Kohl, "the pleasing aspect of
these streets with the close and noisy workrooms in woolen and cotton
manufactories. There the workpeople are all separated and classified
according to age and sex, and marshaled like soldiers. Their domestic
and family ties are rudely broken. There chance or exigency separates
the young factory girl from her favorite companions, and dooms her to
association with strangers. There social conversation and the merry
song are drowned in that stunning din of machinery, which in the end
paralyzes even the power of thought."

Our German friend is a little hard upon factory life. Though not
so picturesque, it does not, if candidly viewed, offer so very
unfavorable a contrast to that passed by the Belgian Lace Workers.

* * * * *

[FROM BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.]

THE TOMB OF LADY BLESSINGTON.

BY MRS. ROMER.

"[Greek: Eudeis all ou seio lelasmenoi esmen]!"
"Thou sleepest, but we do not forget thee!"

It is too much the way of the world in this our civilized Europe
to neglect the receptacles of the dead. Those loved ones even,
whose dwellings, while living, were thronged by admiring friends,
are deserted when laid in their last narrow home. The breath once
gone,--the last sad offices performed,--the funeral pomp over,--and
the sepulchre closed,--all the requisites of affection and respect
appear to have been fulfilled, and the spot that holds the dust once
so doted upon, is forever abandoned! Witness the damp graves overgrown
with rank nettles and thorns, the degraded tombstones, the illegible
moss-covered epitaphs of our church-yards! Witness the dreary oblivion
of our over-crowded vaults, where the eye of affection has never
shed a tear, the hand of friendship never scattered a flower over
the mouldering relics they inclose! It is not that the dead are
forgotten--it is not that their memory has ceased to be dear and
sacred to their friends--but it is that the gay and the worldly-minded
shrink from the dark images called forth by the aspect of the grave;
they recoil from the idea of familiarizing themselves with the
inevitable spot where they must one day lie in "cold obstruction's
apathy;" they deem it fond folly to nourish grief by keeping before
their eyes that which perpetually reminds them of the loss they have
sustained, and thus they fly from the dwellings of the dead, and
abandon what was once dearest to them to darkness and the worm.

A tenderer a