disappeared from his

alarmed view, while between every three or four, in the same equable and polite tone came, "I will thank you to prepare me another box, and compose yourself, Sir; I'm in no hurry." Who could the stranger be? Andrew was now at the very climax of alarm; the perspiration stood on his brow, and his hands trembled so as to render it almost impossible to reach down his jars without damaging them; strong doses he had certainly often prepared after a city feast for the attendants on it, but this outdid it all. A man that could devour a leg of mutton, digest a tenpenny nail, and take a box of blue pills at a mouthful, had never entered his imagination, much less did he ever expect to see such a being in person, but be he who he may, he was again obliged to commence his labour. The stranger had now finished his box, and Andrew had no alterna

MANUAL FOR INVALIDS.*

ALAS! poor Kitchiner!-a fellow of most infinite jest, of most excellent fancy for joking a hypochondriac out of his humours, for curing the sick by piquant doses of wit, and for laughing down the healthy into a peptic regimen, in order to escape sickness.--Alas! poor Kitchiner! thou art gone! Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment? your careful counting of the number of munchies necessary to fit a mouthful of mutton "for its journey down the red lane ?" your inimitable duets between beef and cabbage ? your exquisite directions for tickling an oyster to death ?S-All-all are gone, and not a thread of your mantle has yet alighted on any one of the numerous pretensorelli to fill the chair of dietetics, vacated by your decease. The

author of the "Manual for Invalids" is al

together unqualified for taking a station among popular writers upon diet and regimen, for though he tells us, he "trusts that a long life, devoted to the study of the laws of animal economy, and to the circumstances which precede the change from health to disease, has qualified him for the task he thus undertakes." We must tell him that he has not (at least successfully) made any progress in the study of intelligible writing to the unprofessional; for his book is as well interlarded as Dr. Anthony Todd Thompson himself could desire, with all the slang of the medical schools; and it must therefore

remain a sealed book, to those for whom the title page and the preface announce it to be intended. We shall endeavour to exemplify our remarks, by contrasting a few passages upon the more interesting topics which he pretends to discuss, with some which we humbly conceive better adapted to the object intended. We shall begin with a very popular one, Early Rising, upon which our author who has the vanity to trust that he is qualified for the task he undertakes," thus holds forth :

66

"There can be no doubt but that the atmosphere most conformable to the expansion of the lungs, and the more perfect oxygenation of the blood, is that of the morning. After a state of repose, when all the voluntary muscles have for many hours been in a state of inaction, the heart is found to be more powerful, more regular, and more slow in its contractions, than at night, after the fatigue, the anxiety, and the irritable, fidgety sensa

From the Monthly Review.-No. XLIII.-Of The Manual for Invalids. By a Physician. +Kitchiner's-Peptic Precepts, p. 295, 4th edit. "Qu'il faut trentedeux coups de machoire pour qu'une aliment soit assez bien triture."—Alm. des

Gourm

tions accompanying the actions of the laborious exertion during the day.

"How the heart should possess a power of restoring its own energies, while its action continues, is one of those first principles which we know, but of its cause we remain as ignorant as we were when in the cradle. "Upon the perfect function of the brain, which constitutes what we have denominated mental power, not only health, but even happiness itself, do greatly depend. All nervous irritation, all mental irritability, must be dispersed by that regular vascular excitement, which takes place after a perfect night of repose. In a good sleep the action of the body, which makes impression on the mind, if not altogether at rest, is much more so than when the body is awake. When a person goes to sleep, he puts himself in a recumbent posture, which is not a posture he commonly assumes when awake. In this position he is supported by a great number more points than when standing, sitting, or walking; therefore, more points being pressed upon, it requires less exertion to avoid the effects of such pressure. So far, therefore, the body may be said to be more at rest when asleep, than when he is awake. A twelve, or sixteen hours' uninterrupted continuation of active exertion, causes such an impetuous strain of consumption, as produces a more violent pulse, a kind of general fever, commonly called an evening fever sleep then comes to the relief of both the body and the mind; and after seven or eight hours' pause of this kind, the stream of vital consumption is so much checked, and what has been lost is so fully renewed, that pulsation, and all its other movements, are again performed, slowly and regularly, and the course of life proceeds in a healthful manner, as before.

"I have given a variety of reasons why the invalid should, if possible, take the advantage of the morning air, which is a time when every formation, both animal and mental, is most perfect, and best calculated to convert the tonic power of the air into gentle excitement and pleasant feelings; for the exertions, both of body and mind, are greater than could be supported for a continuance, were it not for those intervals of repose which they receive during sleep.”

Now, we submit, that all this is stilted up far too high upon technicalities, to be intelligible to the non-medical reader, though the subject certainly did not call for, or require it; and though it is one which ought to have been plainly dealt with, as highly important for the consideration of morning sleepers, who waste the precious hours of rest in every species of health-destroying occupation. We should say, that assemblies, late parties, routs, revels, or midnight studies, and even idle gossiping, and sixpenny whist -continued to a late hour-are all deadly instruments of destruction to the nerves, and