2 SONNET. 



man's estimate of the essentials of happiness to the bitter cup, and 

 the friendless hearth, it brings, at least it promises, much ; to the 

 luxurious goblet, and companioned home, little often nothing to 

 the one it is the license of nature, to the other the law of custom. 



Miss Martineau say, " Charity must be directed to the enlighten- 

 ment of the mind, instead of the relief of bodily wants." Does Miss 

 Martineau need to be informed that while want assails the body, it is in 

 vain to address the mind ? Southey in speaking of butchers, whose 

 business it might be thought had no happy influence on their feel- 

 ings, says, " Because they are well fed they are not exposed to the 

 temptations which necessity, the mother of crime as well as arts, 

 brings with it ; and their occupation being constant they are like- 

 wise safe from the danger of idleness." These observations, which 

 he applies to one class, are applicable to all. Happiness depends on 

 moral knowledge, but moral knowledge can only be attained and ap- 

 plied, by such as have the means of sustaining their physical 

 strength, and some share of leisure for moral cultivation. Thus, in 

 answer to the question " What is charity ?" It may be replied, that 

 it will be found in measures not for " adjusting the proportion of 

 population to capital," that Procrustian bed of Political economy 

 but by adjusting the distribution of capital to the wants and claims 

 of its producers. 



England, as a manufacturing country, may challenge the world ; 

 she has therefore less cause to regret that she cannot do so as an 

 agricultural country ; for with her industry, enterprise, and inge- 

 nuity, under a legislation, that held the social interests of the many, 

 above the selfish interests of the few, she would command more corn 

 than she could ever consume. AN OLD WOMAN. 



SONNET. 



A COAST SCENE. 



*ON this flower'd brink above the silent shore, 

 'Tis sweet to lean and mark the clouds as now 

 Circling the grandeur of yon mountain's brow 

 High lifted up in heav'n and ocean's floor 

 Stretch'd to dim distance and the piny wood 

 And its ravine where glimpsing light betrays 

 At intervals, some else unnoted flood, 

 And ruin eloquent of olden days 

 Then to look at the village and my home, 



Across the bay, where now a snowy fall 

 Of wild birds seeks the sands and rests like foam 

 Beneath the shadow of our garden wall. 

 Tis sweet to linger thus while rosy May 

 Is filling with her kindest smiles the day. 



Argyleshire. 



