es we had occasion to dwell mainly upon those
characteristics of the poor which attract regard and sympathy, it became
necessary, in order that the general idea might be in accordance with
the general bearing of the facts, to conduct the reader into strange
scenes, and among classes of human beings, which might otherwise have
been disregarded or unknown. The reader now sees distinctly that which
the clamour and clash of rigourists and universal-benevolence-men might
have led him to overlook, viz.--_that pauperism includes in its legions
the most virtuous, the most vicious, the most industrious, and the most
idle_; and refers to decent, honest poverty as well as to squalid
destitution. We may conclude by averring, that the tendency of an
extended system of out-door relief, administered in the manner, and
according to the principles laid down, would be, to raise one class from
the state of pauperism,--to confront distresses which the complexity of
civilised society, and the extension of the manufacturing systems have
occasioned, boldly, firmly, and humanely,--to distinguish between the
honest industrious poor, and the lazy vagabond--to give one a fair
chance of obtaining employment, and to remove inducements from the other
to prowl about and live upon the public. And if this can be in any
degree attained, it will so far stand out in bold contrast to the
doctrines of _The Edinburgh Review_, and the practice of the Poor-Law
Commissioners, which have reference only to the health of the animal
fibre, and not to the soul which gives it life.

THE POACHER;

OR, JUTLAND A HUNDRED AND THIRTY YEARS SINCE.

From the Danish.

I.--THE DEER-RIDER.

The Danish isles have such a pleasant, friendly, peaceful aspect, that,
when carried by our imagination back to their origin, the idea of any
violent shock of nature never enters into our thoughts. They seem
neither to have been cast up by an earthquake, nor to have been formed
by a flood, but rather to have gradually appeared from amid the
subsiding ocean. Their plains are level and extensive, their hills few,
small, and gently rounded. No steep precipices, no deep hollows remind
one of the throes at Nature's birth; the woods do not hang in savage
grandeur on cloud-capt ridges, but stretch themselves, like living
fences, around the fruitful fields. The brooks do not rush down in
foaming cataracts, through deep and dark clefts, but glide, still and
clear, among sedge and under