indicating by their dress and appearance their humble condition, who, when admitted for the first time, stare vacantly around them, so that one is inclined to ask what brought them hither?  But an impression is made, something gained which may induce them to repeat the visit until light breaks in upon them, and they take an intelligent interest in what they behold.’  Persons who talk thus forget that, to produce such an improvement, frequent access at small cost of time and labour is indispensable.  Manchester lies, perhaps, within eight hours’ railway distance of London; but surely no one would advise that Manchester operatives should contract a habit of running to and fro between that town and London, for the sake of forming an intimacy with the British Museum and National Gallery?  No, no; little would all but a very few gain from the opportunities which, consistently with common sense, could be afforded them for such expeditions.  Nor would it fare better with them in respect of trips to the lake district; an assertion, the truth of which no one can doubt, who has learned by experience how many men of the same or higher rank, living from their birth in this very region, are indifferent to those objects around them in which a cultivated taste takes so much pleasure.  I should not have detained the reader so long upon this point, had I not heard (glad tidings for the directors and traffickers in shares!) that among the affluent and benevolent manufacturers of Yorkshire and Lancashire are some who already entertain the thought of sending, at their own expense, large bodies of their workmen, by railway, to the banks of Windermere.  Surely those gentlemen will think a little more before they put such a scheme into practice.  The rich man cannot benefit the poor, nor the superior the inferior, by anything that degrades him.  Packing off men after this fashion, for holiday entertainment, is, in fact, treating them like children.  They go at the will of their master, and must return at the same, or they will be dealt with as transgressors.

A poor man, speaking of his son, whose time of service in the army was expired, once said to me, (the reader will be startled at the expression, and I, indeed, was greatly shocked by it), ’I am glad he has done with that mean way of life.’  But I soon gathered what was at the bottom of the feeling.  The father overlooked all the glory that attaches to the character of a British soldier, in the consciousness that his son’s will must have been in so great a degree subject to that of others.  The poor man felt where the true dignity of his species lay, namely, in a just proportion between actions governed by a man’s own inclinations and those of other men; but, according to the father’s notion, that proportion did not exist in the course of life from which his son had been released.  Had the old man known from experience the degree of liberty allowed to the common soldier, and the moral effect of the obedience required, he would have thought