less than seven shillings a week as the average price of their labour.

The eloquent and philanthropic editor of the Anti-Corn-law Circular observes: “We have had a conversation with a gentleman who has just returned from a tour in Devonshire, and we find his account of the deplorable condition of the peasantry of that rich and beautiful county more than confirms the appalling statements we gave some time ago. Our informant has travelled over Ireland and Scotland, and he says that even there he never saw equal wretchedness. On entering one of their cottages, or, rather, hovels, which it was impossible to do without stooping, he found nothing but the cold, damp, or, rather, wet earth as a floor, for it was literally full of ruts, and in some places so soft that he was obliged to pick his steps. The first object that presented itself to his eye was the master of the house, crouching over a fire, on which a quantity of half-faded gorse had just been heaped, and from which issued volumes of heavy green smoke. By the man's side lay a bill-hook, with which he appeared to have been just cutting his miserable fire-weed. His features wore a strange, half-vacant, sullen, expression, which kindled into a gloomy scowl at the appearance of the stranger.

"This expression on the countenance of the husband soon subsided into that of its wonted stolidity; and, meanwhile, his wife, bustling about to hide her embarrassment and shame at the miserable poverty of their habitation, appeared a little more social and communicative.

"It is very humble of you to come into a house like ours,' said she, quite astounded by the appearance of a decent-looking person in her wretched dwelling. After a few preliminaries, the visiter expressed a wish to see a specimen of the bread they used, when he was shown a piece about the size of his hand, all they had in the house, of that black barley bread which we have formerly described.

"The furniture, bed, and everything about the house exhibited an appearance of wretchedness, reminding one more of savage life than of civilized Britain. And how could it be otherwise, when the man stated his wages to be only seven shillings a week, with deductions for broken time; and that very day he happened to be prevented from working by the bad weather?

"On describing what he had seen to persons well acquainted with that part of the country, our informant was told that the scene he had witnessed was by no means an uncommon one : and as to the rate of wages, he had a good opportunity of corroborating it himself. Seeing about a score of able-bodied men working together, he asked what wages they received; when the reply was, that seven shillings was the common rate, though a few superior hands were pointed out who had eight or nine shillings a week."

Some years ago Mr. Richard Gregory, the treasurer of Spitalfields, who for several years distinguished himself by his successful exertions for the prevention of crime, said before the House of Commons, "I can state from experience, that crime and pauperism always go together. I have not for twenty-five years known but one solitary instance of a poor but industrious man out of employment stealing anything. I detected a working man stealing a small quantity of bacon; he burst into tears, and said it was his poverty, and not his inclination, for he was out of work and in a state of starvation."

William Howlet in the "Heads of the People," states that "These (the English peasants) are the men that become sullen and desperate; that become poachers and incendiaries. How and why? It is not plenty and kind words that make them so. What then ? What makes the wolves herd together, and descend from the Alps and Pyrenees? What makes them desperate and voracious, blind with fury and revelling with vengeance? Hunger and hardship. When the English peasant is gay, at ease, well fed and clothed, what cares he how many pheasants are in a wood, or ricks in a farmer's yard? When he has a dozen backs to clothe, and a dozen mouths to feed, and nothing to put on the one, and little to put in the other, then that which seemed a mere playful puppy suddenly starts up a snarling, red-eyed monster. How sullen he grows! with what equal indifference he shoots down pheasants or game-keepers. How the man who so recently held up his head and laughed aloud, now sneaks a villanous fiend, with the dark lantern and the match to his neighbour's rick! Monster, can this be the English peasant? 'Tis the same the very man! But what has made him so? What has thus demonized, thus infuriated, thus converted him into a walking pestilence ? Villain as he is, is he alone to blame, or is there another?"

England proposes to evangelize the world! Does she suppose that, while her own people are in a state of political degradation, a state of physical and moral starvation, she can even evangelize them? Will a man whose whole life is beset with toils innumerable to get bread for himself and hungry family, hear from his oppressors, a word about the sublime and pure doctrines of a Bible which makes it a high crime to rob the poor of bread? No! he cannot listen to them for very sorrow. First prove yourself his friend and benefactor by feeding his hunger and clothing his nakedness, and then he will hear you. Elevate him to the dignity of a man, and the work of evangelization will be easy.