Aug. I wonder that Mr. Godfrey should have published this account.

Ed. So do I. His prolonged course of experiments are scarcely excusable in themselves. They are like "tempting Satan;" and I recollect that Dr. Mc'Neile in his Sermon on Mesmerism said, that believing it to be Satanic in its origin, he durst not take any part in mesmeric experiments. With his belief, he was right to refrain. If a man has the power to summon Satan, he is not justified in invoking his appearance. This would be inviting, not resisting the Evil One. Besides, he is very blameable if, having found out how to establish communications with the invisible world, he prints a book, showing how it is opened, and what the news is, in order that other people should avoid doing the same!

Aug. About as wise as the Quaker who said to the mob, gathered round a fraudulent baker's shop-"Don't nail his ears to the door-post; " they immediately procured a hammer and nails, and did as he advised them not to do.

Emm. I see your moral; you think that Mr. Godfrey should not enlighten people on subjects where the knowledge is a dangerous gift.

Aug. Just so.

Mrs. M. There is one inconsistency that strikes me-that Mr. Godfrey believes the spirits to be sent by Satan, and yet that Satan punishes them for answering questions; also, that all they say should tend to the exposure of Satan's craft and cruelty, and yet that the table turning is his "Modern Masterpiece.'

Ed. The book is full of such impotent and lame conclusions. Let me, however, speak strongly and solemnly against the performing such experiments in any belief that thereby spirits will come at the bidding of the experimentalist. The experiments in themselves are harmless enough. I have seen children succeed in them remarkably well. A little girl of my acquaintance is particularly clever in this sort of science. Tables follow her obediently about the room, and one nearly tumbled over in its endeavour to stand upon one leg to please her. She thinks this very strange, and so do I; but, because it is strange, and we cannot explain, therefore, that it originated in Satanic agency, is an inference belonging to monkish times, rather than to days when even spirit-haunted Wortley is favoured with Clergymen, a Wesleyan Chapel, a National school, a Lay-reader, a Sunday school, and occasional tea-parties!

Mrs. M. It is very lamentable to hear, that in America many cases of insanity are traceable to these unhallowed dabblings with necromancy.

Ed. I can easily believe that the influence upon the minds of those who believe rappings and table movings to be of Satanic agency, must be greatly disastrous. This is why I think such books as Mr. Godfrey's likely to do great harm; although I doubt not he hoped it might do good.

Emm. Now, Mr. Editor, why is that large, thick, rough door-mat lying rolled up by the table? Has it come to be

reviewed?

Mrs. M. Really, Emmeline, you are very free in your

remarks.

Ed. Not at all; I am glad she has called my attention to the mat. It has not exactly come to be reviewed; it has come because I bought it at the RAGGED SCHOOL SHOP, and I have promised to say something about this shop.

Emm. I am quite anxious to know all about it, because I am much interested in Ragged Schools.

Ed. A few days ago I was passing by the end of Essex Street, in the Strand, and noticing a small shop bearing the designation of "The Ragged School Shop," I entered it to make inquiries. I found the shop had just been opened for the sale of articles made in the Industrial Classes of Ragged Schools. It seems that such a shop was previously opened in a very inconvenient place, an out of the way narrow court, and there received such support as encouraged several members of the Ragged School Union to establish a better shop, in a locality more easily accessible. About 2,000 children are now taught to work in the Ragged Schools, and those who desire to promote their honest employment, will be able to furnish a channel for their industry by purchasing all they can at this unpretending establishment.

Mrs. M. What is sold there?

Ed. Firewood, mats of all kinds, pocket books, children's clothing; shoe, hair, and scrubbing brushes; pictures drawn by the children, brooms, matches, &c.

Mrs. M. The plan seems a good one. visit to the shop.

I must try to pay a

Ed. I am sure the good woman who keeps it will be very glad to see you, and very willing to give you all the information in her power respecting Ragged Schools. I hope that some of our readers also, will find their way to Essex Street; for by providing a market for the produce of the children, we encourage the industrial classes, and thus aid in keeping busily employed a number of boys and girls, who when idle are apt to get into mischief, to become unhappy and careless, to pilfer and steal; finally, perhaps, to become expensive inmates of our gaols, if not transported at a serious cost to the country. For the sake of the

children then, and for the protection of trade from depredations, which these children, if unemployed would make, let us hope that this endeavour to stimulate their industry, will have the blessing of God upon it, and be rendered very successful.

Aug. Look! Mr. Editor, here is a school boy, scarcely sixteen, audacious enough to rush into print as a poet! Do you wish me to have mercy upon him, or shall I ruthlessly dissect him, and dash his CHALICE OF NATURE* to the ground?

Ed. If you can, consistently with the duty you owe to the public, Augustus, I hope you will deal gently with this youth. Emm. Pray do, Augustus; think how you would feel a harsh criticism if you published a volume of poems.

Aug. If I did! As if I had not more sense!

Mrs. M. Remember poor Kirke White, and be compassionate.

Aug. Why should I remember Kirke White? What business have poets to be so chicken-hearted? Besides, a true critic has no feelings; he ought to be as frigid as a demonstrator of anatomy.

Ed. There I differ with you: a critic should be honest and impartial, or else how are the readers to depend upon his judgment; but he should not be without feelings. He ought to sympathize strongly with all that is good and beautiful and loving; and especially ought he to feel for the poor, feeble, fluttering efforts of young, untried and timid genius.

Aug. After all, I don't know that I shall find it needful to be savage over this tiny volume of Poems. Without any undue partiality, I can afford to allow that they are very creditable, rhyme smoothly, contain thoughts and express emotions which few schoolboys of sixteen care anything about; and, although they may not make the author's name very famous, afford reason for believing, that by and by he will do greater things.

Emm. You may as well make the author's name as famous as you can, by mentioning it.

Aug. Certainly; it is Folliott Sandford Pierpoint.

Emm. And now for the EGGS OF BRITISH BIRDS.* They are displayed in a series of most enticing Engravings, copied and coloured after nature, with descriptions of the Birds; altogether a charming work.

Aug. Its binding is certainly very attractive; but this is no new feature in a publication issued by Binns and Goodwin; they have always been known by the capital "finish" of their books.

Bath: Binns and Goodwin.

THE CITY OF THE SEA.

HERE she lay, floating as it were upon the waters, her domes and campaniles draped in a mist of dreamy purple-all ready to sail away with the first breath of wind from the shore, as indeed here and there an islet more adventurous than the rest seemed to have parted from its moorings and to be drifting with its glittering cupolas far out into the Adriatic. Presently I had disembarked in front of the piazza of St. Mark, with the Lion of Venice, the Doge's Palace, the Cathedral,

S

the Horologe, the Campanile all in view, and I too was floating in a gondola over noiseless streets of water to where a flight of marble steps rising dreamily from the waves leads to the grand court of the Hotel de la Ville.

I must be so unpoetic as to say that I found Venice, a tedious place. It was a bore not to be able to use one's feet or to go about for any distance without the help of another. To go to the Post-office a hundred rods distant, to go over the way to call upon a neighbour, to visit a church or a picture gallery, you must have a gondola, for the streets of Venice are few and tortuous and often lead to the brink of a canal that they do not cross, and many of the houses are built flush upon the canals and have no outward communication with terra firma. Of course there are no carriages nor wheeled vehicles of any sort; neither are there any horses or beasts of burden, for the streets are not only few but narrow, and are often mere flights of steps. Except at the public gardens at one extremity of the main island where there is a "drive" of about five minutes' circuit, I saw no four-footed creature in Venice but a solitary kitten at the hotel-a prisoner like myself in a palace surrounded by water. It is a quiet place, a very quiet place; still, dreadfully still. It is clean too, so far as the absence of all dust or mud or streetgarbage makes cleanliness, though horrid stenches come up from the smaller canals when these are stirred by a passing boat.

At first this quietude was novel and refreshing; but it grew tedious and death-like. The gondola is always painted black;-and not only is its long narrow hull as black as pitch, but its top is black, its seats are black, and its cover is of black cloth and pointed with black plumes. I never entered one without a feeling that I was getting into a hearse to go to my own funeral-a feeling that was heightened by the stillness with which the gondolier dipped his oar, and the silence of the floating streets save when in a hoarse sepulchral tone