acquires a reputation with his superiors for vigilance, but above all things, money, his share of the price of conviction!

Looking at the nature of offences against the excise laws, the heavy forfeitures and penalties they entail, the odium they cast upon the characters of men who may have previously stood high in the public estimation, and the fact that sooner or later detection will supervene upon dishonesty; let every one be assured that the mens conscia recti" will in the end be found most profitable as well as reputable; and also believe the voice which is lifted up to declare, as the result of observation, that in such matters no man can trust his servant, no man confide in his friend.

Touching the Exciseman's education and talents, we have to remark that they mostly are of a mediocre if not indifferent class. With the learning of the schools he can scarcely be expected to be imbued, so that he will be found just as familiar with the " Principia" of the immortal Newton, or the "Novum Organum" of that profound philosopher Bacon, as a New Zealander with the original language of the Talmud, or an Esquimaux with an antique manuscript from the catacombs.

The social condition of Excisemen we record reluctantly, lamenting that it bears an aspect so repulsive. By a charitable feeling, which is surely natural, perhaps honourable, we are ready to believe, that men engaged in the same occupation (and that looked upon somewhat disdainfully by the many), where it is impossible that any ill-feelings can be engendered by a rivalry in trade, would be bound together by affections of friendship and goodwill; yet, that such is not the case, and that the perpetual bickerings and paltry jealousies, characteristic of envious and ignoble minds, to a considerable extent prevail, is unfortunately too obvious to escape either observation or It is in cases of sickness and sorrow that we suppose kindness from superiors will be generally experienced. But among the excise, little indeed is the sympathy shewn to inferiors, when in affliction, by those whom interest or good fortune may have elevated above them. From these, the darkest features of his character, there is one to which we turn with some pleasure; it is, that, feeling the disadvantage he has laboured under, he gives his children the best education his limited income will afford, fondly endeavouring to qualify them for a condition better than his own, should such a happy fortuity ever occur.

censure.

We have alluded to the contingencies which affect the Exciseman, disturbing the otherwise "even tenor of his way;" they are principally as follows:-Firstly, the harassing system of removes,

which render his life an existence compulsorily and perpetually erratic. Just as he has comfortably equipped his humble home, and begun to find that he is understood, and accordingly esteemed, in the neighbourhood, as his four years of residence in that station are expired, the distrustful nature of the excise regulations hurry him away—his "household gods" and family-not unfrequently, to a great distance; so that, really, through life he finds no permanent place whereon to rest his weary foot. Can the good that results to the revenue from this hateful system, for a moment be put into competition with the expense to the country, and the inconvenience, nay, in many instances, positive misery it creates? The answer of a reflecting person must be in the negative. Secondly, a severe supervisor or harsh collector. Thirdly, the unexpected visit of a surveying general examiner. The universal dread in which these men are held by excise officers and traders throughout the United Kingdom, constitute the best testimony of the oppressive manner in which some of them have abused the power delegated to them by the Honourable Board of Excise; gentlemen, be it known, who, when there is no such intermeddler as one of these to poison the spring of truth, by artfully interweaving

"A thread of candour with a web of wiles,"

are clothed with honour even as a garment, and whose spirit is the spirit of mercy.

Such, then, is the life and state of the Exciseman-he who, amid the "Babel hum" of business, and the distracting anxieties of the world, steals unobtrusively his noiseless round, in the obscurity of his calling unnoticed, if not unknown. And when a word of disparagement to his profession is thoughtlessly about to be spoken, let it be quickly called to mind that, between the subject and the state, he holds an office of heavy responsibility, that he wrong not the one nor overcharge the other: and that by the duties which he assesses, the crown, in the exercise of its integrity and power, is supported; the wheels of government kept in motion; and the judges-those dread oracles of the law-are paid to minister, with even hand, the decrees of justice to the nation.

Her complexion was fair, a little injured by the sun, but overspread with such a bloom, that the finest ladies would have exchanged all their white for it.

THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER.

BY WILLIAM HOWITT.

THERE's a world of buxom beauty flourishing in the shades of the country. Farm-houses are dangerous places. As you are thinking only of sheep, or of curds, you may be suddenly shot through by a pair of bright eyes, and melted away in a bewitching smile that you never dreamt of till the mischief was done. In towns, and theatres, and thronged assemblies of the rich and the titled fair, you are on your guard; you know what you are exposed to, and put on your breast-plates, and pass through the most deadly onslaught of beautysafe and sound. But in those sylvan retreats, dreaming of nightingales, and hearing only the lowing of oxen, you are taken by surprise. Out steps a fair creature, crosses a glade, leaps a stile; you start, you stand,—lost in wonder and astonished admiration; you take out your tablets to write a sonnet on the return of the nymphs and dryades to earth, when up comes John Tompkins, and says, "It's only the Farmer's Daughter!" What! have farmers such daughters now-a-days? Yes. I tell you they have such daughters

those farm-houses are dangerous places. Let no man with a poetical imagination, which is but another name for a very tindery heart, flatter himself with fancies of the calm delights of the country; with the serene idea of sitting with the farmer in his old-fashioned chimney-corner, and hearing him talk of corn and mutton-of joining him in the pensive pleasures of a pipe, and brown jug of October; of listening to the gossip of the comfortable farmer's wife; of the parson and his family, of his sermons and his tenth pig—over a fragrant cup of young hyson, or lapt in the delicious luxuries of custards and whipt-creams: in walks a fairy vision of wondrous witchery, and with a curtsey and a smile, of most winning and mysterious magic, takes her seat just opposite. It is the Farmer's Daughter! A lively creature of eighteen. Fair as the lily, fresh as May-dew, rosy as the rose itself; graceful as the peacock perched on the pales there by the window; sweet as a posy of violets and "clove-gillivers;" modest as early morning, and amiable as your own imagination of Desdemona,

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