liar and aromatic fragrance. We read of the gales that bear from the shores of Ceylon the breathings of the cinnamon groves. I have always fancied that the musk rose resembles them. Inside how cool, clean, and neat was the room with its brick floor and large old fire place, and yet there was only Lucy to do everything; I have often thought since of the difference between the children of the rich, and the children of the poor—the first kept apart, petted, indulged, and useless;–-the second with every energy in full exercise from the cradle, actively employed, and earning their daily bread, almost from the hour that they begin to eat it. If there is too much of this in the lower classes, if labour be carried into cruelty, there is infinitely too little of it in the higher. The poor child, as Charles Lamb so touchingly expresses it, is not brought, but "dragged out," and if the wits are sharpened, so too is the soft round cheek. The crippled limb and broken constitution attest the effects of the over-early struggle with penury; but the child of rich parents suffers though in another way; there it is the heart
