courage strain all their faculties of mind and body, and feel their ambition well satisfied when these are gained. So the ingenuous youth of England desire the possession of a watch; so is their ambition satisfied when a yard of silk or hair, hanging from their neck in ample folds, gently leads the eye to the waistcoat pocket, where the termination of the chain suggests, rather than assures, the presence of a timekeeper. How fondly do they handle the chain, which bears the second place in their affections,—only inferior to the watch; for the chain is the outward symbol of the invisible power within: it is the needle of the telegraphic machine indicating the presence of the electric fluid. But if we speak thus of the chain, in what terms shall we approach the watch? How can a mere goose-quill, with nothing better than base ink, attempt to depict the owner's look of manly joy, as he proudly draws the little jewel from the pocket where it has been so snugly nestling, and how calmly, though with a conscious and not to be concealed air of superiority, he imparts the exact hour of the day (Greenwich time) to his less fortunate and watchless neighbour! How can I, not being either Mr. Dent or Mr. Bennett, describe the diverse watches? The "Patent Lever;" or, the "Detached Escapement, jewelled in four holes, and capped;" or, the one with "gold balance and maintaining power;" or, the thousand other ways in which they are fabricated, in these days of science and improvement. So far all is bright; "Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows;" but even now I see a cloud rising to dim the blue horizon. Their coming woes I knew, but should I, Cassandra like, merely to sully their brief day of joy, give warning sure to be despised? "Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, No care beyond to-day." They have no sense of ills to come to them, happy owners of gold hunters; they have no care beyond to-day: THEY KNOW NOTHING OF THE DISADVANTAGES OF POSSESSING Let me address one of them, seriously, dispassionately, with a gravity befitting so important a subject. "Watchful boy, —or little victim, or young friend, have you duly reflected on the responsibilities you have incurred by becoming the possessor of this article? I know that one of the chief causes of your pleasure is, that you consider you are now one step nearer to being a man; that you are, by so much, more like your father. But consider this, watchful boy: have you duly considered what are your father's feelings on this subject? Are you not aware that pain and sorrow are the lot of every mortal; that care, carking care, will come to every one too soon? and do you, knowing this, deliberately anticipate the time of the advent of your trouble, and prematurely bring down on your youthful head the cares of busy life? Oh! too presumptuous youth! be wise while you may; soon it will be too late:—either hurl your watch into the depths of the nearest river; or, if mercenary-minded, dispose of it to the first pedlar. Experto crede, young friend. "Io anche son pittore." I too have been the possessor of a watch, and the opinion I give you is founded upon experience and the observation of years. If you believe not in the cares which the possession of a watch entails, listen to the words of your teacher. In this wicked world, little victim, there are thieves and pickpockets, and their villainies have a great liking for watches, both gold and silver. What would be your feelings, if, after an investment of twenty guineas (by your father as proxy) in a new watch, with all the latest improvements, you were the next day to lose it, and find your guard dangling in the air with naught at the end? Experto crede. I have suffered from thieves! There is dust, little victim, which gets into the works of the watch and clogs up its delicate mechanism, and retards the wheels. There are watchmakers, little victim, who charge preposterous sums for repairs, and who sometimes (whisper it softly) steal good works, and replace them with bad. Experto crede. I have suffered from dust and watchmakers. Add to this, that a watch requires you, however roisterously inclined, to behave in a sober manner, for fear of fracturing it: add that the necessity of winding it up punctually and regularly, is always on your mind, and then ask yourself the question, if you can, whether the wearing of a watch is not a curse rather than a blessing. Moreover, what feelings of envy your watch excites in the mind of your poorer companion who has not one; how disgusted he is at the pompous parade of chain on your waistcoat; how insufferably conceited you appear to him; what sinful feelings of anger his sense of inferiority arouses in him. Have you so many friends, watchful boy, or rather I should here sadly say, little victim, have you so many friends that you can afford to alienate all who have not watches? Surely, surely, hatred and envy will meet you soon enough in the world, without your trying to hasten their inevitable approach. As for knowing the time, an objection which some feeble minded individual may urge against what I say,—a man does not always want to know the time; nay, it is often very convenient not to do so. Here again we have an argument, for this would be an excellent excuse for not keeping a distasteful engagement. Still if it is absolutely requisite to know the exact hour, are there not in London clocks meeting you at every turn; Church clocks and chapel clocks, striking clocks and silent clocks, projecting clocks and retiring clocks. Then in the country you may tell the time by observing the sun and the shadows, and noticing the various flowers in the woods and hedges; and if, in answer to this, you say that you are ignorant of these signs in the country, then I shall triumphantly bring forward my last and best argument:— that the want of a watch will compel you to become a close and accurate observer of nature. If then the possession of a watch entails all these cares and anxieties-cares which are unknown to him, whose waistcoat pockets contain knife, pencil, pen, toothpick, halfpence, or anything but this fatal appendage to a chain—do you reader, now hesitate for a moment in agreeing with me about the great advantages of not possessing a watch ? A. L. THE SONG OF THE BELL. With hair dishevelled and waste, With eyelids heavy and red, A Fellow rises at early morn From his warm and cosy bed. Splash! Splash! Splash! Through dirt and cows and mud, And still he hears the dismal crash, The bell's far distant thud. Dress! Dress! Dress! When the cock is crowing nigh; Dress! Dress! Dress! While the moon is in the sky. It's oh! to be at home, In one's pleasant bed to lurk, When to school at seven I need not come To begin my daily work. Dress! Dress! Dress! While I listen to the chime; Dress! Dress! Dress! Four minutes to the time. Vest and collar and coat, Coat and collar and vest, The stomach is faint, the hand is numbed, But we cannot stay to rest. Dress! Dress! Dress! In the dull December light; Dress! Dress! Dress! By that flaring red gaslight. While from the oozy eaves The dropping rain down pours, As if to foretell by the dismal sight Oh! but to feel the feel Of the blankets around me again, With the curtains about my head, |