"You were pleased, in your last letter," she writes (No. CXLVI.), "to request me to send you my opinion of Virgil and Ovid, as which I thought was the better poet. Truly, madam, my reason, skill, or understanding in poetry and poets is not sufficient to give a judgment of two such famous poets, for though I am a poetess, yet I am but a poetastress, or a petty poetess; but, howsoever, I am a legitimate poetical child of Nature, and though my poems, which are the body of the poetical soul, are not so beautiful and pleasing as the rest of her poetical childrens' bodies are, yet I am, nevertheless, her child, although but a brownet."

Here is a very beautiful picture of the qualities required of a balladsinger :

"The vulgar and plainer a voice is, the better it is for an old ballad; for a sweet voice with quavers, and trilloes, and the like, would be as improper for an old ballad, as golden laces on a thrown suit of cloth, diamond buckles on clouted or cobbled shoes, or a feather on a monk's hood; neither should old ballads be sung so much in a tune as in a tone, which tone is betwixt speaking and singing, for the sound is more than plain speaking and less than clear singing, and the rumming or humming of a wheel should be the music to that tone, for the humming is the noise the wheel makes in the turning round, which is not like the music of the spheres; and ballads are only proper to be sung by spinsters, and that only in cold winter nights, when a company of good housewives are drawing a thread of

flax."-Lett. CCII.

Her admiration of Davenant's Gondibert is made the subject of a letter, (No. CXXVII.), where she speaks with great discrimination when finding fault with the over-precision of his language and the compact closeness of his expressions, " for the language

like so curious and finely engraven a seal as one cannot readily see the figure engraven thereon without a magnifying glass."

they were made up only with clowns,
fools, watchmen, and the like."
"Shakspeare," she says, with admirable
wit, "did not want wit to express to the
life all sorts of persons, of what quality,
possession, degree, breeding, or birth
whatsoever; nor did he want wit to ex-
press the divers and different humours,
or natures, or several passions in man-
kind; and so well he hath expressed in
his plays all sorts of persons, as one would
think he had been transformed into every
one of those persons he hath described;
and as sometimes one would think he
was really himself the clown or jester he
feigns, so one would think he was also
the king and privy-counsellor; also as
one would think he were really the cow-
ard he feigns, so one would think he were
the most valiant and experienced soldier;
who would not think he had been such a
man as his Sir John Falstaff? and who
would not think he had been Harry the
Fifth and certainly Julius Cæsar, Au
gustus Cæsar, and Antonius did really
never act their parts better, if so well, as
he hath described them, and I believe
that Antonius and Brutus did not speak
better to the people than he had feigned
them; nay, one would think that he had
been metamorphosed from a man to a
woman, for who could describe Cleopatra
better than he has done, and many other
females of his own creating? Who would
not swear that he had been a noble lover?
who could woo so well? and there is not
any person he hath described in his book
but his readers might think they were
well acquainted with them."-Pp. 245,
6, 7.

Iler love for the writings of Shakspeare breaks out in two or three places, nor has it been hitherto noticed that the duchess was among the first who dared to publish their admi

ration:

"I wonder," she writes, "how that person you mention in your letter could either have the conscience or confidence to dispraise Shakspeare's plays, as to say

All this is excellent, but when the duchess tells us, some hundred pages on (p. 338), that her husband is as far beyond Shakspeare for comical humour, as Shakspeare is beyond an ordinary poet in that way, we love and respect the wife, but laugh outright at the silly weakness of the

woman.

Here we stop, and in the belief, be it known, that our readers are as much in love with Margaret Lucas as Oliver Yorke is, or was old William Cavendish himself.

"Is this a lady's closet? 't cannot be,
For nothing here of vanity we see,
Nothing of curiosity or pride,
As most of ladies' closets have beside.
Scarcely a glass or mirror in't you find,
Excepting books, the mirror of the mind.
Nor is't a library, but only as she
Makes each place where she comes a
library.'

* On the Duchess of Newcastle's Closet.-FLECKNOE's Epigrams.

MILLINERS' APPRENTICES.

"Etsi nullum memorabile nomen
Famineà in pœnâ est nec habet victoria laudem,
Extinxisse nefas tamen, et sumsisse merentis
Laudabor pœnas."-VIRG. Æn. ii.

THE warmest advocate for the advan-
tages of luxury and civilisation in a
state, cannot disguise from himself the
melancholy truth, that to administer
to that condition and those advan-
tages, the privations and sufferings
of many individuals must be in-
creased in such a ratio as fully to
bear out what otherwise would seem
a paradox, that where there is the
greatest wealth, there is the greatest
misery. Whether it is that man,
naturally tyrannical and arbitrary,
shews this disposition more particu-
larly when successful industry makes
him less dependent on his fellow-
man, or that the excitement of com-
petition, which is inseparable from
wealth and aggrandisement, renders
him selfish and hard-hearted, certain
it is that at no period is it more ne-
cessary to protect the weak against
the strong, than when one might
suppose that increased security and
abundance of every thing conducive
to happiness or comfort would cause
him to do all in his power to relieve
the condition of those less prosperous
or fortunate than himself. While
this reflexion leads the speculative
philosopher to examine and discuss
the relative good or evil of luxury
and refinement in the abstract, the
practical philanthropist will endea-
vour to mitigate the disadvantages
arising from them by wise and salu-
tary laws. The sympathy of the
British public has been awakened in
behalf of those so hardly tasked
under the factory system, and not-
withstanding the opposition created
against the measure by the advocates
of what is termed uncontrolled free-
dom of labour, the Ten-hours' Bill
will sooner or later become the law
of the land, and the truth of that
maxim of our poet, "Be just and
fear not," be fully and universally
recognised. At the very moment,
however, that the hardships under-
gone by the youth of both sexes in
the manufacturing districts have
been engaging the attention of the

public mind, and the feelings of society have been harrowed by the piteous description of the trials they are exposed to in their round of daily toil, there has been discovered to exist a class of persons whose sufferings far exceed those of the poor mechanic or the factory-girl. I allude to the young women employed by the milliners and dress-makers to assist in their business, either as apprentices or day-workers, in large towns, more particularly in the metropolis. The object of the present article is, first, to enumerate some of those evils, physical and moral, which arise from the tyranny and severe tasking so generally practised in this department of trade; and, 2dly, to examine briefly if any remedies, legislative or otherwise, can be applied to a system of over-working so manifestly requiring alteration and improvement.

If we enter the work-room of some dress-maker in tolerable business, we shall see a number of girls, many of them pale and emaciated, crowded together, and under the superintendence of a forewoman, whose office it is to keep order and urge on the appointed task. Of these some are "day"apprentices," others are workers," the remainder are what are termed "improvers." The apprentices are placed with the proprietress of the establishment for a certain period, generally for about two or three years, sometimes five. They are apprenticed usually about the age of fourteen, and reside entirely on the premises. The premium, of course, varies according to the situation and notoriety of the house. It is sometimes as high as sixty guineas. The day-workers either live at home or in their own lodg ings; they come to the dress-maker's from nine in the morning till nine at night, and receive from 1s. to 18. 6d. per day. If required to work extra hours, they are paid accordingly. They bring their own dinners

with them, but are found in tea and sugar. The "improvers" are girls from seventeen to twenty years of age, who come up from the country, and remain usually six months with their employer, during which period they make themselves generally useful; their time is entirely at the disposal of the dress-maker; they reside with her, but receive no wages and pay no premium. During the London season, the fatigue they undergo is excessive. At a period of life when adequate rest, and even some relaxation, are absolutely necessary to the bodily health, they are confined, with scarcely any intermission for their meals, which they are frequently obliged to leave halffinished to return to their work, often till three or four o'clock in the morning, in a heated and unwholesome atmosphere. The whole frame exhausted, and the nervous system frequently too much unstrung for the enjoyment of the little sleep allowed them, they are expected to be early again at the work-table, and return with

spatched in haste to her native home,
but rest then comes too late.

Purpureus veluti cum flos succisus

aratro

Languescit moriens, lassove papavera
collo

Demisere caput, pluvià cum forte gra-
vantur."-VIRG. En. ix.

This is not a highly coloured picture, sketched by fancy, but the history of many a poor girl, the words of truth and soberness. And if it be possible to prevent such tales from being so common, if we can devise any scheme for rescuing one victim from being immolated on the shrine of Vanity and Fashion, will not every Englishman and every Englishwoman-for much is in her power-join with us in the sacred work?

It appears that the diseases to which the young dress-maker is most subject are complaints of the liver and stomach. The constant waste which, to constitute vigorous health, must be carried on by means of the secretions, being interrupted by want of air and exercise, the circulation becomes languid and sluggish, the blood is loaded with impure humours, and congestion of the abdominal viscera necessarily ensues.

apparent cheerfulness to the toil which is silently sapping the secret springs of life. No wonder that many fall victims to untimely discase, or, escaping the immediate bad consequences, in after life become the mothers of an unhealthy and miserable offspring. It is lamentable to see the change that sometimes comes over the country girl shortly after her admission as an apprentice. Arriving, perhaps, from her happy village home, where she has been the pride of honest and industrious parents, her cheeks redolent of rosy health, her step elastic, her spirits light and buoyant, at first the novelty and excitement, and constant variety of the busy town amuse her; she delights in the companionship of girls of her own age, and strives to the utmost of her power to win the approbation and confidence of her employer. By degrees her pallid cheek and attenuated form shew that the loss of fresh air, and the absence into the bud of youth. Her appetite of accustomed exercise, are eating leaves her: she sighs occasionally during winter, when the windows

over her work, but utters no complaint. Then comes the short hacking cough, the supernaturally brilliant eye, the hectic spot. She is de

Not only are the sedentary habits of young dress-makers, so long continued, prejudicial to the full developement of the body, but the stooping position which they are obliged to adopt, with the head and neck bent forwards, are productive of serious mischief. Accordingly, spinal diseases, and the contortion commonly called the wry-neck, which arises from the sterno-mastoid muscle growing out of its natural place, are often the consequences of this position. It is not uncommon also to see disorders of the eyes, arising from painful and difficult work done by candle-light, sometimes by gas-light. It is at this time of the day that the young prisoners suffer most from confinement. After the atmosphere of the work-room has been cor

rupted by the numbers employed in it during the morning, perhaps

have not been opened, the lighting of it up at night generates a quantity of carbonic acid, which it is extremely pernicious to breathe. If we

suppose, what is not, perhaps, often the case, that gas is employed in the work-room, the noxious effects are still greater. To shew the importance of proper ventilation, we will quote a passage on the subject from an article by Mr. Squire, in a late number of the Pharmaceutical Journal:

"The usual argand gas-burner consumes about five cubic feet of gas per hour, producing rather more than five cubic feet of carbonic acid, and nearly half a pint of water. Shops using thirty of these lights, therefore, in an evening of four hours, produce upwards of nine gallons of water, holding in solution the noxious products of the gas. An argand lamp, burning in a room twelve feet high and twelve feet square, containing 1728 cubic inches of air, with closed doors and windows, produces sufficient carbonic acid in rather more than three hours to exceed more than one per cent, which is considered unfit for respiration, and when it amounts to ten per cent it is fatal to life. A man makes on an average twenty respirations in a minute, and at each respiration inhales sixteen cubic inches of air. Of these 320 cubic inches inhaled, thirty-two cubic inches of oxygen are consumed, and twenty-five cubic inches of carbonic acid produced."

With regard to exercise, the apprentices and day-workers are better off than the improvers. The apprentices are often sent out on what is termed to "match," that is, to fetch from large houses of business the different articles which ladies have made choice of to be made up. Sometimes they are out on these errands the whole morning; but, with the exception of what they get on Sundays, this is the only exercise they are allowed to take. The day-workers coming early in the morning, and returning home at night, have some time of the day at least to themselves; but there is this serious disadvantage to which they are exposed, namely, that they are turned loose upon the town at a time of the day when the public streets are least respectable, and living as they often do alone, or one or two together, in lodgings, they are liable to form improper connexions, and become lax in their moral habits. The poor improvers seldom get out at all, and they are usually the

greatest sufferers. The time they remain with the milliner is indeed short, but it is often quite sufficient to undermine their constitutions, and sow the seeds of disorders which last for life. Sunday, that day of rest so grateful to the whole creation, cannot be said to be one to the young dressmaker. Much moral evil necessarily ensues from the way she is treated on a Sunday. Having worked perhaps on the evening before till long past midnight, she is expected not to remain at home on the Sabbath. Her employer is quite regardless whether she frequents a place of divine worship or not, her presence is disagree. able, and the work-room shut up. Perhaps a stranger in the metropolis, she has no relations or friends with whom to spend her hours of recreation, and no wonder that she often spends her time at such places of amusement as are open on the Sabbath, or in the parks, with some acquaintance or admirer she accidentally picks up. This is an evil which should be remedied. The mistress should make their home comfortable and agreeable to the girls on the Sabbath; her table should be as open to them on that as on any other day in the week; she should place in their way suitable books, and they should not be driven, fatigued in body and mind as they must be, to seek amusement and relaxation abroad.

In case of temporary illness and indisposition, the young dress-maker's position is very forlorn and distressing.

She cannot absent herself from the work-room without incurring the displeasure of the lady of the house, and if she fancies any little delicacy, such as broth or gruel, she can only obtain it by purchasing it at her own expense, and giving a perquisite to the cook to prepare it for her. If her indisposition continues, she must either go to her friends or to the hospital. With this alternative before her, she often struggles on against sickness, rather than put her friends to the additional burthen of keeping her, after the payment of a premium for her instruction, the amount of which perhaps they have raised with great difficulty and self-denial. To the expenses of her washing and her