CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL. other deception was practised by Mrs Campbell. A widow in Loch-Broom, named Elizabeth Murchison, about ten or eleven weeks ago lost a sum of two pounds. She consulted the diviner as to the restoration of her money, when she was told to provide herself with other two pounds. This was done: Mrs Campbell uttered some words over the money, and the widow, at her request, spat upon the parcel in the name of Providence! The widow was charged not to touch the parcel till Mrs Campbell would return the following morning; and she was further informed, that, if she did not sleep during the night, she would see a person come and place the two pounds which had been stolen in the window. The honest thief, however, did not appear to replace the money, neither did the sorceress return, and the parcel being opened, was found to contain merely some crumbs of bread. These facts being fully established in evidence, Sheriff Jardine sentenced Mrs Campbell to three months' imprisonment. The worthy sheriff, at the same time, remarked on the extraordinary circumstance, that so absurd a superstition should still linger among the people in these days of intelligence and information.' About five years ago, a young farmer in Glendochart, Perthshire, disappeared one night, after having attended a rustic merry-making. He was about to have been married, and there was a strong suspicion of his death having been caused by foul play, arising from the malignant passion of jealousy. That he had been precipitated into the Dochart, there could be little doubt, as there were marks on the banks as of a deadly struggle between two men. Public interest was strongly excited in that remote glen, and the people turned out in great numbers to search for the body, which they did for several days; but all in vain. The young man was The fact apposite to the present subject is, that on the ninth night after the supposed murder, the whole of the active part of the population once more turned out, and kept watch along the banks of the river and on all the hills whence its course could be seen, and this throughout the whole night, in expectation of detecting the situation of the body, by seeing the corpse candle burning over it on the surface of the water! A legal functionary who was present, making investigations into the case, has described to us the particulars of this strange vigil, as perhaps the most strikingly romantic affair with which he ever was connected. never more seen. About the time when this happened, the same county was the scene of an act of superstition which we venture to say could not have been surpassed in grossness in the darkest of times. It appears that in a parish to the northward of Dunkeld, a suspicion had gone abroad, that in a particular family doings of a secret and mysterious character had been going on, the nature of which, however, the neighbours could not divine. Some averred that a human skull had been seen in the house, or in the hands of some of its inmates; and in the progress of the story, others supplied the remaining parts of the body, and it was finally conjectured that body-lifting had been practised in the first instance, although for what ulterior purpose could not be discovered, Unpleasant and aggravated reports spread through the district, until the information assumed a shape which required the personal investigation of the proper authorities, when the following circumstances were elicited:-It appeared that two junior members of the family referred to had been subject to epileptic fits, and the mother, impressed with belief in the virtues of a horrid and barbarous superstition, namely, that food prepared in a human skull was an unfailing remedy for that disease, had, in the absence of her husband, procured one for the purpose of proving its efficacy. This, it would appear, she had effected through the medium of a medical student, and as it was a principal part of the charm that the mess should be boiled upon fire raised upon the march between two large properties, a fitting opportunity having offered, a mess of oatmeal porridge was boiled at the proper hour, and at the proper place, a The Highlands of Scotland are a district so thinly A signally tragical instance of superstition among the English middle classes occurred, in October 1838, at Preston. A young woman, named Alice Hodgson, had been confined safely, and was rapidly recovering under the care of a regular medical practitioner, when her mother, and a person styling himself an elder of the Mormonites, interfered in the case, induced her to discharge her proper attendant, and trust herself to their superior means of restoring her to health. The treatment which they adopted was rubbing her body with rum, giving her tea made from ginger, and placing the elder's walking-stick by her side, with injunctions for her to grasp it with her hands, and put unreserved faith in its power of healing! She died a fortnight after. The measure of the superstition of a people is not solely to be judged from actual cases of gross delusion, such as the above, but also from the manner in which the people generally receive and consider certain facts. The change of the style in 1752 seems a rather remote event to refer to in treating of the present state of the popular mind on this point; but it is not so irrelevant as may at first sight appear, for many things show that the rural population of England is, in respect of intellectual advancement, all but the same as it was in the middle of the last century. Of the popular odium in which the reformation of the calendar was held, an enlightened person of the present day can scarcely form any idea. The false reasoning on which the odium was founded is not less incomprehensible. Confounding a mere human arrangement for reckoning time with time Of the credulity of the rustic classes in England towards things which address their sentiment of wonder, the progress of the dreary fanaticism of Mormonism, the reliance placed, in a district of Kent, upon the maniac pretender Thom, and the still prevalent practice of consulting gipsies, and other employment of impostors respecting fortunes, are incontestable proofs. But superstition is not confined to the humble, or the middle classes of society. It has many votaries even in the highest. Nor is this to be wondered at; for though the more affluent classes can command the best education, and thus emancipate themselves from many weaknesses which beset their inferiors, the great principles of human nature are still at work within them: the Marvelling sentiment will work with more or less freedom from Reason's control, and there are even some agencies of an educational kind which tend to give these strength. It is the lot of almost every man to be impressed in childhood by notions of a superstitious kind, which remain ineffaced through life; nearly all men have so much that is to them unknown around them, that they are nearly as ready to believe in something which is contrary to natural law, as in things which are conformable to it. There is also a self-love which generates much superstition: a man easily conceives there is a particular fortune attending himself It is only on these grounds that we can account for the belief in destiny, which formed so singular an exception from the general acuteness of Napoleon. Byron, who probably was sceptical about many things where faith is above all virtue, was in like manner a believer in warnings. 'As an instance,' says his biographer Moore, of a more playful sort of superstition, I may be allowed to mention a slight circumstance told me by one of his Southwell friends. This lady had a large agate bead, with a wire through it, which had been taken out of a barrow [a sepulchral mound], and lay always in her work-box. Lord Byron asking one day what it was, she told him that it had been given her as an amulet, and the charm was, that, as long as she had this bead in her possession, she should never be in love. "Then give it to me," he cried eagerly, "for that's just the thing I want." The young lady refused; but it was not long before the bead disappeared. She taxed him with the theft, and he owned it; but said she should never see her amulet again.' Sir Walter Scott was even in a greater degree superstitious. Of nature and her laws, he was, from education and habits of study, entirely ignorant; he had even a sort of contempt for all of science that had not at least got pretty well stamped by the kind of authorities he was disposed to respect. But, while hard of belief as to any extraordinary thing which professed to stand upon some natural principle, he would have listened with more than mere patience to a tale of the second sight: again, if any one had thought of explaining second sight as something possibly connected with mesmerism, and therefore a natural thing, albeit extraordinary, it would have instantly lost all charm for him, and he would have been the hardened sceptic once more; so much do our beliefs depend on the particular tendency of mind through which propositions appeal to us. There seems to be no room for doubt that Sir Walter conceived himself to have been the observer of several supernatural occurrences. In 1818, a Mr Bullock of London died suddenly there, during the time that some furnishings were going on at Abbotsford under his directions. On the night before his death, Scott and his wife were roused in the middle of the night by sounds as of some one drawing furniture through a distant room. Next night, at the same hour -and the time of Bullock's death-the same sounds were repeated so distinctly, that Scott rose to see what was the matter, but found nothing unusual. There is proof that his mind was affected by these incidents before he knew of Mr Bullock's death, for he wrote of them to a friend in London while yet ignorant of that event. The coincidence, when he was aware of it, is allowed by Mr Lockhart to have made a strong impression upon him. In his Letters on Demonology, he tells us how, sitting one evening in a room off his entrancehall, he there saw what for a brief space he thought the figure of Lord Byron, not recollecting that his noble friend was dead. The figure, he says, at his approach, resolved itself into a screen occupied by greatcoats, shawls, and other such articles; but on again retiring to the place where he formerly stood, and endeavouring to realise the vision once more, he found that to be beyond his capacity. In his book, tact and good sense make him tell the tale as a mere case of visual deception; but a late chronicler of his conversations avers, that he impressed his hearers with the idea that he believed himself to have seen a genuine apparition of the deceased poet. The same writer gives the particulars of another vision of the great minstrel as told by himself. I had sent my servant, with a horse and cart, for provisions and other articles expected from Edinburgh. I had walked out to meet him about the time he was expected, and I saw the man, horse, and cart coming to meet me. At once the whole tumbled down the bank. I hurried on to render assistance, when, to my surprise, nothing was to be seen. I returned home, not a little ashamed at having allowed myself to fall into a delusion. The cart did not arrive until two hours after its proper time; and when I questioned the man what had occasioned the delay, "The carrier from Edinburgh, sir, did not arrive until two hours after his time, which caused me to wait till it became dark. I got loaded, and came away; but, on account of the darkness, the cart ran too near the brae, and all tumbled to the bottom. I found the horse had thrown himself out of his harness, and was standing unhurt. Assistance came, and I got the horse righted, and again set on the road, and here we are all safe at last." The time that the cart really tumbled was at least two hours after my vision.' The present writer can relate a very trifling anecdote to the same purpose. I was walking one day with Sir Walter Scott through St Andrew's Square in Edinburgh, when we met a gentleman clad in deep mourning, whom I recognised to be one of his associates at the clerks' table in the Court of Session, and to whom Sir Walter spoke for a moment. On making some inquiry as to the cause of the mourning, and the air of deep melancholy on his friend's visage, he mentioned the death of a grown-up daughter, and, I think, implied that it was not the first incident of the kind which had taken place in the family. He then shook his head, looked extremely grave and awed, as he always did when his mind was full of any romantic feeling, and referred with perfect seriousness to a Highland curse launched eighty years before against Mr's wife's family, on account of her ancestor having given up to the government the unfortunate Marquis of Tullibardine, who, flying from Culloden, had taken refuge in his house in Dumbartonshire, relying upon some ties of family connection. The whole manner and discourse of Scott on this occasion was unquestionably calculated to convey the notion, that he attached importance to this anathema as a cause still operating. After so many illustrations of still vigorous superstition, how absurd to call out that the education of this age is too much for realities! or that any class of the community is in danger of becoming too wise! MR KOHL'S TOUR IN IRELAND. We have already followed this indefatigable traveller in his wanderings through Russia and Austria; but have been able to test the accuracy of his observations only by the information concerning the same empires supplied by former travellers. Now, however, our German friend comes so near home, that had he fallen into any misconception or misstatement, it would have been readily detected. But, happily, all our vigilance has been in vain : had Mr Kohl resided in Ireland for several years, his views of her condition and people could not have been more correct. Hence his present work has increased our faith in his former ones, and causes us to look forward with pleasure to his forthcoming England' and 'Scotland.' Mr Kohl is excellently adapted for a travelling author: to a sharp and discriminating eye he unites reasoning powers of sufficient activity to enable him to form rapid judgments; and though his conclusions are swiftly arrived at, they are seldom unjust. His Irish journey took place in the autumn of 1842. From Dublin Mr Kohl proceeded to Edgeworthtown, and visited the gifted lady, Maria Edgeworth, whose family owns the estate, and which shows, in the superior condition of the tenantry, the advantages of resident landlords, which the Edgeworths have been for a long period. Though much that is interesting might have been gleaned from notices of the authoress whose works have delighted thousands, Mr Kohl, with a degree of good taste, which we hope to see imitated by future tourists, abstains from entering into any private details. He prefers noting down more general and useful information, and at an early period of his journey, describes one of the most striking peculiarities of the countrybogs. Mountains and valleys, rocks, ravines, and plains, nay, sometimes even the caverns, are all covered with bog in Ireland. Where cultivation ceases, the bog begins, and the whole island may be said to be a bog with occasional interruptions. There are parts of Germany, France, and the Netherlands, which also seem to have a decided tendency to the formation of bog, but nowhere else is this so much the case as in Ireland. Our Harz mountains have some bog, it is true, but in Ireland the very summits of such mountains are covered with bog, and wherever cultivation recedes, the bog The resumes possession of the abandoned ground. humidity of the climate, I suppose, is the chief though not the only cause of this phenomenon. The decayed vegetable matter, which in other countries dries and resolves itself in dust, leaves here a considerable residuum, which is augmented in the following year by the new residua of decayed plants, and a rapid accumulation thus takes place, a quantity of moisture being held in absorption, till gradually immense compact masses are formed. A young bog, one that is yet but in its infancy, is called a "quaking bog;" but in time, when the mass becomes more compact, and assumes a black colour, it is known as a turf-bog or peat-bog. The vegetables, whose residua go to the formation of these bogs, are of course of infinite variety. The mosses, as they decay, form a loose, spungy mass, often so tough, that the turf-spade will not pierce it, and it then goes by the name of "old wife's tow." Sometimes the bog is formed almost wholly of mosses, sometimes of mosses mixed with the remains of other plants. Hence arise two principal descriptions of morasses in Ireland: the red or dry bogs, and the green or wet bogs. The former yields a light spungy turf, that quickly burns away, the latter a heavy black turf. Some of the green bogs, however, are so wet that no turf can be obtained from them at all. The Irish bogs are at once a source of wealth and a cause of poverty to Ireland. They yield fuel to the people, but at the same time cover much fertile land, which they withhold from cultivation.' The manner in which the fuel-yielding turf is allowed to run to waste is characteristic of the improvidence which unhappily prevails in Ireland. The majority of the population everywhere burn nothing but turf, which may be obtained more easily from the surface of the ground than can the coals from their deep and laborious mines. When their supply of turf has been exhausted, the Irish will pay more attention to their coal-fields, the real extent of which is still unknown to them. Before that time comes some centuries must pass away, but there are parts of Ireland where turf is beginning to grow scarce. In the north of Germany, where we have also many turf bogs, the people provide for the reproduction of the turf. They leave square holes, in which the water collects. The marsh-plants accumulate in these reservoirs, and at the end of thirty or forty years, turf may again be cut from the same place, and thus a piece of turf-land is made to afford an inexhaustible supply of fuel to its owners. In Ireland, nothing of the kind is thought of. The turf is cut away wherever nature has deposited the treasure, and none seems to trouble himself about the renewal of the supply. The consequence is, that many villages are already mourning over their dwindling stock of turf, and can almost calculate the day on which they will have consumed their last sod.' The generally excellent farming around Edgeworthtown affords our author an opportunity of contrasting it with what is visible elsewhere. In a few words, he points out one of those pernicious practices which have contributed to make Ireland what it is, namely, the excessive subdivision of lands. 'It often happens in Ireland that a farm, originally sufficient for the comfortable maintenance of a man and his family, becomes divided, after a few generations, into a number of holdings, each father giving a piece of the land to each of his sons to set him up in the world. This subdivision is one of the many causes of the poverty of the country. Every man is anxious to have a bit of land of his own to till, and, laudable as this desire is, it may, if carried too far, as is the case in Ireland, become the occasion of many evils. An Irish farmer with a large family cannot prevail on himself to show more favour to one child than the rest, and always endeavours to divide his farm in equal shares among all his children, whatever may be the tenure by which he holds it. The effect of this system is, that at last the land is divided into such small fractions, that a man and his family, on their diminutive holding, are always just on the verge between existence and starvation. If the farms were preserved in their original extent, and the younger sons were sent out into the world, the elder sons would have more interest in the improvement and good cultivation of the land, and the younger sons would in the end be the better off, for they would be spurred on to exert their ingenuity and industry in some other pursuit. The vast extent of most of the estates in Ireland offers a melancholy contrast to the minuteness of some of the farms, or rather potato grounds. Had the division of property existed in the upper classes also, the small landlords would gradually have approached nearer to the small farmers, and the subdivision of estates would have acted as a check on the subdivision of farms. As it is, however, there is no country in Europe where the actual cultivators of the soil have so little property in the land they cultivate as in Ireland. In Russia there are large estates, but the holdings of the peasants are large too. In Ireland there are single estates more extensive than German principalities, with farms (if such an expression can be applied) not larger than the bit of ground which an English gentleman would set aside for his rabbits in a corner of his park. In the county of Tipperary, out of 3400 holdings, there are 280 of less than an acre, and 1056 of more than one, but less than five acres.' England. Paddy, on the other hand, seems to have thought the blouse, or the short jacket, not elegant enough for him, so he has selected for his national costume the French company dress-coat, with its high useless collar, its swallow tail hanging down behind, and the breast open in front. With this coat he wears short knee breeches, with stockings and shoes, so that, as far as the cut of his clothes is concerned, he appears always in full dress, like a rale gentleman. Now, it is impossible that a working man could select a costume more unsuitable to him, or more absurd to look upon. It affords no protection against the weather, and is a constant hindrance to him in his work, yet it is generally prevalent throughout the island. Is it not strange that a hint so often given to him should still be thrown away on the Irish peasant, and that he should not long ere this have thought of exchanging his coat for a jacket? If he did this, he would not so often, while some blush of novelty is left upon his coat, be obliged to tuck up his tail while at work, or tie it round his body with packthread. The head gear harmonises with the ball-room suit. Paddy scorns to wear a waterproof cap, but in its place he dons a strange caricature of a hat. How millions of working men can have endured for so many years to wear so inconvenient and absurd a head-dress, is quite inconceivable to me, and utterly irreconcilable to that characterised. Paddy, it must be owned, pinches, and flattens, and twists the uncomfortable appendage into a fashion of his own. He pushes up the brim away from his face in front, while behind it soon hangs in festoon fashion. The crown in time falls in, but being deemed an important part of the concern, is kept in its place for some time longer by the aid of packthread. The crown goes, however, at last, and the hat, one would then suppose, would be deemed useless; no such thing, the owner will continue to wear it for a year or two afterwards by way of ornament. It is impossible for a stranger to see a peasant at his work, thus accoutred like a decayed dancing-master, and not be tempted to laugh at so whimsical an apparition; I say whimsical, for in his deepest misery Paddy has always so much about him that is whimsical, that you can scarcely help laughing even while your heart is bleeding for him.' From Edgeworthtown our traveller started for Ath-sound common sense by which the masses are generally lone, and during this part of his route, new specimens of carelessness about personal comfort, which usually accompanies poverty, presented themselves; and Mr Kohl becomes deploringly eloquent on the subject of rags and finery. The rags of Ireland are quite as remarkable a phenomenon as the ruins. As an Irishman seems to live in a house as long as it remains habitable, and then abandons it to its fate, so he drags the same suit of clothes about with him as long as the threads will hold together. In other countries there are poor people enough, who can but seldom exchange their old habiliments for new, but then they endeavour to keep their garments, old as they are, in a wearable condition. The poor Russian peasant, compelled to do so by his climate, sews patch upon patch to his sheepskin jacket, and even the poorest will not allow his nakedness to peer through the apertures of his vestment, as is frequently seen in Ireland among those who are far above the class of beggars. In no country is it held disgraceful to wear a coat of a coarse texture, but to go about in rags is nowhere allowed but in Ireland, except to those whom the extreme of misery has plunged so deeply into despair, that they lose all thought of decorum. In Ireland, no one appears to feel offended or surprised at the sight of a naked elbow or a bare leg. There is something quite peculiar in Irish rags. So thoroughly worn away, so completely reduced to dust upon a human body, no rags are elsewhere to be seen. At the elbows and at all the other corners of the body, the clothes hang like the drooping petals of a faded rose; the edges of the coat are formed into a sort of fringe, and often it is quite impossible to distinguish the inside from the outside of a coat, or the sleeves from the body. The legs and arms are at last unable to find their accustomed way in and out, so that the drapery is every morning disposed after a new fashion, and it might appear a wonder how so many varied fragments are held together by their various threads, were it not perfectly a matter of indifference whether the coat be made to serve for breeches, or the breeches for coat. What in the eyes of a stranger gives so ludicrous an effect to the rags of an Irish peasant, is the circumstance, that his national costume is cut after the fashion of our gala dress of the coats worn among us at balls and on state occasions. The humbler classes with us wear either straight frock coats, or, when at work, short round jackets. In Belgium, France, and some other countries, the working men have a very suitable costume in their blouses, and a very similar garment, the smock frock, is worn in most of the rural districts of Making his observations as he travels, Mr Kohl at length embarked to descend the Shannon at Shannon harbour for Limerick, and-never idle-occupied the steam-voyage in fishing up, from the communicative conversation of his fellow-passengers, several such fairy tales as those to which Mr Croker has given a literary currency. After visiting the far-famed lakes of Killarney, our author finds his way, by Bantry, to Cork, where the commercial life of Ireland is seen. The squalid poverty and improvidence of the rural districts is here exchanged for evidences of the greatest abundance of all the necessaries of life; not, indeed, in use, but as articles of commerce. From Cork and many other Irish ports immense quantities of those provisions are exported of which the inhabitants stand so much in need. It would seem as if all the cattle, pigs, butter, and other such articles of food, were sent away from the interior, and that nothing is left for the peasantry but butter-milk and potatoes. Mr Kohl's next chapters are headed ‘From Cork to Kilkenny,' and 'From Kilkenny to Wexford,' In the latter place, the gratifying progress of education and temperance was testified in a signal manner. There are,' he says, thousands of children that would otherwise have run wild about the streets, or have grown up in idleness in wretched hovels, enjoying now the advantage of a rational superintendence, and of a temporary asylum [in the infant-schools], far better than the parental roof can offer them. There is a great desire for instruction among the Irish, and such being the case, it is difficult not to rest sanguine hopes on the host of new schools that are starting up in all parts of the country. I do not remember to have passed through any Irish town in which I did not see a spick and span new school CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL. house, and a distillery either shut up or going evidently to decay. In Wexford there were formerly seven breweries, of which only one is now in a prosperous In New Ross, whence we came, and in condition. Enniscorthy, whither we were going, the principal distilleries had all been closed.' After various excursions, Mr Kohl returned to Dublin, the main features of which he examined with his accustomed penetration. He then turned his progress northward, and here the scene is changed, as if by magic, from barren lands and wretched people to smiling fields and a well-conditioned population. Not far from Newry the province of Leinster ends, and that of Ulster begins. I am 'The coach rattled over the boundary line, and all at once we seemed to have entered a new world. not in the slightest degree exaggerating, when I say that everything was as suddenly changed as if struck by a magician's wand. The dirty cabins by the roadside were succeeded by neat, pretty, cheerful-looking cottages. Regular plantations, well-cultivated fields, pleasant little cottage-gardens, and shady lines of trees, met the eye on every side. At first I could scarcely believe my own eyes, and thought that at all events the change must be merely local and temporary, caused by the better management of that particular estate. No counter-change, however, appeared; the improvement lasted the whole way to Newry; and from Newry to Belfast, everything still continued to show me that I had entered the country of a totally different people-namely, the district of the Scottish settlers, the active and industrious Presbyterians. I do not mean to say that the whole province of Ulster wears this delightful appearance; nor is the whole province of Ulster inhabited by Scottish colonists. It contains many districts, as I shall hereafter show, inhabited by the genuine Celtic-Irish race, and of those districts the aspect is as wild and desolate as that of any other part of Ireland; but on crossing the border, the contrast between Irish Leinster and Scottish Ulster is most striking. I have read the accounts of many travellers who crossed the frontiers of Ulster and Leinster at other places, and they all give the same account of the striking contrast between the two provinces.' Passing through Belfast, the linen manufactures of which he describes with minuteness, Mr Kohl threads the shores of Antrim to visit the Giant's Causeway and the other curiosities which abound in that quarter. 'At Belfast,' he concludes, 'I took my leave of Erin, and shipped myself for Caledonia.' Except towards the end of his journey, Mr Kohl coincides with all other travellers in describing Ireland as exhibiting, in general, a panorama of wretchedness and of poverty at its lowest ebb. Yet he passed through some of the most fertile and altogether the most affluent districts of the country. The condition of Ireland is indeed deplorable, and deserves the gravest and most humane consideration, alike from the statesman and the philanthropist. Substitute for White Lead.-The great amount of mortality among painters and manufacturers of paint, arising from the deleterious effluvia of white lead, is well known, and has frequently directed the attention of chemists to the discovery of an innocuous substitute. Hitherto the attempt has been fruitless; at least so far as we are aware, no other substance has taken the place of the common pigment. It would appear, however, from the report of the Paris Academy of Sciences, that M. de Ruolz has at length succeeded in producing a preparation possessing all the economical properties of white lead, without partaking of its offensive character. This substance is the oxide of antimony, which is distinguished by the following qualities:-Its colour is very pure white, rivalling the finest silver white; it is easily ground, and forms with oil an unctuous and cohesive mixture; compared with the white lead of Holland, its property of concealing is as 46 to 22; and mixed with other paints, it gives a much clearer and softer tone than white lead. It may be obtained, according to M. de Ruolz, from the natural sulphuret of antimony, and at a third of the cost of ordinary white paint. SONG OF THE SHIRT. With eyelids heavy and red, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 'Work-work-work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work-work-work! Till the stars shine through the roof! Along with the barbarous Turk, Till the brain begins to swim! Till the eyes are heavy and dim! O! men, with sisters gear! O! men, with mothers and wives! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, But why do I talk of Death? That phantom of grisly bone, Oh God! that bread should be so dear, A bed of straw, My labour never flags; And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank From weary chime to chime; As prisoners work for crime ! Band, and gusset, and seam, In the dull December light! When the weather is warm and bright- The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, Oh but to breathe the breath To feel as I used to feel, Oh but for one short hour! A respite however brief! A little weeping would ease my heart; My tears must stop, for every drop In poverty, hunger, and dirt, |