nay he had not grudged to dive even into the infectious Mémoirs de Casanova, for a hint or two, could he have found that work, which, however, most British Librarians make a point of denying that they possess. A painful search, as through some spiritual pesthouse; and then with such issue! The quantity of discoverable Printing about Cagliostro (so much being burnt) is now not great; nevertheless in frightful proportion to the quantity of information given. Except vague Newspaper rumours and surmises, the things found written of this Quack are little more than temporary Manifestoes, by himself, by gulled or gulling disciples of his: not true therefore; at best only certain fractions of what he wished or expected the blinder Public to reckon true; misty, embroiled, for most part highly stupid; perplexing, even provoking; which can only be believed-to be (under such and such conditions) Lies. Of this sort emphatically is the English "Life of the Count Cagliostro, price three shillings and sixpence:" a Book indeed which one might hold (so fatuous, inane is it) to be some mere dream-vision and unreal eidolon, did it not now stand palpably there, as "Sold by T. Hookham, Bond Street, 1787;" and bear to be handled, spurned at, and torn into pipe-matches. Some human creature doubtless was at the writing of it; but of what kind, country, trade, character, or gender, you will in vain strive to fancy. Of like fabulous stamp are the Mémoires pour le Comte de Cagliostro, emitted with Requête à joindre, from the Bastille (during that sorrowful business of the Diamond Necklace) in 1786; no less the Lettre du Comte de Cagliostro au Peuple Anglais, which followed shortly after, at London; from which two indeed, that fatuous inexplicable English Life has perhaps been mainly manufactured. Next come the Mémoires authentiques pour servir à l'Histoire du Comte de Cagliostro, (twice printed in the same year 1786, at Strasburg and at Paris;) a swaggering, lascivious Novellette, without talent, without truth or worth, happily of small size. So fares it with us: alas, all this is but the outside decorations of the private theatre, or the sounding of catcalls and applauses from the stupid audience; nowise the interior bare walls and dress-room which we wanted to see! Almost our sole even half-genuine documents are a small barren Pamphlet, Cagliostro démasqué à Varsovie, en 1780; and a small barren Volume purporting to be his Life, written at Rome, of which latter we have a French version, dated 1791. It is on this Vie de Joseph Balsamo, connu sous le Nom de Comte Cagliostro, that our main dependence must be placed; of which Work, meanwhile, whether it is wholly or only half-genuine, the reader may judge by one fact that it comes to us through the medium of the Roman Inquisition, and the proofs to substantiate it lie in the Holy Office there. Alas, this reporting Familiar of the Inquisition was too probably something of a Liar; and he reports lying Confessions of one who was not so much a Liar as a Lie! In such enigmatic duskiness, and thrice-folded involution, after all inquiries, does the matter yet hang. Nevertheless, by dint of meditation and comparison, light-points that stand fixed, and abide scrutiny, do here and there disclose themselves; diffusing a fainter light over what otherwise were dark, so that it is no longer invisible, but only dim. Nay, after all, is there not in this same uncertainty a kind of fitness, of poetic congruity? Much that would offend the eye stands discreetly lapped in shade. Here too Destiny has cared for her favourite : that a powder-nimbus of astonishment, mystification, and uncertainty, should still encircle the Quack of Quacks, is right and suitable; such was by Nature and Art his chosen uniform and environment. Thus, as formerly in Life, so now in History, it is in huge fluctuat ing smoke-whirlwinds, partially illumed (into a most brazen glory,) yet united, coalescing with the region of everlasting Darkness, in miraculous clear-obscure, that he works and rides. "Stern Accuracy in inquiring, bold Imagi nation in expounding and filling up; these," says friend Sauerteig, "are the two pinions on which History soars,”'-or flutters and wabbles. To which two pinions let us and the readers of this Magazine now daringly commit ourselves. Or chiefly indeed to the latter pinion (of Imagination;) which, if it be the larger, will make an unequal flight. Meanwhile, the style at least shall if possible be equal to the subject. Know, then, that in the year 1743, in the city of Palermo, in Sicily, the family of Signor Pietro Balsamo, a shopkeeper, were exhilerated by the birth of a Boy. Such occurrences have now become so frequent that, miraculous as they are, they occasion little astonishment: old Balsamo for a space, indeed, laid down his ell-wands and unjust balances; but for the rest, met the event with equanimity. Of the possettings, junkettings, gossippings, and other ceremonial rejoicings, transacted according to the custom of the country, for welcome to a New-comer, not the faintest tradition has survived; enough, that the small New-comer, hitherto a mere ethnic or heathen, is in a few days made a Christian of, or as we vulgarly say, christened; by the name of Giuseppe. A fat, red, globular kind of fellow, not under nine pounds avoirdupois, the bold Imagination can figure him to be: if not proofs, there are indications that sufficiently betoken as much. Of his teething and swaddling adventures, of his scaldings, squallings, pukings, purgings, the strictest search into History can discover nothing; not so much as the epoch when he passed out of long-clothes stands noted in the fasti of Sicily. That same "larger pinion," (of Imagination,) nevertheless, conducts him from his native blind-alley, into the adjacent street casaro; descries him, with certain contemporaries now unknown, essaying himself in small games of skill; watching what phenomena, of carriage-transits, dog-battles, streetmusic, or such like, the neighbourhood might offer (intent above all on any windfall of chance provender ;) now, with incipient scientific spirit, paddling in the gutters; now, as small poet, or maker, baking mud-pies. Thus does he tentatively coast along the outskirts of Existence, till once he shall be strong enough | never turn thyself to any thing? Beppo, with to land and make a footing there. Neither such speculative faculty, from such low watchdoes it seem doubtful that with the earliest ex- tower, as he commands, is in truth, (being ercise of speech, the gifts of simulation and forced to it,) from time to time, looking abroad dissimulation began to manifest themselves: into the world; surveying the conditions of Giuseppe (or Beppo, as he was now called) mankind, therewith contrasting his own wishes could indeed speak the truth, but only when and capabilities. Alas, his wishes are manihe saw his advantage in it. Hungry also, as fold; a most hot Hunger, (in all kinds,) as above hinted, he too probably often was: a above hinted; but on the other hand, his leadkeen faculty of digestion, a meager larder ing capability seemed only the Power to Eat. within doors; these two circumstances, so What profession, or condition, then? Choose; frequently conjoined in this world, reduced for it is time. Of all the terrestrial professions, him to his inventions. As to the thing called that of Gentleman, it seemed to Beppo, had, Morals, and knowledge of Right and Wrong, under these circumstances, been most suited it seems pretty certain that such knowledge to his feelings: but then the outfit? the appren(the sad fruit of Man's Fall) had in great part tice-fee? Failing which, he, with perhaps as been spared him; if he ever heard the com- much sagacity as one could expect, decides for mandment, Thou shalt not steal, he most proba- the Ecclesiastical. bly could not believe in it, therefore could not obey it. For the rest, though of quick temper, and a ready striker, (where clear prospect of victory showed itself,) we fancy him vociferous rather than bellicose, not prone to violence where stratagem will serve; almost pacific, indeed, had not his many wants necessitated him to many conquests. Above all things, a brazen impudence developes itself; the crowning gift of one born to scoundrelism. In a word, the fat, thickset Beppo, as he skulks about there, plundering, playing dog's-tricks, with his finger in every mischief, already gains character; shrill housewives of the neighbourhood, whose sausages he has filched, whose weaker sons maltreated, name him Beppo Maldetto, and indignantly prophesy that he will be hanged. A prediction which, as will be seen, the issue has signally falsified. Behold him then, once more by the uncle's management, journeying (a chubby, brassfaced boy of thirteen) beside the Reverend Father General of the Benfratelli, to their neighbouring Convent of Cartegirone, with intent to enter himself novice there. He has donned the novice-habit; is "intrusted to the keeping of the Convent Apothecary," on whose gallipots and crucibles he looks round with wonder. Were it by accident that he found himself Apothecary's Famulus, were it by choice of his own-nay was it not, in either case, by design, of Destiny intent on perfecting her work?-enough, in this Cartegirone Laboratory there awaited him, (though as yet be knew it not,) life-guidance and determination; the great want of every genius, even of the scoundrel-genius. He himself confesses that he here learned some (or, as he calls it, the) "principles of chemistry and medicine." Natural enough: new books of the Chemists lay here, old books of the Alchymists; distillations, sublimations visibly went on; discussions there were, oral and written, of gold We hinted that the household larder was in a leanish state: in fact, the outlook of the Balsamo family was getting troubled; old Balsamo had, during these things, been called away on his long journey. Poor man! The future eminence and pre-eminence of his Bep-making, salve-making, treasure-digging, divinpo he foresaw not, or what a world's-wonder he had thoughtlessly generated; as indeed, which of us, by much calculating, can sum up the net-total (Utility, or Inutility) of any his most indifferent act,-a seed cast into the seedfield of TIME, to grow there, producing fruits or poisons, for ever! Meanwhile Beppo himself gazed heavily into the matter: hung his thick lips, while he saw his mother weeping; and, for the rest, eating what fat or sweet thing he could come at, let Destiny take its course. The poor widow, (ill-named Felicita,) spinning out a painful livelihood by such means as only the poor and forsaken know, could not but many times cast an impatient eye on her brass-faced, voracious Beppo; and ask him, If he never meant to turn himself to any thing! A maternal uncle, of the moneyed sort, (for he has uncles not without influence,) has already placed him in the Seminary of Saint Roch, to gain some tincture of schooling there but Beppo feels himself misplaced in that sphere; "more than once runs away;" is flogged, snubbed, tyrannically checked on all sides; and finally, with such slender stock of schooling a had pleased to offer itself, returns to the street. The widow, as we said, urges him, the uncles urge: Beppo, wilt thou ing-rods, projection, and the alcahest: besides, had he not, among his fingers, calxes, acids, Leyden-jars? Some first elements of medicochemical conjurorship, so far as phosphorescent mixtures, aqua-toffana, ipecacuanha, cantharides tincture, and such like would go, were now attainable; sufficient (when the hour came) to set up any average Quack, much more the Quack of Quacks. It is here, in this unpromising environment, that the seeds, therapeutic, thaumaturgic, of the Grand Cophta's stupendous workings and renown were sown. Meanwhile, as observed, the environment looked unpromising enough. Beppo with his two endowments, of Hunger and of Power to Eat, had made the best choice he could; yet, as it soon proved, a rash and disappointing one. To his astonishment, he finds that even here he “is in a conditional world ;" and, if he will employ his capability of eating, (or enjoying.) must first, in some measure, work and suffer. Contention enough hereupon: but now dimly arises, or reproduces itself, the question, Whether there were not a shorter road, that of stealing! Stealing-under which, generically taken, you may include the whole art of scoundrelism; for what is Lying itself but a theft of my belief?-stealing, we say, is properly the North-West Passage to Enjoyment: while common Navigators sail painfully along torrid shores, laboriously doubling this or the other Cape of Hope, your adroit Thief-Parry, drawn on smooth dog-sledges, is already there and back again. The misfortune is that stealing requires a talent; and failure in that North-West voyage is more fatal than in any other. We hear that Beppo was "often punished:" painful experiences of the fate of genius; for all genius, by its nature, comes to disturb somebody in his ease, and your thiefgenius more so than most! Readers can now fancy the sensitive skin of Beppo mortified with prickly cilices, wealed by knotted thongs; his soul afflicted by vigils and forced fasts; no eye turned kindly on him; everywhere the bent of his genius rudely contravened. However, it is the first property of genius to grow in spite of contradiction, and even by means thereof;-as the vital germ pushes itself through the dull soil, and lives by what strove to bury it! Beppo, waxing into strength of bone and character, sets his face stiffly against persecution, and is not a whit disheartened. On such chastisements and chastisers he can look with a certain genial disdain. Beyond convent walls, with their sour stupid shavelings, lies Palermo, lies the world; here too is he, still alive,—though worse off than he wished; and feels that the world is his oyster, which he (by chemical or other means) will one day open. Nay, we find there is a touch of grim Humour unfolds itself in the youth; the surest sign (as is often said) of a character naturally great. Witness, for example, how he acts on this to his ardent temperament so trying occasion. While the monks sit at meat, the impetuous voracious Beppo (that stupid Inquisition Biographer records it as a thing of course) is set not to eat with them, not to pick up the crumbs that fall from them, but to stand "reading the Martyrology" for their pastime! The brave adjusts himself to the inevitable. Beppo reads that dullest Martyrology of theirs; but reads out of it not what is printed there, but what his own vivid brain on the spur of the moment devises: instead of the names of Saints, all heartily indifferent to him, he reads out the names of the most notable Palermo "unfortunate-females," now beginning to interest him a little. What a "deep world-irony" (as the Germans call it) lies here! The Monks, of course, felled him to the earth, and flayed him with scourges; but what did it avail? This only became apparent, to himself and them, that he had now outgrown their monk discipline; as the psyche does its chrysalis-shell, and bursts it. Giuseppe Balsamo bids farewell to Cartegirone for ever and a day. So now, by consent or not of the ghostly Benfratelli (Friars of Mercy, as they were named!) our Beppo has again returned to the maternal uncle at Palermo. The uncle naturally asked him, What he next meant to do? Beppo, after stammering and hesitating for some length of weeks, makes answer: Try Painting. Well and good! So Beppo gets him colours, brushes, fit tackle, and addicts himself for some space of time to the study of what is innocently called Design. Alas, if we consider Beppo's great Hunger, now that new senses were unfolding in him, how inadequate are the exiguous resources of Design; how necessary to attempt quite another deeper species of Design, of Designs! It is true, he lives with his uncle, has culinary meat; but where is the pocket-money for other costlier sorts of meats to come from? As the Kaiser Joseph was wont to say: From my head alone (De ma tête scule!) The Roman Biographer (though a most wooden man) has incidentally thrown some light on Beppo's position at this juncture: both on his wants and his resources. As to the first, it appears (using the wooden man's phraseology) that he kept the "worst company," led the "loosest life;" was hand in glove with all the swindlers, gamblers, idle apprentices, unfortunate-females, of Palermo: in the study and practice of Scoundrelism diligent beyond most. The genius which has burst asunder convent-walls, and other rub bish of impediments, now flames upward towards its mature splendour. Wheresoever a stroke of mischief is to be done, a slush of so-called vicious enjoyment to be swallowed, there with hand and throat is Beppo Balsamo seen. He will be a Master, one day, in his profession. Not indeed that he has yet quitted Painting, or even purposes so much: for the present, it is useful, indispensable, as a stalking-horse to the maternal uncle and neighbours; nay to himself, for with all the ebullient impulses of scoundrel-genius restlessly seething in him, irrepressibly bursting through, he has the noble unconsciousness of genius; guesses not, dares not guess, that he is a born scoundrel, much less a born world-scoundrel. But as for the other question, of his resources, these we perceive were several-fold, and continually extending. Not to mention any pictorial exiguities, (existing mostly in Expectance,) there had almost accidentally arisen for him, in the first place, the resource of Pandering. He has a fair cousin living in the house with him, and she again has a lover; Beppo stations himself as go-between; delivers letters; fails not to drop hints that a lady, to be won or kept, must be generously treated; that such and such a pair of ear-rings, watch, necklace, or even sum of money, would work wonders; which valuables (adds the wooden Roman Biographer) "he then appropriated furtively." Like enough! Next, however, as another more lasting resource, he forges; at first in a small way, and trying his apprentice-hand: tickets for the theatre, and such trifles. Ere long, however, we see him fly at higher quarry; by practice he has acquired perfection in the great art of counterfeiting hands; and will exercise it on the large or on the narrow scale, for a consideration. Among his relatives is a Notary, with whom he can insinuate himself; for purpose of study, or even of practice. In the presses of this Notary lies a Will, which Beppo contrives to come at, and falsify "for the benefit of a cer tain Religious House." Much good may it de them! Many years afterwards, the fraud was Fortunes) that has been born. Beppo, every way in vigorous vitality, cannot continue half painting half swindling in Palermo; must develop himself into whole swindler; and, unless hanged there, seek his bread elsewhere. What the proximate cause, or signal, of such crisis and development might be, no man could say; yet most men would have confidently guessed, The Police. Nevertheless it proved otherwise; not by the flaming sword of Justice, but by the rusty dirk of a foolish private individual, is Beppo driven forth. detected; but Beppo's benefit in it was spent | Not less (though less visibly to dull eyes) the and safe long before. Thus again the stolid Act that is done, the Condition that has realized Biographer expresses horror or wonder that itself; above all things, the Man (with his he should have forged leave-of-absence for a monk, "counterfeiting the signature of the Superior." Why not? A forger must forge what is wanted of him; the Lion truly preys not on mice; yet shall he refuse such if they jump into his mouth? Enough, the indefatigable Beppo has here opened a quite boundless mine; wherein through his whole life he will, as occasion calls, dig, at his convenience. Finally, he can predict fortunes and show visions; by phosphorus and legerdemain. This however, only as a dilettantism; to take up the earnest profession of Magician does not yet enter into his views. Thus perfecting himself in all branches of his art, does our Balsamo live and grow. Stupid, pudding-faced as he looks and is, there is a vulpine astucity in him; and then a wholeness, a heartiness, a kind of blubbery impetuosity, an oiliness so plausible-looking: give him only length of life, he will rise to the top of his profes sion. Consistent enough with such blubbery impetuosity in Beppo is another fact we find recorded of him, that at this time he was found "in most brawls," whether in street or tavern. The way of his business led him into liability to such; neither as yet had he learned prudence by age. Of choleric temper, with all his obesity; a square-built, burly, vociferous fellow; ever ready with his stroke, (if victory | seemed sure;) nay, at bottom, not without a certain pig-like defensive-ferocity, perhaps even something more. Thus, when you find him making a point to attack, if possible, "all officers of justice," and deforce them; delivering the wretched from their talons: was not this, we say, a kind of dog-faithfulness, and public spirit, either of the mastiff or of the cur species? Perhaps, too, there was a touch of that old Humour and "world-irony" in it. One still more unquestionable feat he is recorded (we fear, on imperfect evidence) to have done: "assassinated a canon." Walking one day in the fields (as the bold historic Imagination will figure) with a certain ninny of a "Goldsmith named Marano," as they pass one of those rock-chasms frequent in the fair Island of Sicily, Beppo begins, in his oily, voluble way, to hint that Treasures often lay hid; that a Treasure lay hid there (as he knew by some pricking of his thumbs, divining rod, or other talismanic monition ;) which Treasure might, by aid of science, courage, secrecy, and a small judicious advance of money, be fortunately lifted. The gudgeon takes: advances (by degrees) to the length of "sixty gold Ounces;" sees magic circles drawn in the wane or in the full of the moon, blue (phosphorus) flames arise, split twigs auspiciously quiver; and at lengthdemands peremptorily that the Treasure be dug. A night is fixed on the ninny Goldsmith, trembling with rapture and terror, breaks ground; digs, with thick breath and cold sweat, fiercely down, down, Beppo relieving him: the work advances; when, ah! at a certain stage of it (before fruition) hideous yells arise, a jingle like the emptying of Birmingham; six Devils pounce upon the poor sheep Goldsmith, and beat him almost to mutton; mercifully sparing Balsamo,—who indeed has himself summoned them thither, and as it were created them (with goatskins and burnt cork.) Marano, though a ninny, now knew how it lay; and furthermore that he had a stiletto. One of the grand drawbacks of swindler-genius! You accomplish the Problem; and then-the Elementary Quantities (Algebraic Symbols) you worked on will fly in your face! Remonstrances from growling maternal uncles could not fail; threats, disdains from ill-affected neighbours; tears from an expostulating widowed mother; these he shakes from him like dewdrops from the lion's mane. Still less could the Police neglect him; him the visibly rising Professor of Swindlery; the swashbuckler, to boot, and deforcer of bailiffs: he has often been captured, haled to their bar; yet hitherto, by defect of evidence, by good luck, intercession of friends, been dismissed with admonition. Two things, nevertheless, might now be growing clear: first, that the die was cast with Beppo, and he a scoundrel for life, second, that such a mixed, composite, cryptoscoundrel life could not endure, but must unfold itself into a pure, declared one. The Tree that is planted stands not still; must pass through all its stages and phases, from the Here then ends the First Act of Count Alesstate of acorn to that of green leafy oak, of sandro Cagliostro's Life-drama. Let the curwithered leafless oak; to the state of felled tain drop; and hang unrent, before an auditimber, finally to that of firewood and ashes.ence of mixed feeling, till the First of August. Hearing of stilettos, our Algebraist begins to look around him, and view his empire of Palermo in the concrete. An empire now much exhausted; much infested, too, with sorrows of all kinds, and every day the more; nigh ruinous, in short; not worth being stabbed for. There is a world elsewhere. In any case, the young Raven has now shed his pens, and got fledged for flying. Shall he not spurn the whole from him, and soar off? Resolved, performed! Our Beppo quits Palermo; and, as it proved, on a long voyage: or as the Inquisition Biographer has it, "he fled from Palermo, and overran the whole Earth." Flight Last. COUNT CAGLIOSTRO. IN TWO FLIGHTS. BEFORE entering on the second Section of Count Beppo's History, the Editor will indulge in a philosophical reflection. tual Twelfth-hour of the Night") the everlasting Pit had opened itself, and from its still blacker bosom had issued Madness and all manner of shapeless Misbirths, to masquerade and chatter there. But, indeed, if we consider, how could it be otherwise? In that stertorous last fever-sleep of our European world, must not Phantasms enough (born of the Pit, as all such are) flit past, in ghastly masquerading and chattering? A low scarce-audible moan (in Parliamentary Petitions, Meal-mobs, Popish Riots, Treatises on Atheism) struggles from the moribund sleeper; frees him not from his hellish guests and saturnalia: Phantasms these "of a dying brain." So too, when the old Roman world, the measure of its iniquities being full, was to expire, and (in still bitter agonies) be born again, had they not Veneficæ, Mathematici, Apolloniuses with the Golden Thigh, Apollonius' Asses, and False Christs enough,-before a REDEEMER arose ! This Beppic Hegira (Flight from Palermo) we have now arrived at brings us down, in European History, to somewhere about the epoch of the Peace of Paris. Old Feudal Europe (while he flies forth into the whole Earth) has just finished the last of her" tavern brawls," (or wars ;) and lain down to doze, and yawn, and disconsolately wear off the headaches, bruises, nervous prostration, and flaccidity consequent thereon: for the brawl had been a long one, (Seven Years long;) and there had been many such, begotten, as is usual, of Intoxication, (from Pride, or other Devil's-drink,) and foul humours in the constitution. Alas, it was not so much a disconsolate doze, after ebriety and quarrel, that poor old Feudal Europe had now to undergo, and then on awakening to drink anew (wine of Abomination,) and quarrel anew: old Feudal Europe has fallen a-dozing to die! Her next awakening will be with no tavern-brawl (at the King's Head or Prime Minister;) but with the stern Avatar of DEMOCRACY, hymning its worldthrilling birth and battle song in the distant West; therefrom to go out conquering and to conquer, till it have made the circuit of all the Earth, and old dead Feudal Europe is born again (after infinite pangs!) into a new Industrial one. At Beppo's Hegira, as we said, Europe was in the last languor and stertorous fever-sleep of Dissolution: alas, with us and with our sons, (for a generation or two,) it is almost still worse, were it not that in Birth-fying. Nay more, and perversely enough, ever throes there is ever Hope, in Death-throes the final departure of Hope. Now the philosophic reflection we were to indulge in, was no other than this, most germane to our subject: the portentous extent of Quackery, the multitudinous variety of Quacks that along with our Beppo, and under him each in his degree, overran all Europe during that same period, the latter half of last century. It was the very age of impostors, cut-purses, swindlers, double-gangers, enthusiasts, ambiguous persons; quacks simple, quacks compound; crack-brained, or with deceit prepense; quacks and quackeries of all colours and kinds. How many Mesmerists, Magicians, Cabalists, Swedenborgians, Illuminati, Crucified Nuns, and Devils of Loudun! To which the Inquisition Biographer adds Vampires, Sylphs, Rosicrucians, Free-masons, and an Et cetera. Consider your Schröpfers, Cagliostros, Casanovas, Saint-Germains, Dr. Grahams; the Chevalier d'Eon, Psalmanazar, Abbé Paris, and the Ghost of Cock-lane! As if Bedlam had broken loose; as if rather (in that "spiri For, in truth, and altogether apart from such half-figurative language, Putrescence is not more naturally the scene of unclean creatures in the world physical, than Social Decay is of quacks in the world moral. Nay, look at it with the eye of the mere Logician, of the Political Economist. In such periods of Social Decay, what is called an overflowing Population, that is a Population which, under the old Captains of Industry, (named Higher Classes, Ricos Hombres, Aristocracies, and the like,) can no longer find work and wages, increases the number of Unprofessionals, Lack-alls, Social Nondescripts; with appetite of utmost keenness, which there is no known method of satis as Population augments, your Captains of Industry can and do dwindle more and more into Captains of Idleness; whereby the more and more overflowing Population is worse and worse governed (shown what to do, for that is the only government :) thus is the candle lighted at both ends; and the number of social Nondescripts increases in double-quick ratio. Whoso is alive, it is said, "must live;" at all events, will live; a task which daily gets harder, reduces to stranger shifts. And now furthermore, with general economic distress, in such a Period, there is usually conjoined the utmost decay of moral principle: indeed, so universal is this conjunction, many men have seen it to be a concatenation and causation; justly enough, except that such have (ever since a certain religious-repentant feeling went out of date) committed one sore mistake: what is vulgarly called putting the cart before the horse. Political-Economical Benefactor of the Species! deceive not thyself with barren so phisms: National suffering is (if thou wilt understand the words) verily a "judgment of |