being able to get a substantial meal for a penny or somewhat less. If I remember right, the price was a penny for the hearty able-bodied men. It was by the magnitude of the scale on which the cooking was conducted, that the thing was possible. The same thing might be done at Manchester: but there must also be a good deal of variety for both the main objects,—the keeping up the health and spirit of the people, and the training of the women in homely cookery.
Mr. Blundell, the giver of 5000 tons of coal, stands, by general consent, at the head of the genial benefactors of Lancashire at the present crisis. He has written home from Canada, directing his agent to make this glorious present. It warms hearts already; let us hope it will kindle some. All the circumstances of the case work together to teach us, that there is something for everybody to do. Let each of us take our own course, provided we give no trouble by whimsies, but follow some established track. We may start ideas; but novelties in practice must be tried on the spot. On the whole, the prominent feature of the case is the insufficiency of the relief, generally speaking. If some benefactors would direct their bounty to paying small rents, and so sustaining the class of cottage owners; if others would release clothes and bedding from pawn, or keep up the Sewing-schools; and if others would institute Cooking-schools, and expand the existing soup-kitchens, the present scale of relief might possibly suffice. If these aids are not abundantly rendered, more must be done in the way of money gifts. Winter is coming; the sufferers must be sustained; and they cannot live on the present dole. Then let us each go to work, to do what we can.
RUSSIAN POPULAR TALES.
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY GEORGE BORROW.
The Russians have three grand popular tales, the subjects of which are thievish adventures. One is called the “Story of Klim,” another is called the “Story of Tim,” and the third is called the “Story of Tom.” Below we present a translation of the “Story of Tim.” That part of the tale in which Tim inquires of the drowsy Archimandrite as to the person to whom the stolen pelisse is to be awarded differs in no material point from a portion of a tale narrated in the Turkish story-book of the lady and the forty vizirs. The concluding part, however, in which we are told how Tim’s comrades twice stole the pig from him, and how he twice regained it, is essentially Russian and original.
THE STORY OF TIM.
In a certain village there lived an old man who had lost almost the whole of his hair, partly from age, and partly from the friction of his fur cap, which he never laid aside, either by day or night. He had a helpmeet as ancient as himself, but who differed from him in having a hump. Our story, however, does not relate to them, but to a son of theirs, called Timoney, who was a sharp lad enough, but who had learnt nothing but to play on the fife. The old man thinking that music, however sweet, would never fill the belly, and that it was quite impossible to live on an empty stomach, determined to have the boy taught some trade, but ere fixing on what it should be, he deemed it expedient to consult his old woman on the subject; and, accordingly, requested her opinion, adding that he would wish to see the boy either a blacksmith, or a tailor.
“No!” cried the old woman. “I’ll have him neither the one nor the other. The blacksmith by always going amidst fire and soot is so begrimed that he looks rather like a devil than a man. Would you make a monster of him? As for a tailor—I don’t deny that tailoring is a rare art, but sitting doubled up, in a little time brings on a consumption.”
“Then what would you make of him?” cried the old man.
“Make of him?” said she; “why a goldsmith, or a painter, or something similar.”
“And do you know,” said the old man, “how much money one must lay down to have him bound either to a goldsmith or a painter? Why it would swallow up all we have, or more.”
They disputed so long, that they almost came to blows. The old woman had already armed herself with the fire-pan. At last, however, they agreed to bind their son to the first master they should meet, whatever his trade might be. So the old man, taking with him the sum of ten roubles, which he destined for the binding his son out as an apprentice, set out, leading Tim by the hand. It happened, that the first people he met were two born brothers, who maintained themselves by levying taxes on the highway, and besides being tax-gatherers were expert tailors, using their needles so adroitly, that with a stitch or two they could make for themselves a coat or mantle; in plain language, they were robbers.
The old man, after saluting them, said:
“Are you craftsmen?”
“Oh, yes! and very skilful ones,” replied the highwaymen.
“And what may be your trade?” inquired the old man.
“What is that to you?” they replied.
“Why, I wish to give my son a trade,” said the old man.
“Oh! we will take your son with pleasure,” they cried, “and instruct him in what we understand ourselves. As for our trade, we have particular reasons for not telling you what it is. Know, however, that you will never repent entrusting your son to our hands.”
“But what must I give you for your trouble, good people?” cried the old man.
“Why, you can hardly give us less than twenty roubles,” replied the craftsmen.
“O! where shall I get so much money?” cried the old man. “I have but ten roubles in all the world.”
“O, very well! hand them over,” said they. “We’ll take them, though they be only ten roubles; we don’t wish to higgle with you.”
The old man gave them the money, and begging them to spare no pains in teaching his son their trade, he trudged homeward. Remembering,