THE EXPANSIVE HEART. THE HEART-the heart! oh! let it be The heart-the heart that's truly blest No ray of glory lights the breast That beats for self alone. The heart-the heart! oh! let it spare A sigh for others' pain; The breath that soothes a brother's care Is never spent in vain. And though it throb at gentlest touch, Or sorrow's faintest call, "Twere better it should ache too much, Than never ache at all.. The heart-the heart that's truly blest No ray of glory lights the breast MISTAKEN CHARITY. THE WORLD IS FULL of strange characters. Some think, some pretend to think; and others never think at all. They interpret everything they see literally; and seem to imagine "all is for the best." These curious, silly people, do not injure themselves only; it is society that suffers from their thoughtless acts. Elsewhere (see article entitled "Little Things"), we have hinted at certain sturdy beggars, their wives, and children,-who go about soliciting alms to the perfect terror of respectable housekeepers. Since our remarks have been in type, one of our contemporaries (The Times), has taken notice of the same subject; and shown the impropriety, as well as folly, of relieving mendicants. So pertinent are the observations of the writer, that we shall embody in our columns some of the evils to which he justly directs attention. At this season, they demand all the attention we can give them. Let us begin, by earnestly imploring all benevolent persons, of either sex (old or young), to take into their serious consideration the consequences of indiscriminate almsgiving to those pitiable objects who are to be met with at every turn in the streets of London. The adult portion of them are impostors almost to a man or woman. The case of the wretched, dwarfed children, who are turned adrift upon the pavement, stands upon a different foundation; but let the humane and charitable bear in mind that, in point of fact, the indiscriminate almsgiver is the cornerstone of that nefarious system which results in the despatch of these little unfortunates on their daily quest. We do not say that with regard to them the fountains of charity should be dried up; but simply that the stream should run in a different channel from heretofore. See yonder tiny bundles of rags, with dirty feet protruded, covered with filth and chilblains. These pale-faced little creaturesfor they are in very truth human beingsheirs of immortality-have lain crouching here under the rails of St. Martin's through the long hours of fog and frost. It gives a sharp pinch to the heart of any man of ordinary humanity to pass them by, and leave so much real misery unassuaged. But mark the consequences of giving! It is just because alms are bestowed upon them, that these little children are sent out day after day, and placed at their post as sentinels of misery. They derive no benefit from the little hoard of coppers which they may in the course of the day have collected. The money will be spent at night by their parents, or owners, in guzzling and gin. To be sure, a lucky quest may secure them immunity from stripes for that day only; but to-morrow, they must resume their watch; and should the result be different, the heavy hand of brutality will be stretched out upon them as soon as they which is their home. have sneaked back to the garret or cellar When the abominable trade of child-exposure is starved out, there will be an end of the practice, and not till then. The pence of the indiscriminately benevolent constitute the fund which maintains the system. The ladies and gentlemen who comfort themselves with the fag-end of the old sophism, that "it is better to be imposed on for once, than to harden one's heart for ever," are the real patrons of the dealers in beggar-children. The poor little things are sacrificed for the luxury of a sentiment ! Now, are we not justified in turning round upon these gentlemen with their plush phylacteries,--for surely the Pharisee must have had a stripe of warmer material for winter wear-and in saying, “If your charity could carry you thus far, why not a little further? Why not meditate a little on the consequences of your acts? If it should give you a little more trouble to do real good than evil under the semblance of good, surely this should be no consideration with people who are actuated by such noble sentiments." The answer, no doubt, will be in the form of a question,-"What are we to do?" The nearest policeman and the nearest policecourt will soon solve the difficulty. The lady or gentleman who would be at the pains of following out one of these distressing cases, would render more service to the objects of their compassion than by converting a fortune into pence, and sowing the pence broadcast into the furrows of iniquity. If present help must be given, be not ashamed to conduct the little shivering creatures to the door of the nearest baker or pastrycook. Give them a penny roll, give them a bun; give them anything, so that you stand by yourselves and see it actually swallowed. The children will get well thrashed when they get back; but blows fall lighter upon a full, than upon an empty stomach. Banish all thought of furnishing them with an article of clothing; before six hours are over, that would be merely converted by the proprietors of the children into hot ginand-water and tobacco. We have taken first the case of the children; for they are entitled not only to our deepest pity and sympathy, but to our active assistance. It is quite otherwise with the adult and sturdy beggars of either sex. Londoners-and ye visitors to London, have no faith in those lean, sallow faces; in those seeming deformities; in those artisticallywithered arms; in those naked feet; in that mendicant whine; in those looks of theatrical agony. It is the vile and loathsome trade of many thousand persons within the limits of the metropolis, to practise these appeals upon the sympathy of the credulous. The "profession" is followed secundum artem. The rogues are trained to it in their academies, as young persons are prepared for the stage. The shipwrecked sailor, who could not navigate Puddle Dock with success; the Houndsditch vagabond, who has walked all the way up from Carlisle in search of work; the soldier, ignorant of the mysteries of the goose-step; the swarthy and turbaned Lazarus, who speaks the Hindustani language in such wise as to necessitate the hypothesis of constant communication between Delhi and Kilkenny,-beware of them! Then, there are others, of a gregarious nature. A disconsolate, lantern-jawed man, is presumed to be the head of a family "in reduced circumstances;" most commonly he parades his misery without any musical efforts. By his side, there walks a thin small, and disconsolate matron; as far advanced in pregnancy as a pillow can make her! She wears an old black silk bonnet, which the most slovenly charwoman in London has rejected as unfit for further purposes of coquetry; and plays the flageolet or fiddle, or any unexpected instrument. Her apron is clean, to symbolise the past respectability of the family. A numerous flock has crowned the hopes of the parents. Seven, eight, or nine children attend them; independently of the babe obligato carried by the mother, and tortured occasionally into screams by "secret arrangements." The identity between the sizes of three or four of the children would seem to imply that the phenomenon of double twins, or sets of twins, at a birth, is not so uncommon as has been generally supposed. Such is one of the most ordinary forms which a begging party will assume; and to this one, for sheer want of space, we must confine our illustration. If such misery were real, it would be terrible indeed; but we have the most per fect knowledge that the whole thing is a mere spectacle to impose upon the unwary; and that the seeming father and mother are wretches and vagabonds well known to the police. Can any one suppose, for a moment, that in bestowing alms upon such persons, he is really performing a charitable work? No! People give promiscuous alms, just to satisfy their consciences. If otherwise, it is perhaps to get rid of a nuisance. We will not tarry to inquire further, from what motive they give. They do give; and thereby inflict a serious injury on society. The little vagabonds, full of vermin, and half eaten up with dirt, that haunt the streetcrossings in Portland-place, &c., are a public nuisance. They get a nice living from the young ladies of the neighborhood during the day; and at night they rob every unsuspecting person of something of value. Girls and boys,—both are alike. The policemen never interfere with them. There would appear to be a very "good understanding” between all parties. That this is so, no person will contradict. Ought it to continue?" I SAID; YOU VOWED. I TOLD You roses ne'er would wed I said the woods no more rejoice With notes more sweet than words; But, oh, you whispered then, my voice Was sweeter than the birds. And still whatever charm I named That lends to Spring delight, You for your own lov'd maiden claim'd, And lived but in her sight! Blow, chilling winds of winter, blow! And spring eternal blooms! CHARLES SWAIN. THOUGHTS FOR THE SEASON. Not an hour pass wearily!" THERE is something in the institution, the time, the attributes, and the accompaniments of Christmas, which renders it perfectly delightful. The event which it commemorates is the greatest, and the most fraught with advantage to mankind, in the whole annals of the race. Independent of its religious and eternal importance, it is a pal pable truth that the institution of Christmas, the event of which it is the anniversary, was the real birth-day of science, of artt-as useful to man, and of that reciprocity of advantage between nation and nation, which may be said to give man the whole earth and sea as a heritage, in the exact proportion as he is cultivated in his mind, and diligent and moral in his conduct. Christmas falls at the most gloomy period of the departing year; when the winter has nearly taken the maximum of its effect, and when the return of the sun from the southern tropic, which is to bring us the buds, the blooms, the beauty, and the plenty of a new year, has barely begun, and is not palpable to common observation. The suspension of labor, the full enjoyment of every innocent sport, the copious festivity, and the general amenity of manners-by means of which restraint is taken off, and virtue led jocundly off in the silken cords of hearty, happy, and harmless glee-make this particular period no inconsiderable reward for twelve months of toil. The emblems, too, which are displayed in all English houses, great and small, and which extend from the cottages of the poor to the places of devotion-all are characteristic of hope or of happiness. The evergreen boughs are types of immortality, far more strong and direct than the more gaudy and perishing flowers of the summer; while the gloss and lustre of the holly berries, with the laurel, bring to one's recollection the crowns and chaplets with which it was customary to adorn the brows of genius, before the invention of the printing-press enabled the labors of the mind to find a more lasting or more valuable memorial, in every house and on every memory. THE poor only, can really feel for the poor. They alone know each other's sufferings. They alone know each others' need of sympathy and kindness. People may talk as they will of the charity of the rich; but this is as nothing compared with the charity of the poor. They heave immense loads of suffering from off each other, which the distant help of the rich could never reach. In seasons of privation, of sickness, of inclemency, and of distress, the poor are each others' comforters and supporters, to an extent, among better circles, never dreamt of. Contented to toil on from day to day, and from year to year, for a scanty and meagre pittance, they have yet wherewithal to spare when a brother is in want or in distress. Nor is there ever wanting some friendly hand to smooth the pillow, and do all those little kind offices which make sickness tolerable. The women are in this respect especially devoted and untiring. They make sacrifices, and run risks; and bear privations, and exercise patience and kindness-to a degree that the world it it did know. Aye! even these "lower orders" never knows of, and would scarcely believe even and "vulgar people" have a rough goodness of heart about them, which has often made us feel proud that we belonged to the same nature. They often display a philanthropy which would do honor to the best and noblest of our species. MY LITTLE SUNBEAM. "Despise not the day of small things." You Never saw my little sunbeam? Indeed! Well; she was a little creature who passed my who made my acquaintance, child-fashion, with a window each day, on her way to school, and smile. Perhaps none but myself would have called her pretty; but her eyes were full of love, and her voice of music. Every day she laid a little bunch of violets on my window. might have thought it a trifling gift, but it was much to me; for, after my little sunbeam had vanished, I closed my eyes, and the fragrance of those tiny flowers carried me back, oh, whither! They told of a fragrant, shadowy wood; of a rippling brook; of a bird's song; of whispered leaf-music; of a mossy seat; of dark, sunlit eyes; of a voice sweet and low, and thrilling; of a vow that made it. God shield my little sunbeam! that was never broken till death chilled the lips May she find more roses than thorns in her earthly pathway!-From FANNY FERN'S PORTFOLIO (of course). HOME's not merely four square walls, Filled with shrines the Heart hath builded. Home-go watch the faithful dove Sailing 'neath the Heaven above us,- None to welcome, none to greet us? OUR MIRROR OF THE MONTHS. JANUARY. 'Tis now the fowls of Heaven, Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around The winnowing store, and claim the little boon Which Providence assigns them. COWPER. Close behind the woodman's heel His dog creeps slow; and now with many a frisk, Wide scamp'ring, snatches up the drifted snow With iv'ry teeth; or ploughs it with his snoutThen shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy. beholding. We only regret that such things should be ephemeral. However, we will not debate about that now. Exhibitions of all kinds are in active request by day, and merry parties are in vogue when darkness covers the earth. Of these fire-side delights we need say nothing. If we see one, we see all. Nature is now holding her court; and where she is, all must be concord and amity. Long may she reign! Twelfth-night is at hand, too! What doings we shall all have! It is our wont, as well as our delight, to chat monthly about what is doing out-ofdoors. This, however, would be mal úpropos, Few will we fear, at the present time. Cold -TRULY HAPPY, OUGHT EVERYBODY TO BE IN THE MONTH OF JANUARY. without, and cheerless, yet is it a month of universal rejoicing within; and beginning as it does a New Year, it affords us all noble opportunities for doing good on a large scale. If we were "good" last year, let us be "better" this. There is plenty of room for improvement in us ALL. An honorable strife lies before us. We always rejoice in the month of January, because it brings before us so much of the better part of human nature. Our boys and our girls will not let us be stiff, formal, polite, and fashionable"-now. They cannot understand these things in the Christmas holidays. They must enjoy themselves in sight-seeing, sliding, skating, romping, running, and playing. This last pastime includes all we could say, were we to talk for a month. And how we papas and mammas do enter into the little pleasures of our juveniles! Do we not feel ourselves young again for their sakes, and dance away with them till we are fairly out of breath? Of course we do! and thus bid defiance to all the prudes and withered parchment in the kingdom. romp too. And is there nothing else that we do to make ourselves agreeable, and to keep up the "good old customs?" Oh,-yes! If the boys romp, and the girls romp, WE must If sly, arch-looking faces, will contrive mysteriously to lead us under a certain tempting bough, of course we will pay and receive tribute,-joyfully. Our age confers on us immense privileges in this way; We are looked upon as “lawful" sport, and there is positively no end of the sweet benedictions showered upon us. Well; do we not love it to be so? Most assuredly! We need not enter minutely into the sayings and doings peculiar to this month of merry-making. The happy, innocent faces that meet us at every turn, tell us plainly that the great secret of happiness is known to one and all. Care flits from every brow. The present moment seems to be alone thought of, and family circles unite in love and harmony. This is what we rejoice in VOL. IV.-23. believe that there can be anything now to admire in the fields, or any inducement to wander forth for a bracing walk. We cannot agree with those who thus think; but we can make every allowance for them. People living in towns and cities are so used to good fires, and are so little accustomed to range abroad in the country, that habit confirms their prejudices. We, however, who live in and a walk is to us, even when the weather the country, see charms in it at all times; is most intensely cold, a real treat. and sickness, the man who lives in town, or the man who lives in the country (we mean during the season of winter)? Ask our medical men. will tell you there is no comparison between If they speak truth, they the two cases. The one is continually ailing; suffering from cold, &c.,-the other is ever on the alert, healthy, hungry,-jolly. Exercise and fresh-air are a positive terror to our medical men. They want delicate patients. Londoners, however, care little for air and exercise; and consequently are for ever on the sick list. Thus doth medicine form a principal part of their diet. Who suffers most in the matter of health the various maladies that are about to visit It would be vain for us to comment on us,-colds, coughs, catarrhs, bronchitis, &c., &c. At least one half of these are brought on by our own imprudence. "Fashion" will have her own way in dictating articles of apparel, and our fashionable women will Hence is their punishment just. We really continue to do as they ever have done. have no pity for them. But we must away. Judging from the aspect of the weather, whilst we write, we may anticipate frost, snow, and a severe winter. We shall gladly bid them all welcome. We really require an old-fashioned winter, to regenerate the The very thought of snow makes one feel poetical; and as for hoar frost, earth. What dream of beauty ever equall'd this? What bands of fairy-land have sallied forth, With all the foliage of the abundant North, With imagery from the realms of bliss! What visions of our boyhood do we miss A A That here are not restor'd? All splendors pure, Then there are our little pensioners, the birds, to be kind to in our walks; and other little charitable acts to be performed before we return, these, and we know not how many other pleasing occupations, make the days pass away so delightfully that Spring has arrived almost ere Winter has departed. We repeat it,-January is a cheerful and delightful month for all who have hearts to enjoy it, and the disposition to do good. We shall set a fair example in this matter. Let us hope it will be generally followed, For, as the light Not only serves to show, but renders us Mutually profitable; so our lives, In acts exemplary, not only win Ourselves good names, but do to others give Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live. NATURE'S GIFT TO MAN AND BEAST. THE FOLLOWING, translated from the German, will bear reading more than once, twice, or thrice : When the world was created-and all creatures assembled to have their lifetime appointed, the ass first advanced, and asked how long he would have to live. Thirty years," replied Nature; "will that be agreeable to thee?" "Alas!" answered the ass, "it is a long while! Remember what a wearisome existence will be mine; from morning until night I shall have to bear heavy burdens, dragging corn sacks to the mill, that others may eat bread; while I shall have no encouragement, nor be refreshed by anything but blows and kicks. Give me but a portion of that time, I pray!" Nature was moved with compassion, and presented but eighteen years. The ass went away comforted, and the dog came forward. "How long dost thou require to live?" asked Nature. " Thirty years were too many for the ass, but wilt thou be contented with them?" "Is it the will that it should?" replied the dog. "Think how much I shall have to run about; my feet will not last for so long a time; and when I shall teeth for biting, what else shall I be fit for have lost my voice for barking, and my but to lie in a corner and growl?" Nature thought he was right, and gave him twelve years. The ape appeared. "Thou wilt, doubtless, willingly live the thirty years," said Nature; "thou wilt not have to labor as the ass and the dog. Life will be pleasant to thee." "Ah, no!" cried he, "so it may seem to others, but it will not be! Should puddings ever rain down, I shall have no spoon! I shall play merry tricks, and excite laughter by my grimaces, and then be rewarded with a sour apple." (How often sorrow lies concealed behind a jest!) "I shall not be able to endure for thirty years." Nature was gracious, and he received but ten. At last came Man, healthy and strong, and asked the measure of his days. "Will thirty years content thee?" "How short a time!" exclaimed Man. "When I shall have built my house, and kindled a fire on my own hearth; when the trees I shall have planted are about to bloom and bear fruit; when life will seem to me most desirable, I shall die! O Nature, grant me a longer period!"" Thou shalt have the eighteen years of the ass beside." "That is not yet enough," replied dog." "It is not yet sufficient," reiterated Man, Man. "Take likewise the twelve years of the give me more!" "I give thee, then, the ten years of the ape; in vain wilt thou crave more !" Man departed unsatisfied. Thus Man lives seventy years. The first thirty |