described, perhaps it is. But we must be

ignorant of the facts recorded in one of the most extensively circulated books of the age, if we continue in this belief.

Upon reading 'Sybil,' we find that a factory is a place where industry is goaded with worse shackles than ever burdened negroes' hands; that factories crush the spirits, and break the hearts of the poor; that no heathen can be more ignorant than factory children. Oh! crying shame, even their toil is not properly rewarded; no, their very wages are badly paid; not even paid in Victoria coin, but in mercenary bartering amongst the factory shops.

What a pity that factories should not be primitive, simple, happy places, where thankful hearts and smiling countenances are assembled ! What a pity that over-toiled limbs, pale, sickly, half-starved, half-clad beings should

learn to hate the rich, and consider him not the protector, but the oppressor! And, worse pity, that the immortal soul should be left there in ignorance of where it will wing its flight when it departs from the careworn frame! The deceit of happiness in English factories— a deceit which has often deluded casual observers, may find a place in Shakspeare's general catalogue of deceptions:

The world is still deceived with ornament;
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,—
But being season'd with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil? In religion,
What damned error,-but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text,
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice so simple but assumes

Some mark of virtue on his outward front."

Readers, the world has changed since the

time of the Elizabethan bard, the days are

past when men were

"Passing rich with forty pounds a year."

And why should sixpence with the poor go further than a pound with the rich? Since D'Israeli has so eloquently brought forward the miseries of a factory, we have every right to question why those miseries exist, and how they can be amended. How happy the labouring classes might be, if their superiors treated them with the respect,—yes, I say respect, with which industry deserves to be treated.

This might be accomplished by the most simple deed. Let the character of the man who wishes to be the master of a factory be most scrupulously investigated. Let it be as much a task of merit to obtain this post as

any under government. government. Let the religious principles, the honour, truth, and justice of a factory master weigh in his favour or his

rejection; and doubt not, the happiest result would be obtained. Believe not, readers, that

when the emancipation of slavery took place in our western colonies, all slaves were released from the same bonds.

Nay, many West Indians could tell of happy colonies, of merry hearts, smiling faces, and contented minds; they can record how a Christian-minded master made cheerful, contented servants, (called slaves, but not more subjected to slavery than any English labourer.)

Thus, to the credit of factories, be it told, that all masters are not necessarily cruel,-let these serve as models for the rest.

Improve

ment is the order of the day; nowhere is

there more scope for it.

Can it be argued that any rich man may set up a factory? perhaps so; but from the moment his dependants complain, the complaint ought to rest, not between the master and the complainant, but government and the master.

Politicians will rack their brains in vain for amendment, the mischief lies with the

master.

Industry in its first fresh endeavours is like a sweet plant, living amidst pure breezes and a kindly soil. Transplant it to where polluted air will rob it of its freshness, and the flower will wither and die in its prime.

We are bound to believe that the scenes recorded in Sybil' are perfectly true: Young women so bold, discontented, and unfeminine. Young men, reckless, drunkards, and libertines.

Whilst beauty walks through saloons of